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cake-writes · 4 months

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Just This Once

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.

Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On

—

Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.

You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night.

So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were away? Why does he want to do anything for you?

Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication.

You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.

What the hell is he doing?

He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.

It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way.

“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.”

Your birth control must be overdue, then.

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.

He should have known then that he was getting too attached.

Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way.

As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.

He could get you pregnant.

A jolt of arousal shoots through him.

Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…

His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.

Kakashi swears. Loudly.

You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.

He’s already too attached. Way too fucking attached.

—

Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone.

His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.

What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.

Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.

The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.

The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock to make the entry a little easier.

“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

“Mm. Do you want me to?”

His question hangs heavy in the air.

The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.

You want to say no, he realises.

He wants you to say no.

“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk.

Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership.

His.

Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do.

He agrees.

“Just this once.”

Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there hasn't been a risk.

Your coy little smile is what prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth.

He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go.

As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat.

He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well.

To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the soft skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl.

“More than okay,” you sigh.

As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.

He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.

“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”

So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.

He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?

He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste.

Later.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?”

Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows.

He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go.

“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you.

“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate.

It’s selfish, he knows.

The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take.

He wants it to take.

Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.

“Close?”

Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.

He stamps it down.

“I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?”

When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I— shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”

“Really?”

To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.

It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form.

“Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily.

His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”

Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.

Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.

“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—”

“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.” He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.

Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal, that he’s always refused to name.

He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something. He wants them to mean that you’re his.

He’s too attached.

To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he snaps his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.

It doesn’t last long. He’s too worked up.

Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—”

“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.

When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.

“Come inside me,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.

His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up—

“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off.

If he moves right now, he’s done for.

When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.

You finish first. Always.

“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.

Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss just beneath your ear, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”

“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy.

Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”

Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple—

“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time.

He laughs softly at that. No more teasing. You want him to be nice.

You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you.

“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—”

Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.”

Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight.

His jaw tenses at the reminder.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?”

Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves.

No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen.

And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee.

Get her there, then pull out.

Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch.

A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon.

“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—”

Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now—

He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall.

Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it.

“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—”

He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth to assert his control, and still, he recites his mantra.

Get her there, then pull out.

Get her there, then—

You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips.

Seeing your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced.

“Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—”

“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want.

The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own, and you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.

He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry.

Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white, marking you as his.

It feels good. It feels right.

He’s too attached.

He doesn’t care.

As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits.

Why the hell did he do that?

What the hell did he do?

Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.

He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.

Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.

“Did I— Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep and hit your cervix a little too hard. That’s what usually tends to happen.

“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.”

Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.

His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?”

You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.”

Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur.

They’re happy tears, you said.

You’re happy with him.

He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go.

You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”

Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.

“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck.

You laugh and turn him back towards you, gently cupping the side of his face. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”

That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight.

He wants to do it again.

He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came.

It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine?

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”

Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He swallows thickly. “I’m fine.”

When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.

“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.”

You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.

It’s cute. You’re cute.

“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.

“What?”

This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Why aren’t you more upset?”

“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this because of my birth control?”

“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”

You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!”

Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then.

Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot.

“That’s so bad! What if you actually got me pregnant?”

A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.

You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?”

“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real. “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”

How the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate.

But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d run away as fast as he could.

A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed.

“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.”

Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone, never mind the words you speak in it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”

And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back.

“Because,” he rasps.

The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t face you. He’s too embarrassed.

“Because why?” you ask breathlessly. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?”

A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads.

“Hm? Why not?”

To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.”

“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. Do you know why?”

The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.

Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation.

He likes that you understand him as well as you do.

He likes you.

“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached.

—

Snippet #1:

“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you.

“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. I just didn’t think I’d be able to get an appointment that soon. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue. “And what if I don’t want to be careful?”

He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself. “You tell me.”

—

Snippet #2:

Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.”

You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?”

He shifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye.

You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing this is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.”

He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission.

Looks like you’re on the same page, then.

Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home.

That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—”

“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused.

You worry your lip between your teeth and nod.

“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.”

Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?”

Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—”

When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.

—

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)

#kakashi smut #kakashi x reader smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi fanfiction #kakashi imagine #kakashi #kakashi hatake #hatake kakashi

2K notes · View notes

answer2jeff · 4 months

Text

' treat me tonight '

a/n: this is (debatably) some of the best smut i've ever written but i'm still new to the field ! give ya girl some suggestions if desired.

song : i know we could be so happy baby.

warnings : fluffy smut, fem!reader, oral (fem receiving), piv sex (unprotected), both reader and carmen have a bit of a praise kink, brief hairpulling, the "L-word," established relationship, gets a little rough towards the end, back scratching, porn with no real plot. not proofread

word count: 2.6k+

MDNI : i am not responsible for your media consumption.

NSFW under the cut — last warning!

"Try it," Carmen cupped your jaw as he lifted the wooden spoonful of creamy, tomato soup to your mouth, thumbing your bottom lip gently so you could carefully swallow every last bit. He enjoyed feeding you, if he was being totally honest. Even if this had been upon your request. Making his girl happy with what he did best was nothing short of a blessing to him.

"Mmm," you hummed in amusement, swallowing before smiling contently and nodding your head. "'S great, Carmy. Fuckin' delicious."

Long days at work dealing with insensitive clientele and immature coworkers seemed to be so easily remedied by Carmen's cooking. You weren't sure if it was because it was him catering to you and loving you the one way he always knew how, or if the food was just that fucking amazing. Maybe a little bit if both.

"Yeah? Alright," he chuckled a bit, grabbing the ladle beside the pot and scooping the simple, yet beautifully crafted tomato soup into a ceramic bowl. He seemed to know exactly how you liked it, despite him asking you if you enjoyed it every. single. time.

You accepted the bowl with a sickly sweet smile on your face, giving Carmen a kiss on his clean shaven cheek to thank him for his gesture before hoisting yourself up onto the kitchen counter. Carmen just stood with his arms crossed against his chest as he leaned against the dining table, candidly watching you enjoy the warm bowl of soup

"So," you slurped some of the soup as you paused, "I'm thinkin' of giving Syd that top we found the other day."

Thrifting had become of recent liking to you anD Carmen. Just shopping and mooching around Chicago in search of vintage pieces. Mostly to actually wear, but partly to collect or regift to fellow friends. Last time you two had a day off, you found a beautiful vintage button down. A white base with downward blue stripes with a finely stitched breast pocket containing a 'V' pattern. The cuffs were cinched perfectly. It was a little baggy, too, which you knew Sydney would love.

"Ooh, yeah. I, uh, I really liked that. I think she'd really love it," Carmen nodded, "You gonna get 'er somethin' else with it? Like, to pair with it? Or just the shirt?"

"I was gonna ask you to help me with that, actually," you pointed a finger to Carmen, turning away for just a moment to gently place the empty bowl and spoon into the kitchen sink.

Carmen always thought you had a good eye for other people's tastes. Not just in fashion. The world seemed unpredictable to Carmy. But you made it look so easy, so loving to just know what people wanted. He always wished he had that kind of understanding for people. But for now, he'd admire such a trait you had.

"Hm?"

"I remember she mentioned something about having all these cool tops n' jackets and such, but, like—hardly any nice pants other than those fuckin' jeans she loves."

"Mhm," he stepped closer to you and planted his hands on your shoulders. But you soon reached for them and planted them on your hips, earning a little upward curl of his lip.

"I know you loved those nice jeans like they were your babies 'till you had to sell them," you frowned, entangling your fingers in his messy, blonde curls while your other hand rested on the back of his neck.

"Fuck, I know. Really wish I didn't have to," he tried to let out a breathy laugh to compensate for the genuine disappointment.

Fuck, did he love those pants. Pants were the one piece of fashion Carmen didn't have to second guess himself on. From jeans to slacks, he knew how to pair every possible fabric. And he never knew how to flatter the upper half of his body, so he always wore those dammed white t-shirts.

Not that you were complaining.

Especially right now, the t-shirt highlighting his broad shoulders and exposing his thick arms plastered with sentimental tattoos you always loved. You began to run your hands up and down the exposed skin. He glanced down at your patterned touch, flattered.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway, I need you to help me look for a nice pair of jeans for Sydney. Can y'do that for me, hun?"

Carmen nodded rapidly, his eyes drifting from your lips and back into your eyes. His thumbs rubbed intricate little circles of adoration into your thighs.

"Yeah, baby," he smiled. "This weekend, maybe? I can take a couple hours," tilting his head, he held your chin to pull your face just inches away from his own. Something about your tendencies to make the ones you loved happy with little surprises just warmed him.

"Mhm. That works," you sighed, planting a soft kiss on his lips before wrapping your arms around his neck.

Carmens immediate suggestion just struck something in you. Months ago, he would've thrown excuse after excuse (although valid) as to when he couldn't be available, but never when he could. You felt proud of him.

"You're so good to me, Carmen."

"Yeah?"

He was learning. He was loving.

"Mhm," you barred your bottom lip behind your teeth, giving Carmen's arms a squeeze. He exhaled sharply and wondered where this could've been going.

You drove him a little crazier than he ever liked to admit. A delicate hand reached away from your hip and up to your face. He thumbed your bottom lip, the reflection of the kitchen light shining against your mouth that was glossy with a mix of both of your salivas. Carmen gazed at you in awe, a little embarrassed when he realized how long he'd been staring.

"I—" he shrugged, struggling to find the words, "I'd do it all for you, baby."

Whispering back as he began to cave in, he leaned into your neck and placing an opened mouth kiss on the skin. The smell of your perfume and the natural scent of your body was so familiar to him. It distracted him enough to let his hands roam up and down your torso before repeating that same motion on your thighs.

"Want you t.." you swallowed, your eyes shutting harshly when when he sucked a bruising hickey onto your skin.

"Want me to what, sweet girl?" Carmen mumbled, the butterflies in your stomach raging when his teeth grazed against the spot. You gently anchored your hand into his hair and pulled him away from your neck so you could see him again.

"Want you to treat me tonight," you whispered as your hands travled up to his shoulders.

He wished you could be more specific. But with your pretty eyes, your kiss-swollen lips, your thighs spread against the cold marble counter as they spilled out of your cotton shorts, how could he tease you any longer?

"That I can do."

—

Carmens body seemed to loosen up and relax as his rough hand slid down lower on your back to grab at the waistband of your shorts. You practically melted to his touch. He kissed you again, smiling against your lips as you giggled into the kiss once he slid your shorts down to your ankles. You nodded when he pulled away, ensuring him that he was on the right track.

"Need you t'spread, baby," his hand pried between your soft thighs.

"O—okay," You bit the inside of your cheek as you slowly spread your legs apart. The wet spot of arousal in the middle of your panties was completely in view now. Feeling Carmen's eyes drifting downward, you accidentally drew your knees closer together again.

"Hey," Carmen whispered while he looked into your eyes for an answer, despite your gaze being glued to the floor.

"You okay? We don't have to do thi—"

"No, no," you shook your head, "I want to. Just..not used to it. That's all."

It was true. You'd only tried oral about twice. And it went great, you couldn't deny. But you still struggled to literally open yourself up to him. You just needed a little encouragement.

"You don't have to hide, baby. You look—you are beautiful," he kissed your forehead, "so, so beautiful. Okay?"

Finally feeling some reassurance, you tried again. You spread your legs once again and let Carmen peel your soaked panties down your legs to where your shorts had been. He gave you one last look to see if you were ready, to which you happily nodded.

In the sweetest gesture, Carmen removed his own t-shirt so you wouldn't be alone. He unbuttoned his jeans and tossed them somewhere near the dining table, being left in just his boxers that outlined his slowly hardening cock.

"Thank you," you chuckled.

"Of course."

Carmen began trailing kisses from your neck down to your shoulder blade. His hands gently lifted your tank top over your head before cupping one of your breasts, his fingertips playing with your hard nipple as he kissed you one last time. He sank down to his knees, hooking your calves over his shoulders. You scooted a little closer to the edge of the counter to give him the best access to your throbbing cunt.

"Yep. Right here, baby."

He had you exactly where he wanted you.

You finally looked down at him after avoiding direct eye contact for the past few minutes. His blue eyes fully encapsulated you. He looked gorgeous between your thighs. Especially when he sucked little hickeys that wouldn't actually last against your inner thighs that made you squirm.

"You look pretty like this, bear," your hand reached to brush a loose curl out of his face. The flush that colored his pale cheeks was cute.

"You think so?" Carmen grinned. He relished in the feeling of having such gentle yet everlasting control. In his own kitchen, his beautiful girl in his hands, her thighs around his head, fully willing and wanting to let him take every part of her he could ever imagine.

You were nothing short of perfect to him.

Not wanting to waste any more time, and without preamble, he licked a bold stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. Your breath hitched in your throat when his grip on your thighs tightened. He started to create a sense of rhythm, roughly sucking on the sensitive mound of nerve endings before soothing it with kitten licks and flat-tongued strides.

Your hand tugged at a handful of his curls. He groaned at the sensation, swirling his tongue around you to feel every fucking inch of your pussy.

"Fuck, Carmy..."

"You got the prettiest pussy, baby. So good and wet for me," he mumbled against you, his eyes still remaining closed. He needed to focus, or else he might fall apart at the sight of pure, filthy pleasure on your pretty face.

"Shut up—" you protested.

Your thighs began to shake as your head reeled back. Carmen hesitated for a moment, wiggling his fingers around anxiously before pulling his mouth away from your vulva and ever so carefully slipping in 2 large fingers.

A long, drawn out moan escaped your mouth the moment he curled his fingers upward into your g-spot. The idea of staying quiet was out of the fucking question. Oh, and now that Carmen's tongue was back on you? Forget it.

"Oh my fucking g—fuck!" you smacked your hand over your mouth, your other hand still entangled in your lovers hair. Pulling and tugging and earning the sexiest groans you'd ever heard in your life.

The sound of your voice slowly raising in pitch was enough for Carmen to change his pace. He inched himself even closer, and at an otherworldly speed flicked his tongue repeatedly against your clit. Over. And over. And over again. But his fingers slowed down to avoid overstimulating you. He needed this to last. Blissfully.

The knot in your stomach that indicated your teeter against your orgasm taunted you.

"Carm, I'm—" you took a short breath moaning incohereant babbles along the lines of 'so fuckin' good, just like that, baby' until you blurted, "I'm probably not gonna last any longer..'S too much."

You'd grown so desperate to cum that your hips ground back and forth, the tip of Carmens tongue perfectly brushing against your sensitive clit while he used the hand that was once fucking you to squeeze the fat of your breast. With his other hand, he reached down to palm his throbbing cock through the thin fabric of his boxers. He pulled his erection out from the cloth and stroked himself slowly, the final moan of "fuck," shortly followed by your name before he harshly sucked on your clit once more, was enough to throw you over the edge.

"Oh, fuck, Carmy!"

After the last couple minutes of him practically making out with your pussy, your body finally allowed itself to release, your legs shaking vigourisly as you tried desparately to catch your breath. You could literally feel a pulse-like sensation on your clit from the orgasm.

It was dirty, filthy; cumming on Carmen's pretty face right on top of his kitchen counter.

But fuck, was it hot.

—

"You think you got another one left in there for me, baby?" Carmen cooed, wrapping your legs around his hips and drawing you in so close that your breasts were pressed against his bare chest. He peppered kisses along your jaw until he resided on your lips, his tongue slipping in to create a sloppy, passionate mess of a kiss.

His clothed hard-on pressed against your clit, which was nearly fully recovered, lacking the overwhelming sensitivity it had just a couple minutes ago.

"Maybe you should find out," you teased against his ear, nipping at the skin of his neck right underneath. You gently pressed your hand against his chest, backing him up just the slightest bit so you could slip his pre-cum soaked boxers with ease.

Without another thought, Carmen carefully lined himself up with your pussy. The head of his dick passed between your folds to build anticipation. Your hands gripped his shoulders, slippery with sweat, once he finally began to push his raw cock into your hole, your arousal serving as a perfect lubricant.

"Fuck," he rasped as he watched his cock disappear into your pussy in awe "so fuckin' tight for me. So pretty n' perfect."

The two of you hardly waited to allow every thrust and slap of skin against skin get messy and rough. With Carmen desperately needing to cum and you anxiously needing to feel him inside of you, there wasn't much consideration for a slow fuck.

"Fuck me, Carmen."

With that, Carmen dug his hands into your hips and pulled several inches out of you before slamming back in. You somehow moaned louder every time. His face contorted to pure, ravenous pleasure and lust as moan and groan after groan writhed from his throat. Your nails clawed at his back, earning a "shit," and his teeth sinking into your shoulder as you ground back and forth against him to achieve the perfect thrusting angle.

"I love you," he whimpered, fucking whimpered his adoration for you. He was completely pussy drunk, his thrusts turning fast and short unlike they were when they started out.

Those words made your heart pound in your head. Sure, you'd exchanged 'I love you's' during the last year or so of your relationship, but you couldn't recall a time it was said during rough-kitchen-counter-sex.

"I love you so fuckin' much, Carm," you sobbed in a fit of utter horniness and overwhelming sense of pleasure, feeling Carmen's thick cock and squeezing your warm, gummy walls around him.

"I'm gonna cum, angel, I—"

"I know, baby. Go ahead. W-want you to fill me up."

Almost as if the universe had been working specifically in your favor, you managed to reach your orgasm just seconds before he did. Every drop of your arousal went down his thigh, while his cum perfectly filled up your cunt. He pulled out slowly watching the white and sticky semen drip down your hole.

"Was that your idea of me 'treating you' tonight?"

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #the bear smut #jeremy allen white #ugh i love him #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader smut #the bear x reader #i actually love how this turned out

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bungalowbear · 8 months

Text

more husband!nanami x f!reader, inspired by this post

warnings: smut, reader being a brat, MDNI

wc: 550

You try to catch your breath but the pace in which your husband thrusts in and out of you leaves you breathless. Your face is turned away as he hovers above you, arms braced on either side of your head.

“Look at me.”

His tone leaves little room for argument, yet you squeeze yourself within that thin margin, raising your chin in refusal. A deep growl escapes him and you smirk, thinking yourself clever when the result is him pounding harder against that spot he knows makes you see stars.

You’re basking in hot pleasure when everything halts and you suddenly feel empty. Looking down, you whine seeing Nanami’s cock resting right at your entrance, glistening with your juices.

“Why’d you stop?”

“If you want to be a brat,” he drags his length through your folds, the tip catching the hood of your clit and making you squirm, “I’ll treat you like one.”

“Kento.” You grab onto his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut. “I need you.”

“I know, dear.”

Your husband’s large hand takes hold of your jaw, turning your face upward. Your eyes are still closed but the warm breath against your face tells you how close he is.

“But you know what I want.” His forehead drops down to rest against yours. “Open. Your. Eyes.”

The sounds of heavy breathing fill your ears, yours and his, as you fight the urge to disobey his command again. But the needy throbbing in your core makes the decision for you. And when you open your eyes, all you see is him.

“There’s my good girl.”

The subtle tick of his jaw is the only warning you get before he suddenly shoves himself back inside you. You gasp, nails marking crescents into his skin that sink deeper and deeper with every strong thrust of his hips.

“Y-yes, Ken. Yes, yes, yes.” You’re bordering on delirious, but you have sense enough to not close your eyes. You don’t want this pleasure, the one only your husband can give you, to stop. “More, p-please, more.”

“Such a good girl. Using her manners.” Nanami’s strong arms curl around your back, arching you into him. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he presses closer, sinks deeper. “I’ll always give you what you need. All you have to do is ask. You don’t have to start petty little fights.”

The last word is punctuated with a rough thrust that turns you into a babbling mess.

“M’sorry. M’sorry. I—” You’re gasping between words. “I—won’t n’more.”

Nanami hums in satisfaction as you chant his name, like a prayer, as he brings you to the edge. When you’re toppling over into the abyss of ultimate completion you let yourself be cradled in the warm safety of his gaze.

—

Later that evening you’re at the kitchen counter humming a tune to yourself as you cut up vegetables to add to the soup you’re making for dinner.

Nanami walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle, and leans over your shoulder to see that the veggies aren’t as precisely cut as they normally are. He debates whether he should make a comment, but ultimately decides against it when he catches sight of your expression, dazed and content.

He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek.

#catalog #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #nanami smut #jjk smut #husband!nanami

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

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6 PM and Eddie was in full story mode, gesturing wildly as he made himself a bowl of soup.

It was nothing fancy, just some canned chicken noodle that Steve had stuck his nose up at.

Then sniffed dramatically when Eddie had popped it in the microwave.

(Considering It was an after work snack, Eddie didn't take offense to his boyfriend's rich-boy sensitivities.)

"Then Brandon, the asshole, pulls in this ancient Jeep. Swears he checked it out before he bought it." He's still in his shop clothes, too busy going through his day to change.

"Did he actually though? Noooo." Eddie drawled out, fetching a spoon and setting the warmed bowl on the counter.

"Wasn't he the guy who just bought that truck?" Steve asked from his spot on the couch. He had beaten Eddie home, a rare accomplishment for him on a Wednesday.

Eddie spun, spoon in hand. "The one with the bad engine? Yes!"

"At least the color wasn't bad."

"It was banana yellow." With a scoff, Eddie put the can in the sink, picked up his bowl, and threw it in the trash.

He made it two entire steps forward before he froze, eyes growing wide.

“Stevie.” Eddie whispered, his entire body slumping dramatically. “Stevie, I threw away my soup.”

Trying (and utterly failing) not to laugh, Steve said, “I know. I watched you do it."

Entire face falling into a heart wrenching pout, Eddie looked between Steve and the sink.

"I wanted that." He said pathetically.

"Do you want me to make you soup?" Steve asked, voice teasing.

"Please?" Eddie's eyes worked over time, as he slunk his way over to his boyfriend. He dropped to his knees, putting his chin on one of Steve's thighs. "Pretty please?"

Steve flushed scarlet, eyes darting to Wayne and back. He was working on accepting Eddie's more theatrical displays of affection in front of others, but didn't shove Eddie away.

Told him he would never.

Not even when it was in front of Eddie's bandmates, who still eyed Steve with distrust.

"Would you like some too Wayne?"

Pretending not to smile from his ancient armchair, Wayne hummed. "Long as it's no trouble."

"Not at all." Steve pushed at Eddie's head, prompting the other boy to back away as Steve got to his feet.

Quickly, Eddie stole his boyfriend's spot on the couch, basking in the vacated warmth.

"I'm adding veggies along with everything else. No complaining!" Steve called as he began pulling open cabinets.

"I'd never dream of it." Eddie called back, batting his eyelashes even though Steve couldn't see it.

"If he does, I'll just eat his portion. Boy can go to bed hungry if he doesn't appreciate that cookin of yours." Wayne added, in his own teasing twang.

"Suck up." Eddie fired back, sticking out his tongue.

From the kitchen, Steve turned to hide his grin.

#steddie #established relationship #domestic au #i guess this is a thing now lol #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #0o0 fanfics #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson has adhd #wayne is a bamf and also hes loves steve

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fourmoony · 7 months

Text

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞

james potter x f!reader

fluff. 1.5k.

Summary: James brings home a baby. A baby that is not kidnapped.

part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - masterlist

...

James is standing in the doorway with a baby in his arms.

You’re so grateful he’s even there, that he’s made it back alive – albeit a little bloody and battered, glasses askew and his face covered in dirt – but alive nonetheless, that you don’t even notice the baby, bundled in a warm, fluffy blanket, wrapped safely in his arms. He’s bouncing his arms gently, probably trying to soothe the baby who’s making soft noises, and it’s really a sight to behold. It’s not until he steps through the doorway and gives you a nervous, lopsided smile that you fully register your boyfriend is holding a baby.

You blink. Once, twice. A third time.

James grows progressively more antsy. He chews his busted lip, winces, and then shifts back and forth on his feet. You have no idea where he could even have procured a baby. He’s been on an order mission for the past four days, scouting possible allies with the vampires whilst simultaneously moving important potions ingredients from one safe house to another, making sure the Death Eaters are always two steps behind order movements. Realistically, there’s been zero opportunity for James to come across a baby that he could just – take home.

“You’re home,” You breathe, because truly, that’s the most important part of the whole ordeal. James is here. He’s safe. He’s alive. Another mission down, and James has returned home. So, you’re glad. Grateful, unbelievably so. But also confused. Deeply confused.

“You have questions,” James is arguably calm about the situation, like he’d expected you to be eyeing him with hesitation – he was right – and he’s already rehearsed this in his head. “That’s normal.”

“Normal,” You repeat, the word tasting foreign on your tongue because nothing about this is normal. “Jamie, you’re holding a baby. Tell me we’re just like, babysitting, or something and you haven’t kidnapped someone’s child!”

James winces at your – albeit, quiet – yelling. The baby whimpers in his arms and immediately James shushes it, bouncing slightly on the spot with a desperate look in his eyes. He’s out of his depth, it’s obvious by the panicked way he’s looking between you and the baby, something pleading in his eyes.

“I didn’t kidnap her,” James argues childishly.

Okay, so, the baby is a girl. And James didn’t kidnap her. You turn and walk towards the kitchen, James follows, hot on your heels. The kitchen is a bit of a mess. There are your dishes from dinner, the bin is full, and there’s a couple of empty cartons for the recycling dotted on the counter closest to the back garden door. But James doesn’t flinch, he surveys his surroundings, but ultimately ignores the mess you’ve allowed to take over the small space in the days he’s been away.

“We were flying over Surrey when Marls spotted the dark mark over a muggle area,” James launches into explanation while you busy yourself with leaning over the sink and running the warm water. “We stopped to assess damage, but the Aurors were already there. Her family was killed, baby. The muggle government won’t touch the scene with a ten-foot pole – not that the baby had any other family, anyway, Alice already checked – and the Ministry won’t do anything except send her to an orphanage.”

The suds around your hands suddenly feel too much. The soup crusted around the side of your dinner bowl won’t come off and you scrub aggressively at it, focussing on that instead of the fact that your boyfriend has essentially just told you he’s informally adopted a child at random, without discussing it with you first.

Well, you know there was no time for him to discuss it. You can’t be mad at him for that. And, really, you can’t be angry at him, either, for bringing her to your home. She’s safe here. She’s already suffered an incredible amount of trauma, and she barely looks more than three months old. Your heart softens with your resolve, and you lift your head to look out of the window above the sink. The cottage you and James live in was a gift from his parents – a gift that had made you incredibly overwhelmed until you found out it had been under their ownership since before James was born, anyway – and has enough room for a swing set and a slide, maybe a trampoline. There’s a spare room, upstairs. Sirius will grumble about giving up his room for when he visits, but you’re sure he’ll get over it with some encouragement from Remus. The cottage is pretty much baby proof for James and Sirius’ sake, anyway. You have enough expendable income to completely kit out an emergency nursery necessary.

The argument isn’t really that you can’t afford to have a baby, or that you don’t have space for a baby. It’s that you’re nineteen, a year out of Hogwarts and in the middle of a war. Things are bad, times are scary, James is gone at least a week out of every month, you spend most of your days confined to the inside of a potions lab with Lily, making key potions that the Order need to work efficiently. You’re still kids yourselves, fighting a war that is taking everything from you.

But the way James is holding her like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, rocking her, and cooing at her, you melt when you turn to face them, and it just feels – right, you suppose.

James looks up, smiles tentatively. You’ve always known he’ll be a great dad. He’s so full of light and love. When he loves, he loves with his entire heart. He loves dotingly and loyally. He’s so sure, standing there. Even though you can tell he’s trying to respect you, waiting to show his excitement until he knows how you feel, you can also see how much love he already has for this little girl, how sure he is that here, with him and with you, is the best place for her.

You take a step towards him, around the kitchen island, and hold your arms out wordlessly. He places her in your arms so gently and then watches as your eyes meet hers. They’re big and round and so blue you feel the breath hitch in your throat. She’s gorgeous. Big puffy cheeks and tufts of dark hair on her small little head. Her tiny lips are curved into a tired pout. You can’t help the smile that overcomes you. When your eyes lift – reluctantly – James is staring at you both. There’s something sickly sweet about the look in his eyes, warm like coffee, sweet like honey.

“We’re at war, Jamie,” You tell him, “Having a baby is a bad idea.”

James nods, “I know.”

A beat of silence passes. An understanding, maybe. It’s a bad time to be two nineteen-year-olds having a baby. But it’s there, in the way James looks at you. He’s never been one to have perfect timing. He asked you to be his girlfriend in the middle of an argument. He asked you to move in with him after school when the first Daily Prophet announcement about the war being confirmed happened. He’s brought a baby home out of nowhere, in the middle of said war. But it feels right. Holding her in your arms, James standing so close you can feel his warmth.

“What’s her name?” You ask, smiling sweetly at James.

He beams. He just – he beams. You know that he knows, then. You’re in. For better or worse.

“No idea. Alice had the muggle police contact the muggle social workers, who had no idea of anything about her. Bit of a mystery, really. But we get to keep her. Keep her safe, love her, raise her. So, I think it worked out. Is that bad?" James whips his head up, like his words surprised himself.

You chuckle lightly, "A little."

"What do you think we should name her?" You ask, eyes flitting back down to her. She's fallen over into sleep, blue irises gone from the world and you feel a tinge of sadness. You miss the bright blue of them, already. She's huffing softly, lips parted cutely. There's something magical about the way she's captured your heart in ten minutes flat. She might have magical powers, after all.

"Not sure. We can think on it. Our meeting with the ministry to officially adopt isn't until Monday." James speaks softly, in awe of the sight of you both.

You nod, "We better ring for Sirius and Remus, send them off for a cot, and then coax them into helping us build it."

You hand her over to James, he takes her, and then make for the phone. James stops you when he speaks, voice an amused whisper, lips pressed to her head, "They're already on their way."

"You knew I'd say yes."

"I knew you'd say yes. How could you not? Look at her." James is all honey voiced as he coos and holds the baby up for you to see and you melt.

She's the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're in awe. She's got your heart, well and truly. It's a strange feeling, to have such adoration for a human so small, who you've only just met. But you know you'll lay your life down to protect her. You'd do anything to make sure she's safe. She promises love, in the darkest time. You can already see the difference in James since returning home. He's lighter, full of smiles, gentle, happy. Usually, after missions, James is dark and brooding. He's filled with a darkness that only being a soldier can bring about.

James is looking at her so lovingly it makes you want to cry. She's happiness, and love. She's-

"Hope." You say, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

James looks up, brows furrowed, a question.

"Hope Potter." You affirm, tears in your eyes.

Your heart fills when James leans forward, presses a kiss to your lips, careful not to jostle Hope, "I love it. I love you."

"I love you. Both."

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gamergirl-niffler · 1 month

Note

Hi, I'm coming from doumadono's discord. Since your requests are open, I decided to drop one - taking care of the mini dragon!Neuvilette and the mini dragon!Zhongli ! Just boys in tiny dragon forms (you can fit them in hands) - sfw

That's such a cute idea! I HOPE YOU WILL LIKE MY TAKE ON THIS AMAZING IDEA!

I love those two dragon grandpas ^^

Wish you all nice reading! @shonen-brainrot

Wonderful dividers and cover made by one and only! @doumadono

Neuvillette

💧 You came to Monsieur Neuvillette to drop off some documents, but instead of encountering your beloved Iudex himself, all you can see is a dragon, looking right at you!

💧 It's small enough to fit into your palms. He is little, blue, slightly round with a long neck, long tail, tiny legs and fins attached to his sides.

💧 Eh? Eh? Eh?! Eeeeeh?! Eh...?! You.exe stopped working.

💧 You quickly realize that it's not one else but Neuvillette himself! Oh dear Archon! What should you do!?

💧 You walk up to the desk and scoop the dragon up into your hands. "Oh dear Archon. Neuvillette! What happened?!”

💧 The dragon looks up at you, blinks and purrs happily, clapping his fins.

💧 At least he recognized you. That's a good thing. For this, he gets a kiss on the head which makes him look even more pleased.

💧 But suddenly, he looks sad, and you can see a drizzle right outside the window.

💧 "Oh! No, no, no! Don't be sad love, I'll take care of you," you assure and kiss his head gently. "How about we go for a walk, huh?”

💧 At this, the dragon looks at you and nods his head.

💧 So that's what you do. You take Neuvillette for a walk, and he looks happy.

💧 You walk out of his office and head down the streets until you reach the center with the big fountain. Suddenly, Neuvillette lets out a soft squeak, making you stop.

💧 He immediately uses his head to point at the fountain, and you understand him, so you walk to it and place him in the water.

💧 Neuvillette seems happy but a little disappointed that the fountain is quite shallow.

💧 That's when you get the idea! You grab the dragon and go back inside.

💧 Neuvillette is watching curiously as you are running around your little flat, collecting snacks and making food before putting it into a basket. You are doing all of this while he is chilling in a sink full of water.

💧 And just like that, the two of you soon leave the bustling city.

💧 You took Neuvillette to his favorite place for a walk, but instead of taking a walk, you find the right place to set a picnic.

💧 While you are enjoying warm tea, the dragon is happily swimming around in the deep waters of Fontain. Of course he isn't swimming too far away to worry you - he knows you are already worried because of the whole ordeal.

💧 When he is done with swimming, he joins you on the blanket where you feed him some soup and some snacks.

💧 Neuvillette enjoys this day. It may be weird, though. He is tiny and in a dragon form, but the amount of care you give him makes him feel loved.

💧 When the evening comes, you collect everything and then pick up Neuvillette. "Time to go home," you say and gently tap him on the head with your finger.

💧 Neuvillette seems sleepy, so before you get home, the little dragon is sleeping, curled into a ball in your palm.

💧 He is too adorable to wake up, so you leave stuff in the kitchen and go to your bedroom.

💧 You lay down with a dragon still in your palm. "I will take care of you as long as I need to. Don't worry."

💧 At this Neuvillette only mutters in his sleep, nuzzling the palm more.

Zhongli

🟡 At first, you are sure that you woke up in an empty bed, but as soon as you remove the duvet, you realize it isn’t fully true.

🟡 Zhongli is still in bed with you but... He is in his dragon form, just on a smaller scale. His body is long, but you can easily fit him in the palm of your hand.

🟡 You sit up and pick the dragon up to look at him - he even has cute horns. When you touch them, he wakes up and looks at you.

🟡 "That's a new look for you, love. Quite interesting," you joked, scratching him under his chin. He purrs at this and nuzzles your hand.

🟡 He doesn't seem scared, so he must be aware of what is happening. At least it means you don't need to freak out.

🟡 Both of you didn't have much planned for today, just some shopping for dinner. You don't want the plans to be ruined, so you get up to get ready.

🟡 You walk through Liyue with a dragon happily hanging out in your hood while you are shopping.

🟡 While you are buying stuff for dinner, your hood suddenly becomes lighter, and all you can see was Zhongli running away somewhere.

🟡 You panic a little and leave your basket with a vendor to follow him quickly.

🟡 He doesn't trot away too far, just to some antiques seller. Zhongli quickly finds a pretty stone he really wants. Dragon basically wraps itself around it.

🟡 "Guess I have no choice,” you sigh and ask about the stone. All you hear in replay is a really high price. You can afford it, but dear Archon, that's a big number!

🟡 Zhongli looks up at you with his big eyes, and you break pretty easily. So you pay and pick the dragon up so he can't find anything more expensive. "So? You like shiny stuff? Here," you said, giving him one Mora.

🟡 He is more than happy with this little gift. Thankfully, he stays good for the rest of the shopping.

🟡 Once back home, Zhongli is able to fully enjoy his gifts. He is thankful for your understanding and love you give him despite what's happening.

🟡 While you cook his favorite meal, he is sitting right next to you and even handing you some ingredients you need to add.

🟡 When the bamboo shoot soup is ready, you witness the cutest thing ever - a cute dragon eating from his bowl eagerly, enjoying the taste.

🟡 In the evening, you take him for the walk, and the two of you visit his favorite cafe. The sight of a dragon, wrapped around a teacup, drinking warm tea and enjoying stories is one of a kind.

🟡 You come back home with Zhongli curled into a ball in your hood, sleeping peacefully. To make it more comfortable for him, you put him onto his pillow and place his treasures next to him.

🟡 After that, you get yourself ready to bed, and soon join him to finally end the crazy day.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin neuvillette #genshin zhongli #neuvillette #zhongli

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totaly-obsessed · 2 months

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The Weight of Expectations

Alexia Putellas x reader

-> Happy Birthday to my darling @greynatomy, love ya!

-> Alexia struggles through the IVF journey and turns mean

-> Talk of pregnancy, alcohol and abuse

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“¡No puedes hablar en serio!”

Oh. Alexia was home, something new. You were currently in the bathroom closest to the bedroom, heaving up anything that you had eaten, even the light soup.

For a couple of days, you had been like this, and two days ago you had finally done a test. A pregnancy test. This was the last IVF round before Ale and you had to start considering other options like adoption. The first 2 rounds had failed.

Positive. The goddamn test was finally positive.

Immediately you had made an appointment for a blood test to get done. You just had to be sure before telling Alexia. The blonde already blamed herself, thinking she had waited for too long, hesitant to have a child while in the midst of her career before she finally committed to it.

You had been so incredibly happy when she came to you after a game. Tears streamed down your face when she told you that she was ready to have a child. With you.

The disappointment of two failed attempts weighed heavily on Alexia. She desperately tried to console you as you cried, hiding her own tears in her pillow when you finally passed out. How could she be sad when you had to go through the physical aspect as well?

She shouldn't have waited that long, maybe 29 was too old.

After that things changed. She had left for Spain camp, and after that, she threw herself back into work in Barcelona. Her surgery was healing well and she was getting better and better by the day.

Meanwhile, you were sat at home, trying to understand the change in your wife. Did you do something wrong? With the previous tries the footballer had been so involved, checking in on you multiple times a day when she was at training.

And now? Nothing.

Alone you had gone to the blood test yesterday, not even needing an explanation for your wife, who came home after you had gone to bed and left before you woke up.

Eight Weeks. You were already two months along. In Alexia's absence, you had completely forgotten to test, wanting to do it with her.

As soon as you had gotten the confirmation, the morning sickness hit ten times harder. Who even decided to call it that? Morning sickness… What a stupid fucking name. The whole day was filled with sudden cramps and vomiting.

And you had done it all alone until now.

But Alexia was here now, yelling in the kitchen, before she stomped up the stairs to the bathroom, looking into every door available on her way. She was looking for you.

She hesitated for a second, seeing you crouched on the floor, head over the toilet, and pale as the white wall behind you.

“¡No puedes hablar en serio!”, she yelled again, now in your face.

“I am serious Ale, what's up?”

This was the first time you had seen her in a couple of days, her roots were starting to show, as did the bags under her eyes. But the rest of her body looked stronger than ever, the countless hours in the gym paying off.

“The kitchen is a mess, you didn’t do the laundry and you didn't mop the floors either. Look how filthy it is in this house!”

Wow.

You didn't know what you had been expecting. But definitely not this.

With slow movements you pushed yourself up, using the sink to help balance yourself. Fuck were you dizzy.

“W- What did you mean?” You hated how meek your voice sounded after your wife practically yelled at you.

Her face was red, and her eyes looked like she had been bitten by the devil, spit gathering at the corners of her mouth.

Crazy. She looked really fucking crazy, and it was terrifying.

“¿En serio?”

“Let’s just go downstairs, I made dinner and we can talk about it.”

With a scoff the blonde turned on the spot, stomping down the stairs, leaving you in the bathroom. Tears threatened to fall. What has happened?

With your nausea, it took you a bit longer to navigate the stairs. Every step hurt, but Alexia couldn’t care less about your pain-filled noises. She was busy stabbing a fork into her dinner, already scarfing a plate of your favorite pasta dish down.

“Finally. God, you always take so long.”

The words were filled with hate as she spat them at you, not even noticing that a bit of the sauce was flung onto her cheeks.

You couldn’t help but smile a bit, she had never managed to eat without making a mess of herself and the table. With a damp cloth, you tried to wipe the spot away, but when she hit your hand away from her, the cloth sailed to the floor as you looked at her. Eyes wide in panic.

“I am not your goddamn child. I can take care of myself.”

Your wives' usually warm eyes pierced your heart even more. Was this really the same woman who would carry you to bed every night, even after grueling training and rehab sessions?

The tears you had breathed away were back, a painful sensation in your eyes as Alexia continued to devour the meal you had prepared with so much excitement to tell her as if it didn't mean anything.

“This tastes like shit. Not even good for cooking.” She threw the fork on the plate, the clattering sound ripping you out of your shock-induced trance. “Do you want me to make you something different?

Your wife looked terrifying. Her eyes were wide open with small pupils that moved around quickly, looking you up and down before making their way through the house. The rest of her face was stoic, a facade she had perfected over the years. One that she didn’t usually use with you.

“No. I don’t want new food. I want you to get yourself together.”

The room filled with a heavy silence that nearly made you gasp for air. What did she mean?

“Amore I don’t know what has gotten into you, but maybe we should just go for a quick walk? Get some fresh air?”

That was the final nail in the coffin for the footballer, who stood up with such force, that the chair slid back and toppled over with a startling noise.

“Fresh air? You want fresh air?” She was getting in your face now, hunching a little to really get close. “Do you know what I want?”

Her breath was warm as it hit your nose.

Alcohol. You could smell alcohol.

She was a mean drunk, snapping at anyone who dared to get too close to her, her dog, or you. But just like her stern face, you were usually safe from her drunken attitude. Your wife always pushed you behind her as soon as anything looked like trouble.

This was new and you hated it.

“What do you want Ale?”

the defender had emptied your cup of coffee in one go, slamming the mug down on the counter.

“What do I want? I a housewife that can actually do her fucking job!” She was yelling now, some of the words accentuated with harsh hand movements and slight pushes to your shoulders.

“And look at how you let yourself go. Fucking pathetic! How can I even show myself in public with you?”

Shit that hurt.

You were finally pregnant with a very much wanted child, and she acted like this after leaving you alone for such a long time.

“Gained so much weight it’s-”

“I’m pregnant.”

You didn't yell. You didn’t shout. You said it with a normal voice. Well as normal as you could with tears threatening to spill.

But it was enough to quiet the drunk blonde.

“Pregnant? You’re pregnant?”

It felt as if she was looking at you for the first time when her eyes softened and her whole body slumped. She fucked up. And she knew it.

In a frenzy you started packing things, throwing stuff into a suitcase while your wife tried to stop you. “Where are you going? Amore, please! I am so sorry!”

But it was too late.

With a suitcase and Alexia’s car, you made your way to Eli’s house, you had no one in Spain, all your family back home, so you decided to turn to your wife's mother who loved you to no end and had spent a lot of time at your house while Alexias had been ‘busy’ the last few weeks.

Alexia watched as you left. You were pregnant with a child that she wanted so badly, and she fucked it up.

Tomorrow she will make up for it. She really will.

#woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines #woso community #alexias putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #barça femeni #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni

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megalony · 2 months

Text

You Didn't Know?

This is an Evan Buckley imagine, requested by Anon, I finished this one so quickly. Thank you for all the requests I am slowly working through them. Feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: Evan is secretly dating the Captain's daughter, but when (Y/n) has a miscarriage and the 118 turn up on the scene, everyone finds out.

-Descriptions of miscarriage.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What's wrong, you've hardly eaten anything."

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just not hungry." (Y/n) shrugged and pushed her plate across the table to signal that she was finished.

Her eyes looked up and locked with her dad sitting across from her but she shrank down in her seat when she noticed his confused expression, mixed with worry burning in his eyes.

She never turned down his cooking. Bobby had never made a dish that (Y/n) didn't eat. Even when she wasn't feeling well, he made her some vegetable soup and she ate it all. But she hadn't touched the carbonara that he made this afternoon and the whole point of being here at the station was to spend time with the team and have lunch.

Bobby's schedule had been hectic recently so (Y/n) had come down to the station to see her dad and have lunch with him and the team. But after a few mouthfuls, she wasn't feeling well enough to eat and she couldn't tell him the reason why.

"You never turn down my cooking."

"Dad… I'm just not feeling great today, stop worrying." She pursed her lips and waited until he relented and nodded.

Boy, was (Y/n) glad Evan wasn't at the table to see her leave her food. He would know something was up and he wouldn't let it go.

When Bobby took the empty plates and headed over to the sink, (Y/n) leaned back in her chair and glanced her eyes down to her stomach. God, she would have to tell them both soon.

She had to tell Evan first. He had to be her first point of call. (Y/n) had to sit Evan down and tell him she was pregnant. It was planned out, she was going to get a pair of baby boots and place them in a box along with the pregnancy test she had taken. She knew what his reaction was going to be, Evan was going to light up the room and be thrilled that he was going to be a dad.

But then they would have to tackle her dad.

Bobby didn't know they were together yet. He didn't know (Y/n) had moved in with Evan either. It was hard to tell him when (Y/n) felt like she was doing something wrong. Bobby thought of Evan as his son and Evan knew he was stepping on Bobby's toes by going out with his daughter.

That was why they decided to keep it to themselves for now and then find a way to tell Bobby and the rest of the team and hope it didn't complicate things. But a baby was going to complicate everything. Everyone would have to know now.

"I'm gonna head off now dad, I'll see you for dinner on Tuesday." (Y/n) got up and hooked her bag over her shoulder before she wandered over to the kitchen.

She was having dinner at her dad's on Tuesday with him, May and Athena. That would be the perfect time to bring Evan with her and explain so her dad couldn't explode on them with Athena there to play referee. She couldn't drop the baby bombshell then though, it would be too much all at once.

"Okay sweetheart, I'll ring you later."

She pushed up on her toes and kissed his cheek, whispering a quiet "Bye," in his ear as she hugged him.

She waved across at Chimney before she made her way downstairs and looked around. Eddie was in the gym, Hen was re-stocking the ambulance, and (Y/n) knew exactly where Evan had gone. He went to get changed. He'd bumped into Hen in the kitchen and spilt half his dinner down his uniform.

(Y/n) knew she couldn't leave without saying a quiet goodbye to Evan, he wouldn't let her live it down if she did.

Her footsteps were light and quiet as she hurried down the hall and turned into the locker room.

She tapped her knuckles on the door, just in case anyone else was in there with him. But when she opened the door, her lips curved into a smirk and she whistled and leant against the door frame. Her eyes wandered up and down Evan's frame as he whipped around to face her, wearing nothing but his boxers.

She didn't move when Evan advanced towards her but she did gasp when his hands found her hips and he turned her so her back was flush against the wall, pinning her beneath him with no means of escape. Her arms moved to wrap around his neck and she tangled her fingers in his hair that was starting to curl up at all angles.

"Just thought I'd tell you that I'm leaving now."

Evan's fingertips dug achingly into the flesh around her hips and she could feel every inch of him pressing up against her when he pushed forward. His slightly damp chest moulded against hers and he brought his forehead down to press against her temple.

"You're leaving me?" He murmured softly as he pressed his lips to her cheek in a small, tender kiss.

"You're not making it easy, Buckley."

He could feel her words floating around in the air between them and each breath she took fanned against his lips when he pulled up. Causing him to reach his tongue out to swipe over his lower lip that was curved into a grin.

"Do you know how hard it is to stay away from you when you come down here, looking like that?" He muttered the words breathlessly against her lips before he closed the distance between them and kissed her.

It became increasingly difficult for Evan to see (Y/n) turn up at the station or be at the frequent barbecues at Bobby's house and not be able to reach out and touch her. He had to remember to keep a safe distance between them and be considerate and wary of everyone else round them.

He didn't like not wrapping his arm around her waist or having to refrain from resting his hand on her hip or pressing his lips to her forehead. He could refrain from kissing her, but it was the no touching part that he found so hard. His hands were always itching to move, to reach out and grab her and reel her in and he yearned to feel her pressed up against him like this.

"Hm, I know." (Y/n) whispered quietly as she moved one hand to brush across his cheek and she dragged her thumb along his sharp jaw which made him shiver.

A whine bubbled at the back of (Y/n)'s throat when Evan caught her bottom lip between his teeth and lightly tugged before kissing it.

"I gotta go before we get caught."

"Go on then,"

He released his grip on her sides and lowered his arms back down as if he was giving in. But Evan took one measly step back that didn't stop them from touching. His legs were still brushing hers, his chest was so close that if (Y/n) breathed deep enough, her chest would merge with his. And with her back still being pressed into the wall, she didn't have enough space to slip away from him.

"You're a bad influence, you know that?" (Y/n) brought her hands up to cup his face and pulled him down for another kiss that caused Evan to reach out and plant his hands down on the wall either side of her head. Caging her back in his embrace that he knew she didn't want to leave.

"So you keep telling me, baby."

(Y/n) trailed her fingertips down his chest and followed her touch with kisses that she peppered against his neck and down the middle of his sternum to fog up his mind. He tipped his head back, eyes closed in bliss and a deep growl left his lips at the feel of her teeth grazing his chest that drove him wild. But just as he felt himself melting into her touch, (Y/n) ducked under his arm and backed up out the doorway.

"I'll see you when you get home, Evan." She knew it drove him mad when she said his name instead of calling him Buck like everyone else did.

She turned on her heels and bit down on her lower lip when she felt his hand reach out to hit her bum before she got too far away. She heard him whisper "Bye baby," before she closed the door and made her way back down the hall.

Evan was on a double shift and the station was short staffed so (Y/n) wasn't going to see Evan until tomorrow night or later, depending on when he finally got finished.

It was going to feel like an eternity until he came home.

***

Opening her eyes, (Y/n) tried to look around the room but she couldn't get her eyes to focus. A groan tumbled past her lips and she buried her face into the pillow as her arms pressed into her stomach.

She felt sick. She felt like she was on fire. Her stomach was aching-

Her stomach was cramping.

Her eyes opened again and she did her best to push herself up so she was sitting up in bed. Why was her stomach hurting? She shouldn't be feeling any cramps, she was pregnant, she wasn't due to have her period but that was what it felt like.

She tossed the cover onto Evan's side of the bed and turned the bedside lamp on, but her lips parted and wobbled, letting out a cry when she looked down.

Blood.

Blood was starting to smear across her inner thighs and when (Y/n) gingerly lifted Evan's shirt that she was wearing, she could see the substance soaking into the bedsheet. This didn't look good.

What was she supposed to do?

She wanted Evan.

Her lips quivered and she pushed her chin down into her chest and pressed both her hands tightly into her stomach. How was she supposed to call Evan and tell him what was going on when he didn't even know she was pregnant yet? She had it all planned out to tell him in a few days, she was going to make it a surprise and tell him. This wasn't how he was supposed to find out.

A broken cry burst past her lips when another pain coursed through her stomach and she hurriedly grabbed her underwear and pulled them down. Choking again when she saw even more blood soaked into them and streaks smeared down her legs when she removed them.

She was losing the baby.

(Y/n) coiled her knees up to her stomach and sobbed when the pain got worse until she felt like a duke box vibrating and pulsing with how hard and loud her pulse was throbbing in her veins.

What had she done? Why did she deserve this?

Ragged breaths ran away from her and her chest burned when she looked down between her legs.

No. No. No.

Slumping to the right, (Y/n) flopped onto her side like a fish and shuffled across onto Evan's side of the bed. She felt her lungs start to ache and clench as she started to hyperventilate. She couldn't breathe. Her heart was pounding so fast in her chest that it was actually hurting to fele her heart beating. Her head hurt. Her stomach was cramping and her legs were shaking back and forth into her stomach.

One arm stayed around her waist but her other hand moved. Her crimson, sticky palm smothered against her mouth causing her shallow breaths to wheeze and snuffle between her fingers. She could feel the blood on her hands transferring onto her lips and the metallic taste made her gag. Her elbows pinned into either side of her waist and she began slowly swaying on her side.

Pushing her face into Evan's pillow to see if his scent would calm her down, but it didn't.

She could feel the blood sticking between her thighs and making her legs itch with each cramp that burned through her abdomen and her body was still shaking.

She felt like she was beginning to overheat, despite the bedroom being very cold and only wearing Evan's cotton shirt.

What was she going to do? What kind of conversation was she going to have with Evan when he eventually came home? How was she going to explain to him that she had lost their baby while he'd been out at work?

She wanted to be wrapped up in his comforting embrace and pretend that this was all just a nightmare.

Even though she knew he would be heartbroken, conflicted and desperate to help her, she wanted him here. She wanted the affection and comfort Evan would make her feel.

Each breath started to run away without her again and (Y/n) could feel her chest shuddering as she gasped and cried and gagged. She couldn't breathe. She wanted Evan. She needed to do something. She couldn't just lay here all night and wait for him to come home. (Y/n) had to call for help and get to the hospital. Once she had been seen by a nurse and sorted out, then she could focus on trying to explain this situation to Evan.

She didn't realise how badly she was shaking until she tried to reach for her phone and bashed it about on the side table trying to curl her fingers around it.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I- help." (Y/n) hated how her voice sounded broken and cracked and how she had to wheeze to try and take a proper breath.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"(Y/n)… baby, I m-miscarried." Her heart thundered against her ribs when the words passed through her lips. Why did she have to admit what she'd done? Why did she have to say outloud what her body had just put her through? Why couldn't the woman on the line just telepathically find out the problem and send help?

"Okay honey, can you tell me how far along you were?" She sounded kind, she seemed like a caring person, but (Y/n) didn't want that care and concern. She didn't want help but she knew she needed it.

"Don't k-know, there's… there's a lot of blood, really hurts."

"Help is coming to you, (Y/n). I can see the apartment building you're in, can you tell me which floor and flat you're in please?"

"Fourth floor, four-B."

"Dispatch to one-eighteen?"

"This is Captain Nash, go ahead."

Evan masked the groan he could feel in his chest and tilted his head back into the seat. They had barely pulled away from their car crash scene they had just finished up with. Three hours they had been stuck evacuating people, cutting them out from their cars and sending everyone through to the hospital. Chimney and Hen had come back to the scene in the ambulance by the time everything was all sorted and now they were on their way back to the station.

It was time for them to have a break, grab a drink and have a five-minute rest. Did they really have to go out on another call so soon?

It was eleven o'clock at night and the whole team was flagging, except for Bobby who seemed alert and ready as if he hadn't just been on a long, excruciating call.

"I have a young woman two blocks from your location needing medical assistance. She's at home experiencing a miscarriage, losing a lot of blood."

A round of perplexed, curling lips flooded the truck. This wasn't something they dealt with very often and nobody wanted to be on these kind of calls, but it was their job.

"Okay, what's the location?"

"Hillside Court, apartment four-B on the fourth floor. Thank you."

Every ounce of blood in Evan's body drained down to his toes, leaving his complexion a gritty shade of grey. He could feel his jaw coming loose and his nose crinkled as he tried to work out if he had just imagined that or if he heard dispatch right.

That had to be a mistake. That was Evan's apartment.

(Y/n) wasn't pregnant. She would have told him. He would have known. She had been fine when he saw her yesterday morning before he left for work. (Y/n) wasn't having a baby- she wasn't losing a baby either. That had to be a mistake.

But it couldn't be. Dispatch didn't make those kind of mistakes and unless this was a hoax, which was extremely unlikely, it wasn't plausable that a young woman would give the wrong address or get her address wrong when she was in an emergency.

"Buck, you okay? You look a little pale." Eddie nudged Evan's leg with his knee and smiled but his brows furrowed when Evan just stared down at his hands that were knotted together in his lap.

When the truck pulled up, Evan tore off the headset and his belt and scrambled down from the truck. He didn't wait for Eddie to grab his medic bag or for Hen and Chimney to get out the ambulance and get the gurney out. He didn't even wait for Bobby- oh God, Bobby.

If this was (Y/n), Bobby was going to get the shock of his life.

Evan stormed up to the complex door and punched in the keycode, praying no one would notice but it didn't really matter. In a few minutes they were going to learn everything about him.

He knew Chimney and Hen would have to wait for the lift, they wouldn't drag the gurney up four flights of stairs. But Evan didn't wait. He pounded up the stairs two at a time and flung himself around each twisting corner that now became his enemy.

"Buck slow down- Jesus what's gotten into you?"

When he reached the right floor, Evan prayed. He prayed for some other young girl next door or on the next floor to cry out and say she was the one who needed help. For someone else to have this dilemma and be in pain and agony instead of (Y/n). Evan didn't care how selfish that made him, he prayed and prayed while he fumbled above the door ledge for the spare key up there for emergencies. He didn't have his keys on him, they were safe in his locker so he didn't lose them on a call.

"Baby? (Y/n), baby where are you?" He bashed the bathroom door open and peered round the door before he looked ahead at the living room. The lights were off, she couldn't be down there.

He grabbed the bannister and propelled himself up the steps, barely out of breath until he stormed into the bedroom.

Then all the air disappeared from his lungs and his brain seemed to short-circuit.

Dispatch had been right. It was (Y/n). She had been pregnant, and Evan didn't know anything.

Terror pulsed through Evan's body as he tripped over his feet and stumbled over to the bed. There was his girl. (Y/n) was laid on his side of the bed, her face smothered in the pillow and both her arms cocooned tightly around her abdomen. She was shaking back and forth, wearing one of Evan's pyjama shirts while blood was caked between her thighs and creating a puddle on the bed beneath her.

"Oh Christ," Evan rolled his eyes to the ceiling to look away before he leaned over the bed and grabbed the edge of the quilt. He dragged it over the other blood stain on the bed so he didn't have to look before he pressed his knees into the edge of the bed and leant down.

He reached his hands out and gently cupped (Y/n)'s face, smoothing his thumbs beneath her eyes to swipe away her tears. While he tilted her head so she wasn't hidden away in the pillow and she could see him.

"Baby, baby it's me, come here."

(Y/n) couldn't stop herself from crying out when she looked up. Why did Evan have to get this call? Why did he have to see her like this? She thought a paramedic team from the hospital would get to her, not the station that was her family.

She thought she would have time to come up with a way to explain all of this to Evan before she had to face him.

She moved a trembling hand from her waist to curl around Evan's hand and when he pressed his lips to her burning forehead, she cried again. She smothered her face against his wrist and pulled until he tried to hold her better.

"I'm here. It's okay, I've got you baby girl." Evan curled his hand round to cup the back of her neck while he wound his other arm beneath her waist and carefully lifted her up.

He moved to sit down on the end of the bed next to the pillow and he slowly eased (Y/n) back until she was propped up against his chest. He stayed motionless when (Y/n) started to move and he let her squirm around and try to settle herself in his arms. She hooked both arms around his neck until his head bent forward and he started to shake along with her. Her chest pressed up into Evan's and her legs stayed curled beneath her with her knees pressed into his thigh.

His arm stayed around her waist and he tangled his fingers in her hair at the back of her neck, brushing his thumb up and down her skin. And he pressed his lips against the top of her head when (Y/n) smothered her face against his shoulder.

"I- Evan I'm s…sorry-"

"Don't you dare. I don't wanna hear that from you." He hushed against her temple as he started to sway them back and forth.

He wouldn't listen to any form of apology. (Y/n) hadn't done anything wrong and Evan wouldn't let her believe otherwise. She was hurt and in pain and he was glad it came through dispatch so he could be here with her. He wouldn't want strangers coming in to try and look after her and he would rather help her than find out hours later what had happened.

"Buck what th- oh… oh no, is she…" Eddie dumped the medic bag on the end of the bed and sat down by (Y/n)'s feet. He dared to lift the cover when he saw the trail of blood lead onto the other side of the bed but when Evan kicked him in the shin, he dropped the cover immediately.

He didn't need to see that.

"It's my… she- this is my home. My girl." Evan kept his lips pressed against (Y/n)'s head and he didn't look anywhere but down at her form in his arms. This was his call. This was his home, his girl, his lost child and his scene. This was one for Evan to take charge of.

"Okay. Can I check her over?" Eddie grabbed a stethoscope from his bag but when he turned back round, his face fell and he stared at the girl in front of him. "(Y/n)? Oh Buck you didn't?"

He had slept with the Captain's daughter. He had gotten into a relationship with (Y/n) without telling Bobby and now he'd gotten her pregnant.

"Cap's on his way up-"

"No! No p-please… I c-can't-"

Eddie slammed his hand down on the bed and slung the stethoscope around his neck before he bolted. If (Y/n) didn't want Bobby to see her like this that was entirely her choice, but they needed to keep him at bay if that was the case. They could get (Y/n) prepped and ready to move to the hospital and then Bobby could find out once they were in the ambulance.

He bolted down the stairs and moved to the door just as Chimney and Hen came in with the gurney. He looked between them and Bobby who was stood behind them, waiting for something to come to mind to stop them.

"It's Buck's girlfriend, this is his place… she doesn't want everyone crowding round seeing her like that. Give us five minutes to prep her, please?"

There was nothing else Eddie could say that his team would believe or understand. He couldn't tell them to step outside and wait for no good reason. And he had to tell them something they would believe about why he and Evan were the only ones who could look after this patient.

"Oh God. Leave the gurney here, tell Buck we'll wait back down by the truck and radio if you need assistance getting her down." Bobby waved the pair of them away and Eddie could have fainted.

They left the gurney in the hallway and nodded, understanding and pain in their eyes as they turned around.

No one knew Evan was so serious about his new mystery girl. The team knew he had met someone, he was brighter when he came to work. Happier, desperate to go home and he was actually going somewhere on his days off rather than hanging around with the team, unsure what to do with himself.

But they didn't realise he was this serious, or that he was so fond of this girl and going steady enough to get pregnant.

Eddie turned and jogged back up the stairs and moved to sit down on the bed where he had been before. "They're waiting outside. Hey (Y/n), can I take a look at you?" He rubbed his hand up and down (Y/n)'s leg to get her attention.

She slowly unravelled her arms from Evan's neck but kept her head on his shoulders. Her arms curved back around her waist and she held Evan's arm that draped across her front. Her nails scratched into his arm as she held him as tight as possible and nodded over at Eddie. She didn't want Eddie to see her like this, but she was grateful for his help all the same.

Eddie leaned forward and listened to her heartbeat, then checked her breathing before he swapped the stethoscope for a blood pressure cuff. He could see the tightness around her arm made her lightheaded and her eyes moved towards the back of her head before she seemed to come back round again.

"How's the pain, is it constant or coming and going?" He looked up at Evan as if checking for permission before he went ahead and lifted (Y/n)'s shirt so he could assess her stomach.

He pressed his fingertips around her abdomen, biting his lip when (Y/n) winced and shuddered back into Evan.

"Dull cramps."

"Okay… Buck, I need to take a look." Eddie indicated his head to the right. He had to check the bed and they both knew what for. He lifted the cover and leaned over, holding his breath before he looked back at (Y/n). "The doctor will have to check, but I think… I think everything came away. That's good. But you're still bleeding, I'll give you something for that. Do you want any morphine?"

If (Y/n) didn't miscarriage properly and something was still retained, she could gain an infection and it would be dangerous. Eddie wasn't an expert, this wasn't his medical field of expertese, but he would guess from what he could see that nothing was retained. That was what they wanted, so (Y/n) didn't have to go through any more unnecessary trauma.

"Morphine, please." (Y/n) closed her eyes and held onto Evan's arm while she tilted her head forward and pressed her lips against his arm to try and control her breathing.

She felt Eddie inject something into her stomach and she whimpered into Evan's arm, pushing back until he tightened his arms around her and quietly shushed her. She knew it was morphine that Eddie injected into her thigh next. It tingled and fizzled and made her feel sick and lightheaded and drunk all at once, but she knew it would work soon and take away the cramps.

"Vitals all look good, I think it's safe to move you then in the ambulance I'll get you on an IV to boost your levels up. Buck… you wanna get her downstairs?"

Packing the bag, Eddie slung it on his shoulder and headed downstairs to move the gurney towards the stairs, giving the couple a moment together.

"Alright baby, let's move you."

As slowly as he could, Evan slid out from behind (Y/n) and stood up so he was leaning over the bed again. But he paused when (Y/n) cupped his chin and stared up at him.

"I was- I was gonna tell you-"

"I know you would, and it's okay."

"It's not."

It wasn't okay. Nothing was okay because (Y/n) didn't get the chance to tell him first. Evan had to hear over the radio that she was pregnant and had lost the baby, all in one swift motion. The moment he found out was the moment he learned she'd lost it. That wasn't right. She should have told him the moment she found out, not let this happen instead.

"Dad's o-outside, I don't wanna tell him." (Y/n) slumped her head forward onto Evan's shoulder and curled her arms around his neck again.

She didn't want her dad to see her like this. She didn't want him finding out everything like this, but she didn't have a choice. Her body had made all these decisions for her and taken away any choice she may have had before.

"Baby, please. Please, just let me look after you, okay? I'll deal with your dad and the team but I need you to let me get you sorted first. So come here."

Evan would sort it. He would talk to Bobby and make sure the team didn't get in the way. He would deal with all the backlash (Y/n) was afraid of, but he had to help her first. He had to get her downstairs and in the ambulance so she could see a doctor before he dealt with everything else.

(Y/n) came first.

When she stayed quiet, Evan took it as his sign. He curved an arm around her back and slipped the other arm beneath her knees, carefully lifting her up into his arms bridal style. He felt the way she shivered and started to shake again so he tightened his arms and held her closer until his ribs started to ache from how deeply he pressed her against his chest.

He had carried her up and down the stairs a few times, but never like this. Never when (Y/n) was in this much agony and crying into his neck like this.

"Okay, there we go." Evan slowly eased (Y/n) down on the gurney, watching with tears in his eyes as she brought her knees up to her stomach and curled up on her side.

She stayed still and compliant as Eddie held her left wrist out and swabbed the back of her hand so he could get a needle into her vein. He taped it in place and connected the IV bag which he placed on the end of the gurney beside (Y/n)'s feet.

"How exactly are we gonna do this?" Eddie murmured once they were in the lift. Neither of them could technically hide (Y/n) and Eddie doubted they would be able to rush her into the ambulance without Bobby clocking who she was.

And they had no idea how Bobby was going to react to this.

Evan shrugged his shoulders and kept his eyes focused on (Y/n). He dragged his fingers through her hair and let her hold his arm against her chest until the lift opened and he had to go back to steering the gurney again.

"Are we ready to go?" Hen clasped her hands together in front of her and tried to smile sympathetically towards Evan when they came outside.

None of them knew how to play this or what to do. They hadn't had an intimate situation like this on call before. But when Hen looked down at the gurney, her smiled faded and her shoulders dropped immediately. She knew who that girl was. She had seen that girl hundreds of times at Athena's house and her pictures were dotted all around the house and along the walls.

"Buck, do you need us to call anyone for you? We've got your shift covered-"

"Nope." Evan kept his head down and followed Eddie's lead, pushing the gurney ahead towards the ambulance. He let his eyes stay on (Y/n) as she reached her hand out and curled her fingers tightly around his wrist near her head.

They almost made it. They almost got to the ambulance, but Bobby moved at the wrong second. He moved just as Evan juttered the gurney down off the pavement, onto the road.

"Is- (Y/n)? Is that my daughter? Buck what the Hell have you done?!"

Evan cringed and tipped his chin down into his chest as they stopped walking. He could feel his whole body rattling like a cage and he felt (Y/n)'s nails puncture into his wrist deep enough to draw blood.

(Y/n) tried to keep her eyes closed, but she couldn't manage it. She just had to look up and see what kind of expression her dad was wearing. He had gone red. His jaw was grinding from side to side and she could see the vein throbbing in his neck. His hands were balled into fists but when he looked at her, he almost broke.

That was his daughter. That was Bobby's little girl. The one part of his family that hadn't been snatched away from him. And Evan had taken her. Evan was like a son to Bobby, but now he had wormed his way into (Y/n)'s life and he didn't have the decency to tell Bobby. He had to find out like this, that they were clearly in a relationship and now his daughter had lost a child he had no idea about.

Nodding his head, Evan looked at Eddie who got the hint and slowly backed up into the ambulance, pulling the gurney with him as Evan lifted it up. They couldn't stand and argue, they didn't have the time.

"You have no right to keep this from me!" Reaching a hand out, Bobby grabbed Evan roughly by the shoulder and wrenched him back before he had the chance to climb up into the ambulance. He pulled him back onto the road and spun him round so they were level.

Their expressions mirrored with locked jaws, bloodshot eyes and tears falling from their eyes.

"This isn't your call. It's mine."

"What the Hell did you just say to me?"

Evan froze when Bobby's hands latched back around his shoulders and forced him back until he was pinned up against the side of the ambulance. He couldn't find it in himself to care about the fury burning in his Captain's eyes. Usually seeing Bobby so upset with him would have crumbled Evan into a million little pieces.

But not today. Not anymore. Not after what he'd just seen (Y/n) go through.

"You two need to stop!" Eddie leaned his head around the side of the ambulance, fury burning in his eyes. How could they stand and argue this out here in the street when (Y/n) needed to get to a doctor? They were her family, they needed to support her not fight over her.

He could see neither of them were paying his words any attention. And Hen and Chimney stepped in to pull Bobby back and keep a safe distance between them both.

"If you give a fuck about her you'll pack it in because she's haemorrhaging again so get in here and let's go."

***

"She wants to see you." Evan expected some kind of snarky response when he leaned against the door and looked over at Bobby. He was waiting for something awful to be thrown his way, for a dirty look or a grimace or just something that would make him feel even worse about all of this.

All he got was Bobby's shoulder nudging his as he bypassed him and walked into the room.

"Buck-"

"Don't. Alright, just don't." He waved his hand towards Chimney before he turned round and shut the door. He wasn't in the mood for a lecture. He knew he should have told Bobby and the rest of the team, but Evan didn't want their sympathy or their words of advice.

He didn't want anything right now. It was bad enough that he knew Chimney, Hen and Eddie were going to be sat out there in the waiting room until Bobby was ready to go back to the station. They wouldn't leave until they knew (Y/n) was definitely okay and that Bobby and Evan weren't going to start a fight in the hospital.

(Y/n) looked up from her hands when the door closed. She watched her dad head her way like a train on full speed while Evan stayed near the door in case he needed a swift exit or one of the team to come play referee.

As soon as her dad was within reach, (Y/n) opened her arms and reached out for him. She locked her arms around his neck and pulled him down until he sat down on the edge of the bed. She couldn't stop the tears. When her face pressed into her dad's shoulder, she started to shake and quiet sobs muffled into his shirt.

She felt his arms go around her tightly and he held her just like he used to when she was a teenager, waking up with nightmares about the fire.

His arm deadlocked around her waist and his other hand moved to tangle in her hair as he kissed the top of her head.

"It's okay, it's okay sweetheart. You're okay."

"I'm sorry dad." (Y/n) kept her arms tight around Bobby's neck and stayed attached to his front so she didn't have to pull back and look up to see his broken expression.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"The first time you brought (Y/n) to the station, you told me and Eddie not to get any ideas. Would you have been happy for us if we told you?" Evan pushed off the door frame and moved to slump down in the chair next to the bed. He could feel all the energy draining out of his body almost immediately as he flopped his elbows down onto his thighs.

When (Y/n) first came down to the station, Bobby warned everyone not to try anything with her. Eddie and Evan had been the single guys at the time and they had gotten along well with (Y/n), that was enough to put Bobby on edge and warn then away from his daughter.

He didn't want her getting her heart broken by anyone in his team and if they got into a relationship and it ended badly, that would complicate things for the team. Not to mention, Bobby thought of Evan as his son so it didn't naturally go together in his mind for Evan to be with his daughter.

"I would try to understand." Something softened in Bobby's eyes when he looked over at Evan, despite the anger he could still feel rolling through him in waves.

He wished Athena would hurry up and get here. She was much better at sorting out family affairs and situations like this.

"We we're going to tell you at dinner next week… I was, I was trying to find a way to tell you both, about the baby."

(Y/n) finally leaned back and dropped her hands down to her lap as her eye stayed focused on her nails she began to scratch. There was no excuse for hiding this from her dad, but they had to explain that they were about to tell him. They never wanted him to find out like this.

"You didn't know?" Panic and pain burned bright in Bobby's eyes when he looked across at Evan who simply shook his head.

He had no idea fate decided he might have been given the chance to be a dad. He wouldn't have been able to hide it or contain himself if he knew, and that would have made him crash further when this situation happened. Evan still couldn't quite process the fact that they had lost a child. It didn't seem real, it wasn't cemented in yet.

"Okay. You need to get some rest now, we can talk about all of this over dinner when we get you home. You can tell me everything."

(Y/n) looked up from her hands with a flicker of confusion in her eyes as she looked up at her dad.

She was expecting the third degree lecture. She was waiting for him to tell her how much she'd hurt him by hiding this. She thought he would ask why she wanted to be with Evan when she knew how much he meant to Bobby and how close he was to their family.

Neither of them were expecting Bobby to relent and try to process this so quickly and easily.

"You- you mean it?"

"You should have told me, I'm still not thrilled about finding out like this… but Buck, you mean a lot to me. And seeing you with (Y/n) tonight, there's no one else I'd trust more with my daughter than you."

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #911 imagine #imagine #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #bobby nash

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cherryjuiceblues · 8 months

Text

𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 | 𝟑

➯ Y/N STARTS TO LEARN HOW HARRY LIKES TO PLAY AND THINGS TAKE A TURN WHEN SHE VISITS HIM AT WORK. ✰ dom!harry brief unwanted male attention. sexual content. dominant and submissive dynamics. spanking as a lighthearted punishment. inspection kink if you squint. slight daddy kink. tummy bulge. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 15k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

Y/N wakes up whilst the rest of the world is still asleep.

Granted, much later than she usually does, but she wakes up nonetheless. With a somewhat surprising lack of body heat pressing against her. She doesn’t register it at first because, well, Y/N is very much used to waking up on her own—without the weight, or heat, or comfort of another person—but then the memory of Harry asking her if she likes to cuddle resurfaces. Followed by the one in which he holds her tightly to his front and sends her to sleep quicker than she can ever remember doing so before.

So she doesn’t need to be any sort of sneaky as she makes her way down the lavish staircase and into Harry’s kitchen—the tiles cold on her bare feet. Somewhere deep down, Y/N registers that it’s probably a little weird and inappropriate to treat Harry’s kitchen as her own when they’re not really an item, but that hesitancy is quickly replaced by the idea of presenting him with breakfast as he wakes up. To treat him with the same care he has shown her. It erases all residual sleep from Y/N’s head.

She doesn’t even ponder as to why Harry was not next to her when she awoke—brushing past the questions in favour of searching his cupboards. Jars of sauce, tins of all sorts of healthy beans and soups Y/N wouldn’t dream of eating—stocked full and regularly consumed. His fridge is glorious; if not because of its contents then because it has a built-in ice dispenser. (Serious luxury that Y/N is confounded by.) And she immediately hones in on the punnet of blueberries that are practically beckoning her to pick them up—glowing and chanting her name—it would be rude to ignore such a demanding presence.

Immediately, Y/N knows what she wants to make, and starts going through unexplored drawers and cupboards with pointed scouring. “Come on, come on,” she whispers to herself, waiting for the long, thin box to jump out at her. It’s all she needs—everything else Harry is bound to have, but this? It’s the key.

Back in the fridge, is where Y/N finds it. Completely missed in her haste to search elsewhere; Y/N will admit it bypassed her that it needed to be stored in there at all (and maybe deny that she just wanted to snoop). Ready made puff pastry. Perfect for a blueberry pie.

Y/N is giddy at the thought—cheeks squishing with an excited smile as her top teeth dig into her bottom lip—of waking Harry up with the fresh smell of home baking and watching him as he swallows each bite. It’s exhilarating to her. Pleasurable, some may say. (Well, Y/N wouldn’t dare, but it certainly gets her heart racing.)

She’ll come to realise that doing something so elating, in the midst of night when she cannot sleep, is not the correct way of tiring herself out. Her cheeks practically ache from the smile she’s wearing as she tosses blueberries in a bowl with sugar, cornstarch and generous sprinklings of cinnamon and allspice. When she starts working on creating the lattice for the top of the pie, the concentration needed does admittedly cease some of her excitement. But it is only replaced by the stress of trying to make it look perfect. Which, additionally, only awakens her further. Everything but the idea of sleep is floating around in Y/N’s head.

But it’s going well! And Y/N stares down at her creation with a proud grin, ready to refrigerate in order to sneak back down in a few hours and cook it. She’s starting to clean up as quietly as she can when her lack of presence in bed is discovered.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Y/N spins around from where she’s washing up in the sink, heart lurching and utensils clattering against the porcelain, a shriek forcing its way out of her mouth. She relaxes when she sees Harry. And then panics again at his stern expression and the way his eyes drop to the hem of his shirt that brushes her thighs and the slight peek of his boxers that he’d graciously offered. “Um…”

“Ummm?” he parrots. “You’re just um-ing in my kitchen, are you?”

“No,” Y/N huffs, but she’s aware this is not her house, or her kitchen, or her food. “No, I’m… I was baking you something. I’m sorry.”

Harry nods, biting back the urge to ridicule with a ‘I can see that’. Instead, he asks, “What did I say not even twelve hours ago, love?”

“Uh…” her lack of articulation puts a smirk on Harry’s already smug face.

“Can’t remember? Were you not listening to me?”

Y/N flusters, scurrying around the counter to get closer to Harry’s leaning figure. “I was! But then you…” she trails off, looking towards the floor at his socked feet.

“I…” Harry coaxes. “I what?”

She looks up slowly, taking in the soft of his sweats and the tempting bareness of his chest. “You… y’know. It was hard to concentrate.”

“And why’s that, darling?”

“Harry,” Y/N whines, eyes rounding out at his expression—one of a winner—one of a person with the upperhand.

He becomes serious. “I told you I expected you to go to bed when I said.”

“I did!” she tries, “You didn’t say I couldn’t get up.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“You weren’t there when I woke up.”

Harry removes his weight from the doorframe. “I know.”

“Where did you go?”

“The garden.” The massive garden. “You see, I find some fresh air does wonders to tucker me out. Instead of spending hours baking a cake—”

“—It’s a pie.”

He laughs. “A pie. Forgive me. It couldn’t wait ‘til the morning? Hm?”

“I jus’ wanted to surprise you,” Y/N frowns. “Wanted to wake you up with it as a thank you.”

“A thank you? A thank you for what?”

She hesitates, “For this,” gesturing with her arms.

“You have nothing to thank me for, darlin’. I don’t want you to keep believing that.” He steps forward. “You’re very sweet. Incredibly sweet… I don’t need a pie, lovely. Especially not at three a.m.”

“But—”

Harry lifts the knuckle of his index finger to brush across her cheek, shaking his head softly.

“Finish cleaning in the morning. Come to bed.”

“I wanted to—”

“Y/N. Listen to me.” He moves closer. Y/N has to crane her neck to look at him. “Come to bed with me. I’ll get you back to sleep in no time. And in the morning, I will let you feed me pie until I bloody turn into one, okay?”

She hesitates—just for a second. Her eyes do feel heavy, and she really is tired. Harry’s eyes dance over her face so delicately, it feels as though they’re casting some sort of spell. And the longer she looks at him, the sleepier she becomes. So she nods her head. “Okay.”

ㅤㅤ

Harry’s bedroom is much like the rest of his house. White. And vast.

His bed—super king size, of course—lies temptingly in the middle of the room, sheets tastefully dishevelled, and the soft green of leaves printed on cotton contrasts against the drab lacking of the walls.

Harry trails Y/N back to his bed, soothing in the way his palm ghosts across her back as he coaxes her under the covers. He lies down next to her, lifting an arm to allow her to rest on his chest. She’s shy, feather light in the way she puts her head upon him, but they both relax the moment they’re weighed down by one another.

“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth f’me… nice and slow.”

She listens, encouraged by the dance of his fingers across her skin. Swooping curls and waves along the soft lines of her shoulder, down her arm and back up again. Brushing tendrils away from sensitive extremities and smoothing them in a nurturing caress against her head. It’s cathartic—the silence that overtakes Y/N’s mind. Or hushed whisperings as opposed to the usual blaring exclamations; as though Harry has crossed the threshold of a library with Y/N’s hand in his and hidden her away from the domination of her thoughts.

So it takes very little for sleep to crowd her senses, unconsciousness barrelling towards her when Harry starts painting whispering images behind her eyelids—the deep, vibrating timbre of his voice soaking into her skin and carrying her away.

“You’ll love the garden…”

“...enough flowers to bathe you in…”

“It needs a little care but I think you’ll breathe life into the soil just by standing on it.”

“...plant thousands of yellow tulips just for you…”

And Y/N can only just hear the way his tongue moulds around the syllables to form words, as the tender hands of sleep pull her deeper into the fog, and if she were more alert her heart would soar… but her lips pull upwards and her nose presses into the soft of Harry’s throat as he waxes lyrical about his garden.

She falls asleep with a mirage of colours forming kaleidoscopes in her mind—petals, and leaves, and tendrils of grass harbouring a certain figure bathing in the glistening sunlight.

ㅤㅤ

Wet.

Sensitive.

Those are the only two feelings Y/N can process as she’s torn from the comforting embrace of slumber.

Harry’s hair is soft and smells far too familiar for a man she has known for a handful of weeks. But it smells good, and Y/N nearly pushes her nose into it before she realises the culprit of her waking emotions.

His tongue flat against her neck… followed by the blunt nipping of his teeth around her delicate skin. It’s not something Y/N is well equipped to react to—especially not as she is waking and the world is still blurry around the edges. A shaky breath is what alerts Harry to her consciousness and Y/N feels him smile into her throat, ministrations doubling as he rumbles a rogue growl and opens his mouth wide in the pretence of a chomp around her jugular.

She squeals, hands coming up to the solidness of his chest of their own accord, palms flattening against him. The weight of his body against the side of hers bears no struggle against her pathetic attempt—he only leans in further, licking and nibbling to his heart’s desire. His encompassing hand swallows one of her own on his body, pulling it away and pushing it into the pillow as he stimulates every nerve on her neck—coaxing the blood to the surface of her skin and leaving behind the aching reminder of his presence.

“I surrender…” Y/N whispers into the air, words trailing off into a sigh.

Harry hums, “Too bad.”

She could fall asleep again so easily. Believe this is all a dream and let Harry gently abuse her flesh until her breathing evens out. But then his hand settles on her stomach, large, and warm, and weighted—only soothing her further—until it starts to trail lower. Under the covers, under the boxers he’d let her wear, and over her pubic bone.

Y/N’s eyes shoot open then, and her back darts up from the mattress in surprise. Harry peels away from her neck, lips succulent and begging to be chewed upon the way he demonstrated against her throat. His eyes are still slightly puffy from sleep and the mess of his hair makes him look charmingly youthful. But he’s far too smug for a regular person’s liking—really embodying that of his teenage self, Y/N is sure—however the assurance he displays on his face only has the warmth of his hand searing her further as they look at one another.

“Good morning.” His vocal cords rub together like gravel and his fingers dip down with fluid contrast.

Y/N gasps, letting her back press into the mattress once more as Harry strokes along her lips almost playfully, like they are his own to toy with. His eyes smile teasingly at the girl and her little breathy inhales. She opens her mouth to speak but words fail to form when Harry touches her clit with a circle so light it may not have ever been there.

“Sleep well?” A finger ghosts around her entrance, arousal coating his digit as he brings it back up and presses with intention.

A shaky inhale. “Y-yes…” she pauses, clings onto coherence, “Sir.”

Harry smiles. “Oh? Maybe you were listening t’me… that’s a shame. I still have to demonstrate my utmost disappointment in you, pretty girl.”

“You don’t ha-have to,” Y/N gasps, eyes catching the movement of Harry’s hand to the top of her head—gentle caressing never suggesting he could be doing anything else under the sheets.

“Oh, but I do, darling. But just to make sure we’re on the same page…” he pushes his middle finger inside her to the hilt. Y/N’s back arches. “Why am I disappointed in you?”

The question stirs something murky inside of her. Completely different to the feeling of his finger curling upwards and pulling a moan from her mouth.

Why am I disappointed in you?

It feels so… wrong, so ugly parting from his lips. Y/N never intended to disappoint him—it’s not part of her nature to upset anyone on purpose. Her brows furrow slightly, self consciousness brewing in her heart. Was she always doing things wrong? Frustrating people? Letting them down?

“I— um…” she swallows, “I got up after you told me to go to bed.”

Harry continues to display apathy. “Mhm… and you—”

Y/N covers her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her breathing is shallow, mind screaming at her for messing this all up so soon. She thought she was being nice, she thought Harry would be pleased, she thought—

“Hey,” Harry pulls her hands away. “You know you’re such a good girl, don’t you? It’s all words, lovely, I would communicate with you if I was really affected by something you had done.”

She exhales some—relief flooding her eyes. “Oh…” palms pushing into her sockets to soak up the tears. She grimaces. “I feel silly.”

“Don’t.” He presses a small kiss to Y/N’s cheek, right under her eyelashes. “You understand the idea of punishment? That I am to reprimand you if you misbehave?”

Y/N nods. It was exciting… she knows that… once the fog has been cleared. Just a fun, little game.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, I— I want you to… to tell me off… I deserve it, Sir.”

“Because you got up, didn’t you? And what else?”

“I… I used your food without permission…”

“What else?” he whispers.

“I don’t… know,” her voice quietens to match his.

“Three a.m., Y/N. There is no need to zombify yourself because you think it will make me happy. It won’t. I’d much prefer a pie baked whilst the sun is still shining.”

Harry moves his finger inside of her, stroking before pulling it out and smearing it over her clit. He brings the wetness to her mouth, rubbing it along her bottom lip and smiling when her jaw unlatches ever so slightly.

“But I recognise the sweetness,” Y/N’s tongue darts out to entice his finger. “You wanted to feed me, wake me up with a hot breakfast—so quick to become my good, little housewife, aren’t you?” His words send shivers through her chest, down her stomach, and between her legs. That’s… God, she doesn’t know but she likes it. “And so… I’ll be nice. Flip over.”

Y/N’s not totally daft… but the question falls out anyway. “Why?”

Harry’s eyes harden, fingers squeezing her cheeks together. “Do it, darling. Now.”

She does. With haste, face pressing into the pillow as she turns it to the side. Harry lifts a leg over the back of her thighs, weight holding her down as his large hands smooth up her back to push her shirt away. “Let me see that pretty, little arse,” he sighs to himself before tugging her borrowed boxers down just enough to expose the soft flesh. Y/N doesn’t expect the kneading that his palms start to soothe her with. His perfect fingers massaging in pushes and pulls. It’s a little humiliating, knowing that he’s observing her—the most vulnerable of states—but with it comes the most trusting freedom and she breathes a deep sigh as her limbs relax into his mattress.

But it’s supposed to be a punishment, isn’t it? And Y/N realises too late, once Harry’s hand has already retracted and sliced through the air to deliver a well-connecting smack to the round of her ass. She gasps, hips twitching—and her leg even threatens to bend up in the air—as heated pinpricks tingle around the shape of Harry’s handprint. It’s admittedly quite nice. Nice enough to probably not be considered a punishment but Y/N would never complain. And she supposes Harry had promised her his niceness.

“Is that okay?” he asks quickly, relieved when Y/N nods just as fast and pushes her bum back into his hand.

The heat spreads, sending electrical currents through Y/N’s veins and making her already wet cunt contract around nothing. “You are a divine little thing,” she hears him through her rushing blood. Another slap to the other cheek, followed by her quivering breaths and muffled whimpers as she turns her head into the pillow. “Even more heavenly with a hot bottom,” Harry hums, stroking the backs of his knuckles over her fiery skin.

Y/N’s already lightheaded, after two measly spanks. She suspects somewhere in the depths of her brain that Harry could knock her about if he so desired and that she really must take efforts to improve her stamina but… when she feels his lips press soft kisses to her bum—everything melts away. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is even and she’s sinking into a fluffy cloud miles and miles above the ground.

And she’s silly. Very silly.

Because Harry spanks her again, and she should’ve expected that two would hardly count as her retribution but they felt so good and her brain was so easily consoled by him.

These ones are harder. And in rapid succession. These ones have Y/N’s head rising from the pillow in a gasp that sounds less dreamy and more like the predecessor to a very loud—

“Shit!”

Which earns her two more smacks to either cheek. “Language, Y/N.”

“Sorry, Sir. Hurts—” The initial heat she was bathed in is now closer to that of a scalding shower than warm sunshine. It’s pulsing, radiating, steaming heat that may as well be smoking off her body in profuse clouds of vapour. Harry’s rough in the treatment of her skin now, kneading to watch the malleable flesh bend at his will instead of caressing to lull Y/N into a peaceful state.

He hums. “I know, bum’s on fire, love. You’re doing very well. Let’s do two more, shall we?”

“O-okay,” Y/N nods face down. Until Harry leans over her back momentarily and positions her head to the side once more, smearing his lips to the corner of her mouth in a possessive reward of a kiss.

“Such a good girl. Just two more f’me.” His voice is soft but his hands stay bruising as they come down twice more. Y/N sighs as soon as the last one resounds around Harry’s room, and the vibrations die down into their residual tingles. It hurts—but in a calming way. Y/N’s body feels not her own; she needn’t move her own limbs or think thoughts with her own brain. There’s no need—she has nothing to contemplate anyway.

On another day, she might have cried at this realisation—at the complete and utter profuse emptiness that allows for the first serenity she has ever known. No anxieties, no needs or responsibilities. Just Harry and his bed. And her hot skin. But right now, as Harry leans over her again, gracing her with the sight of his handsome face… Y/N can only smile.

“I think someone enjoyed that a little too much,” Harry murmurs, bracing himself above her, hair curling over his forehead whilst he tugs her boxers back up.

“Sorry, Sir,” Y/N whispers, tongue heavy. “I’m good? I won’t get up in the night, I promise.”

“You’re good. Took your first spanking so well…” He pauses to stroke down the bridge of her nose and relish in the fluttering of her lashes as her eyes fall shut. “Shall we fill up on some pie now, yeah?”

Y/N snaps out of it a little then, and is suddenly hit by the waves of her throbbing pussy, as she pushes up slightly on her elbows. “B-but…”

Harry leans back, confusion passing over his features. He was sure she’d be more excited. “What’s wrong, love?”

She whispers it, like it’s some sort of secret. “You… I’m still…” her eyes clench shut in embarrassment.

He clocks the cause of her whinging immediately. “Mm, I know you are. Probably made a mess of my boxers, haven’t you? Should we check?” Y/N squeals and rolls out of Harry’s reach… or she tries to but fails to make any sort of meaningful distance. “You wanna come? Is that it? Your greedy cunt wants to come.” Harry watches as she nods her head pitifully, eyes wide and lip protruding like she has no idea what she’s doing. Minx. “What have you done to deserve that?” His hands clasp her hips deliciously as he takes his place above her, securing her in his prison of arms. “Not much of a punishment if I give you an orgasm, is it, darlin’?”

She doesn’t speak. Only looks up at him like he built the very house they lie in. Harry leans down to kiss her awaiting mouth. A sweet smack as they part and the widening of Y/N’s already melted eyes... and then he’s taking her by force, manoeuvring her back onto her stomach and hitting right in the centre of her bum, before pushing up from the mattress to look down at her with a mischievous grin and an offering hand. In a dizzyingly fast sequence of actions.

Y/N squawks, unexpecting of his cruel attack. “Ow!” She cries, kneeling up to protect her sensitive skin from his barrage. (Not that Harry couldn’t put her in any position he liked.)

“Come on, up y’get. S’breakfast time. Colazione!”

And Y/N is left to watch Harry’s broad, bare back disappear from view as she kneels on his mattress with a scorching ass and sodden underwear.

ㅤㅤ

She doesn’t mean to be ungrateful. It’s a lack of filter combined with a slight grumpiness which is understandable after the way Harry left her.

So it’s with instant regret that Y/N enters the kitchen, slides onto a stool and asks, “What’s this?” in reference to the bowl placed before her.

Harry scoffs in amusement. “It’s fruit, darlin’, you eat it all the time.” And fruit it was. An eclectic pile of all sorts of yummy stuff—strawberries, bananas, mangos, kiwis to name a few—no blueberries because Y/N had used them, of course.

She can’t help herself. “But not for breakfast!”

“What’s wrong? Not good enough for you?”

And she realises then, how unthankful she had sounded. “No! I didn’t—” she clamps shut her open mouth, eyes widening and then narrowing when Harry’s lips start to curl.

He sits himself on the stool next to Y/N, knees turned to the side so he can look at her. “Tell me,” he pokes her thigh with his index finger, just as she places a chunk of mango into her mouth.

She reaches over to poke him in return. “Tell you what?”

“What do you eat for breakfast?”

“Oh… no,” she shakes her head, mango sitting in her cheek for a second as she speaks.

“No? It’s bad then… Let me guess…” He hums, fingers tapping his chin in faux contemplation. And somehow, in true Harry fashion, he gets it right first try. A horrified look overtakes his features. “Don’t tell me… you eat those chocolate filled pillow things, do you?”

Y/N tries to school her shock to no avail, but she says nothing, eyes darting between his in rapid motions. She shoves a strawberry in her mouth.

“Oh, the terror! How could you?” Harry gasps, helping himself to a slice of toast from the rack on the middle of the island counter. He starts to spread raspberry conserve on it, head shaking the entire time—fighting the urge to start spewing fabricated statistics in order to frighten her. “Who am I kidding? Of course you eat that filth… I don’t know if I can have relations with someone who starts their day with a bowlful of pure sugar.”

Y/N giggles, fruit bulging in her cheeks as she covers her mouth with her hand. “Have—” she swallows, “—relations with? Were you born in 1954?”

Harry smiles, “That’s very specific, love.”

“Well I like to specify, so…” she supplies midchew, face looking ever so matter of fact.

He watches her as they eat, eyes trained to her fingers as they pick up lumps of fruit and bring them to her wet lips, her tongue as it pokes out to catch whatever she offers, her throat as it contracts around a swallow. It’s peaceful, and quiet as the two share the silence with one another. And when Y/N has finished her last mouthful and Harry has long since eaten his toast, he makes his way to the oven to retrieve the most beautiful blueberry pie he has ever seen. Golden lattice, bubbling purple spilling, and the divine smell of home baked confection.

Y/N’s eyes light up as though it’s Christmas morning, hands clapping under her chin and eyes crinkling in the most beautiful sight. “Oh! It looks good, Harry!” She sounds surprised, relievingly so—like it had been weighing on her unnecessarily.

“It looks delicious, Y/N, thank you. Want some?” She nods eagerly. Harry can’t help but smile, gaze directed to the floor as he shakes his head and represses the urge to coo. She’s so cute. “See, since you made it for me, I should really make you beg for even a taste.”

“Wh—” Y/N huffs, “what? That’s not fair,” she pouts.

Harry sits back down with a steaming slice on a plate. Fork in hand, he cuts a sizable segment and purses his lips to blow cool air before presenting it to Y/N. “Be careful, s’hot.” She pretends not to notice his stare concentrating on the appearance of her tongue as she opens her mouth for him to guide the pie into. It is hot. But Y/N is a master of deception… or so she tries to be. Decides the twitch of her eye and the sharp inhale of breath is unnoticeable to Harry. “You burned your tongue?”

Never mind.

Through a mouthful, Y/N goes, “No…” and chews the result of her hard work until she can swallow. “It’s nice,” she hums.

“Mm,�� he agrees around his own bite. “Sweet little baker, you are.” Y/N buzzes from his praise. “Let me see.”

“Hm?”

“Your tongue, let me see.”

Y/N nearly laughs, but the look in his eyes stops her. A smugness that she’s used to by now. So she displays it for him, wet against her bottom lip. Harry inhales, a dismayed whistle sounding from his mouth. His thumb swipes along the side. “Very red. Told you t’be careful.”

She wants to grumble at him, complain about the unfairness of his statement. You fed it to me! It’s on the tip of her tongue. Her very red tongue, apparently. But she bites it back—because quite frankly, the middle of her thighs are still sending turbulent waves through her body and Harry’s patronising inspection of the inside of her mouth has pulled her back to the edge she’s tried so hard to scramble away from. The edge in which Harry only needs to look at her funny for her to topple over it.

“Poor thing,” he frowns. “I’ll have to kiss it better later.”

Y/N stares at him as he eats, opening her mouth obediently whenever he offers her another bite. His words, however teasing or condescending that they may be, float around in her skull like a DVD logo as she makes every effort not to slip into the palm of his hand.

ㅤㅤ

When Harry announces he’s off to shower and beckons Y/N to follow, she knows it can’t be good—whatever he is about to subject her to. He plays it off like it’s nothing, like it’s casual to leave the bathroom door open whilst he steps under the hot spray, completely naked. And maybe it is… to people that aren’t Y/N, but she knows Harry is trying to embed his way under her skin. That’s why he tells her to wait for him on his bed.

She doesn’t snoop, although she wants to, but it would be a violation of his privacy and who was Y/N if she wasn’t good? She doesn’t look into the bathroom either, despite not being able to see a thing through the gap (closer to a chasm) he’d left open. Was he trying to tempt her? To corrupt the last shred of virtue in her body? Did he want her to go in there… strip down and join him? Or was he looking for an excuse to play rough with her skin again? Waiting for her to walk in so he could look down at her with conniving eyes and shake his head in disappointment. You filthy girl. Are you a pervert, Y/N? Who gave you permission to come in here and sneak a glance? You’re so naughty, darlin’.

Clammy fingers press into her cheeks, trying to will away the shame. She felt perverted just thinking those things. Which perhaps is a little silly of her, seeing as they’ve been as connected as two people can be on two separate occasions now but… maybe there’s an inkling of something there that Y/N doesn’t want to accept. That the coalescence of the humiliation and arousal means for an intense curling in her abdomen. That the longer she pictures Harry belittling her for being so dirty to peek at him at his most vulnerable, that the hotter her face gets and the further her thoughts stray from sanity.

Maybe she’s just wound up from this morning… or maybe Y/N likes it best when she’s treated like she’s just a stupid little girl. Her thighs squeeze. Stupid for hypothetically walking into the bathroom, stupid for baking a pie at three a.m., stupid for burning her tongue after Harry told her to be careful. She’s stupid—and she needs Harry to do everything for her. Maybe that’s it.

The water turns off. And Y/N can hear the swishing of a towel as Harry pulls it off the rack, the way it rubs over the droplets running rivulets down his shining skin, and then nothing. She hears nothing… but it hardly matters for very long because when Harry steps into his bedroom undeniably naked, Y/N is far from thinking about identifying sounds.

Her first urge is to look away—to provide some sort of privacy for the man in his own bedroom. But she forces herself to look into his eyes. This is the man who cherished her first time, who cared to speak in soft caresses and made the effort to take her on dates and cook her food. She didn’t need to look away, she was allowed to stare by this point. But it was still… heartstopping. Nudity was still novel to Y/N—she was, even now, fairly uncomfortable by her own, let alone someone else's, but God if Harry wasn’t the best example to study.

“Pervert,” Harry murmurs. Y/N blanches; she opens her mouth but nothing comes out. And now her eyes are fixed on his—any attempts at subtly trailing them down his body are strictly thwarted—and Harry is loving it. His perfectly square teeth digging into his pink bottom lip whilst he strolls his way over to his wardrobe. Y/N looks down for the moment she thinks he cannot see, only to realise there are mirrors inside of the doors and he can watch every movement of her eyeline. He turns. “You’re a little peeping Tom,” walking towards where Y/N sits at the end of the bed.

She has to look up at him (avoiding the sight of his cock that she is sure must be the only pretty one in existence) and he stares down at her. She hardly recognises the irony—that he’s the one parading around in the nude and it was hardly fair to call her out for simply observing that. Because then he’s moving forward again, and Y/N is shuffling backwards on the bed—inadvertently giving Harry enough room to climb on and pin her down. He glides his eyes over her still clothed body as though she’s as exposed as he is, and yet Y/N still doesn’t let her gaze drop. No matter how hard it is.

It isn’t hard. Yet. But she gasps at the feeling of Harry against her thigh—soft, and lingering, and most of all… promising.

“How would you like it if I scrutinised you?” His hands tease her waist. “You’d be squirming all over the place. Perhaps you’d enjoy that.” His fingers dig into her flesh and Y/N lets out somewhat of a scream. The unexpected prodding has her body twisting under his, desperate to escape his digits and proving his point in the process. Her hands push against his chest and her thighs wiggle between his; she’s surely not imagining the hardening of his dick against her. The arousal he’s receiving from watching her struggle… it makes her move even more. And maybe it’s simply an accident when her hand slips down his body and wraps around his half-hard cock. And maybe it’s just reflexive when Y/N giggles, a happy, surprised noise, at the stuttering of Harry’s tickling and the little rut of his hips. But then her arms are pinned down beside her head and his breath is ghosting across her mouth. “Who told you it was okay to touch? I thought you were an obedient little thing… not a brat.”

And Y/N nearly feels offended. A brat? Never. “Sorry,” she whispers, eyes shimmering with light.

“Are you?” Harry hums, dropping enough to draw his nose across the line of her jaw.

“Yes,” her eyes flutter closed. She needs to be touched, more than ever before. She can feel the increasing weight of Harry growing against her stomach, and the heat of his breath kissing her neck, and the wet tendrils of his hair dripping down her temple. “Not a brat.” He’s won already, if the breathiness of her voice is anything to go by.

He sits up, leaving cold air in his absence. Y/N blinks with confusion. Why’d he stop?

“Okay, little miss ‘Not a Brat’, up y’get.” She sits, frown on her pretty lips. “Your turn, off y’go.” Harry points to the bathroom. “There’s a clean towel in there for you,” Y/N could cry, “and I’ll lay your clothes out when you’re done.”

She doesn’t argue. She wants to, but her eyes only round out, silent begging getting her nowhere as Harry smiles and leans down to kiss her brow. So saccharine and gentle after being so cruel. It drives her round the bend. But as she makes her way over to the door and makes sure to shut and lock it—her own little victory—Y/N starts looking forward to lathering herself in Harry’s smell… and maybe memorising which shower gel he uses so she can buy some herself…

It’s with false confidence that Y/N exits the bathroom, towel gripped tightly around her but not tight enough to suggest shyness. Even though Harry can see right through her. He’d said he’d lay her clothes out but all she sees is a dress hanging up on the door of his wardrobe, and Harry sitting back against his pillows—dressed in his corduroy shorts and a blue t-shirt with a big yellow smiley face in the centre—nursing a cup of tea.

“Uh— is that…” she starts, eyes struggling to look away from the delicate fabric.

“Mhm,” Harry hums.

“How did you… how did you know my size?”

“I’m observant, sweetheart.”

“I… Thank you, Harry. It’s so pretty.” And it is. Dark green with an intricate décolletage and no back, thin straps and two lines of fabric hanging down behind ready to be tied into a bow that rests just under the ribs. It looks as though it’ll hang mid thigh and swish against her skin airily. It’s exactly something Y/N would have picked out herself.

He’s looking at her when he hums once more in agreement. “Isn’t it just…” He takes a long gulp. “Pop it on then, love.” Y/N reaches out to grab the hanger, eyes roaming along the lines of the dress and then floating up to smile at Harry. Hesitant, worried she doesn’t deserve it and elated at the same time. “G’na drop your towel?” He grins.

And sure, maybe Y/N was more than happy to admire a naked Harry but that doesn’t mean he’d be lucky enough to see her in the same position. Shameless eyes roving across her curves and searing her skin in the process. So she shakes her head with flaming cheeks and quickly bolts back into the bathroom to the sound of Harry’s disbelieving chuckle.

It’s snug to her body, and something about knowing that Harry had browsed through clothes with her in mind, had seen this very one and decided it was perfect, makes it all the prettier on Y/N’s body. She giggles to herself, admiring the dress against her skin, and angling her body in the mirror to get a better look.

She was pretty and she believed it. It felt nice.

Save for the glaringly obvious breeze in between her thighs.

“Harry…” she calls as she opens the door. “Can you tie me up?”

He smiles, choosing to ignore the versatility of her question in favour of drinking in the sight before him. A Goddess, he’s sure. “You’re just lovely, aren’t you?” Y/N’s face blossoms, shy smile fighting to stay and claim its place. Her eyes crinkle and her irises brighten and the laugh that echoes around the room makes Harry’s chest hurt. “Turn around.”

He wishes bows were notoriously difficult to tie—so that he would be able to spend much longer brushing his fingers against the exposed skin of her back and tracing his gaze over the hair that rises on her arms from his touch alone. His hands close around her hips once he’s finished, as he bends down to press a kiss to her shoulder, stubble scratching her in a way that’s all too familiar.

She exhales, “You ripped my underwear,” and feels him smile into her skin.

“Such a shame, isn’t it?” Warm palms squeeze, bunching the material around his fingers. “At any moment… a breeze could just…” he flips the hem of her dress up and over her ass, “expose...” Y/N squeals, trying to step forward but Harry’s heavy grip has her thumping into his front with a loud exhalation of breath and smaller hands falling on top of his. The material of his shorts is rough against her flesh, but she wants to grind back against it despite the fact. Harry’s hard chest pressing into her back and his deep breaths fluttering over her shoulder has any attempts at escaping evaporating into the air before them. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” He whispers, face turning into her cheek as he pushes into her behind gently.

“N-no,” Y/N shakes her head as it lolls back slightly to rest against him.

“Well… let’s hope the wind doesn’t pick up,” and he’s stepping away from her, grinning at her little stumble when the sturdiness of him is gone.

“What?”

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? I was thinking we’d go for a little walk.” Y/N turns, fingers coming down to pull her dress tight against her thighs. Harry looks at her with no remorse—like her flustered expression and the clear want in her eyes means nothing to him. His tongue darts out to lick his lips; weapons as far as Y/N is concerned. “Grab your shoes,” he nods and Y/N follows his gaze to the top of the wardrobe… conveniently out of her reach. And not where she had left them the day before.

“You—” she narrows her eyes. He’s the pervert. “I can’t!”

“Try.” A cunning smile.

Y/N crosses her arms over her chest—which only serves to push her adorned breasts up—so she drops them with a huff and stomps over to make a fool out of herself, she’s sure. She stands on her toes, ignoring the cool air on the tops of her thighs. Whether Harry may or may not be watching the hem tease the underside of her bum is none of her concern, quite frankly. That sounds like a him problem. Her fingers stretch out as far as they can go and she’s a fraction of a hair’s length away. Maybe she could reach them if she jumped but there’s no way her modesty would stay hidden and Y/N refuses to let him win.

“Can’t reach,” she pouts, somewhat satisfied that Harry didn’t get the full eyeful he was clearly looking for. But it seems that Harry finds a way to win even when he’s losing, because he steps up to her, smooths a big palm over the top of her head and says as though it's the most casual thing in the world…

“That’s okay, let Daddy get it,” as he plucks her shoes down without the slightest hint of a stretch.

Y/N’s mouth falls open and her brain goes silent for a split second. Let Daddy get it. Surely she didn’t like that… did she? But he doesn’t even let her question it, because he’s telling her to put her shoes on and meet him downstairs, before walking out of his room and leaving an astounded Y/N on her own.

ㅤㅤ

Flowers are fucking pointless, right? What purpose do they serve, other than looking pretty? Y/N thinks she might just pick the next petals she sees right off their stems.

Sure. Maybe they're crucial to the welfare of bees, and maybe they’re very important in the cheering up of a person after a long, hard day—or even just as a silent way of apologising to your nan for your lack of visits… but Y/N doesn’t care. She does not care. Fuck walks, fuck flowers, and fuck Harry’s fingers twining with hers. Even though they feel really, really nice. Y/N can’t take it anymore.

The wind, thankfully, stays at a very enjoyable speed. Light and breezy; nothing that may cause frantic hands to fly to her dress to hold it down after a shocking gust. And whilst Harry may have alluded to the fact that her indecent exposure was some source of amusement for him, he too is relieved that he’s not had to do any emergency fixes.

Quite surprisingly, actually, Harry has turned off all allure. Literally. As though he has a switch on the back of his head that flicks from sultry to sweet. The moment the pair had reached a road, he’d been alert—insistent on Y/N switching with him to be furthest away from the onslaught of cars. It was… thoughtful. Unexpected, somewhat, when the whole Daddy thing was still going round… and round… and round inside of her head. She hadn’t really been paying much attention to his soft murmurs, asking her to change sides with him as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. Perhaps she was further gone than she realised, when all she could do was nod with a sort of lag, and only meet his eyes for a second before she caught the look of an incoming pram—weighed down by the peaceful sight of a sleeping baby.

If Harry notices then he doesn’t say anything—perhaps his hand tightens around hers and he walks a little closer than necessary—but he doesn’t mention her mood or his.

He buys her ice cream and walks them to a public park in which he prompts her to sit on the verdant grass and props his sunglasses on her nose. He pulls her calves across his lap and watches goosebumps follow in the wake of his soft fingertips and the bumps of his knuckles as he caresses her skin. He kisses her chin where a melty drop paints her, licking his lips with a smile that scrunches his eyes. He behaves appropriately and yet… Y/N suddenly wants to have very public sex. He calls her a messy girl in the most innocent of lilts but the insinuation, the different sort of mess that she starts picturing—the very same colour of the frozen treat she is licking.

Y/N’s eyes are absent, the pair are hardly talking to one another, and her legs buzz with every touch of Harry’s hands against them. Her answers are reduced to halfhearted hums and gradual nods all while he watches her with a fond regard.

She can’t be blamed—when the closing of his front door prompts the last of her composure to disintegrate; to fall apart at the seams and land in a frail mess on the floor. Y/N wants to join it more than anything. “Please…” a whisper falls from her bitten lips, too quiet to make out the word but the noise is carried. Harry’s hand meets the small of her back and then brushes up to smooth over her shoulder as he lifts her chin up with his index finger.

“What is it?” His brows pull together. Y/N can’t speak. Her focus dances from left to right—rapid movements—unspoken urgency. “You need to tell me… with your words, no matter how pretty your eyes look.” Smaller, nervous palms push into his stomach. Knees bend and meet hard floor. Harry’s fingers tangle into her hair, gripping but not tugging—holding her head at an angle. “This isn’t talking, darling. What are you trying to do down there?”

Y/N cups the backs of his knees, hardly registering the sarcasm that drips from his tongue. “Harry…”

“Is it?” A little yank against her scalp.

“Sir,” she tries again around a swallow. “Please can I…” her hand flattens to the front of his thigh, fingertips brushing the locked teeth of his zipper. “Can I?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to,” he hums, warm voice forcing her deeper into the plunge pool filled with honeyed tones and twining brunette tendrils. “I thought you liked to specify.”

She shuffles closer on her knees, hardly possible to do without nosing his shorts. “Can I suck your cock, Sir?”

Harry breaks out into a smile—his teeth appear in straight, pearly lines—stuttering Y/N’s train of thought; her exhale hitting his skin. And then the hand in her hair tightens, and his jaw clenches as his words harden. “May I.”

Y/N gasps at the sensation, blink overcoming her as her head is jolted from the weight of his hand. “May I?” She urges. “May I suck your cock, Sir?”

“Hm, better,” his grip loosens, other hand lifting to thumb over her brow. “Not perfect. What are you missing?”

“Please?” When Harry nods, Y/N’s hand digs into his thigh. “Please may I suck your cock, sir?”

“That’s nice,” he smiles. “How much do you want it, hm?”

Y/N’s brows twitch, lips forming a sad curve. She wants it so much. Too much to be able to coherently express it. So she leans forward, nose finally meeting his thigh—pressing up on her knees to reach where a slight bump is forming and letting her face push into his covered skin. His thickening bulge.

Harry sighs; his lungs forcibly deflating as Y/N’s warm air saturates through the corduroy. Her nose nudges around as she nestles into his crotch, delicate hands scratching the backs of his thighs. A muffled please reaches his ears, quiet but desperate. He’s a patient man—he really is—but his tolerance is being tested.

The fingers in her hair untangle, moving to hold the back of her head and push her further into him. His hips move of their own accord, suffocating Y/N with his hardening cock. She deserves it; she deserves everything. He knows that—but it had been too fun to tease… to watch her silently struggle all afternoon. To know that the spanking he’d delivered earlier this morning had stayed with her all day. He already knew they could hardly count as a punishment… not when she mollified into his mattress after the first smack. But he’d been cruel today. And now Y/N was desperate.

“Go ahead ‘n’ unzip me, love.” The eyes that greet him make Harry want to get down on his knees himself. Wide, glistening, one step away from filling with tears. Her face relaxes with an almost-smile as she tugs his zipper down, looking back up to him with a hopeful expression. “Oh, you’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He slides his hand into the hair behind her ear, firm grip grounding Y/N, and takes himself out for her.

Y/N unfolds her tongue for Harry like it’s a red carpet—like it’s been awaiting his cock all day. His fingers wrap around himself in firm strokes, eyes stuck to hers. They’re slow motions, hips jutting forward to smear across her tongue and then pulling back to rub her spit into his head. Groans settle in his chest but all that comes out are quiet breaths. Too quiet, if you were to ask Y/N. But the harder he gets, the louder too, and those breaths become pants when Harry slaps his cock on her open mouth.

“Look at that, you’re so sweet—so eager to please.” He can tell she wants to close her mouth around him. She gets another thud against her tongue instead. And then a smear as Harry guides the tip of his cock along the plush of her lips. “So please me, baby.”

Y/N lags a little, like she’s just become shy again, and then she slips forward just enough to take the head. Her slick lips wrap around him like a dream, pulling back just to run her tongue around the mushroom tip. Her blueberry-pie-burnt-tongue. Slender fingers massage the side of her scalp, thumb stretching to stroke her cheekbone.

Harry grips himself, “Hands behind your back, f’me, there you go.” She suckles the tip, anticipating eyes saying more than words could even try to articulate. Y/N’s posture slouches some, arms pressing into her back serving to be much too heavy in her state. “Sit up straight.” Because it’s not ladylike to slouch but it is to suck cock. She listens, taking Harry deeper into her mouth in the process. But he pulls back to push into the side of her cheek. “Pretty,” he swipes his thumb back and forth over the bump.

Y/N’s face twists into a frown, pulling against the resistance of his big hand and off his cock. “I thought…” she breathes in a deep breath, “Please let me. Let me…”

“Why do you want to suck my cock so bad, huh?”

He has an idea. He’s not dim—he knows there are probably floods of thoughts swimming against the tide in her little head. That’s just the way Y/N exists; constantly battling her own mind. And Harry had somewhat decided, earlier that day, that he would go searching for all her buttons. That he would learn her tells as soon as possible in order to keep things smooth sailing.

Of course, learning where someone’s buttons are also means they must be pressed… all at once… and not switched off. Harry isn’t punishing her, per say—he regards it as more of a necessary evil. A process that cannot be ignored.

Y/N certainly isn’t ignoring it. Or she isn’t now. He was impressed with her, in ways. Those sweet attempts at concealing all feeling; at pretending she wasn’t pulsating between the centre of her thighs. Perhaps in order to keep him happy, or to win the silent war they were waging—he’s unsure as of yet. But he’ll find out.

However (and this is precisely why Harry felt the need to do all this) he’s somewhat perturbed by Y/N’s lack of vocalisation of her emotions. Communication, Harry feels, is the most important thing in any sort of relationship. He’s urged her, although perhaps not enough, to tell him how she feels—no matter if he is the one causing those feelings. In fact, that means for even more of a reason to let him know. So that he can make it better. There’s no doubt in Harry’s mind that if Y/N had asked at breakfast to make the ache go away, he would’ve sunk to his knees. And then rewarded her even further just for telling him.

But now they’re here. And Y/N is crumbling, and desperate, and beautiful. Harry squeezes himself, once, twice, around the base of his cock before jutting his hips out just enough to rest the length of him atop of her cheek—and then some. He’s long, and thick, and the pretty girl on the floor for him barely competes for size.

“Hm?” He nudges.

“I wanna make you feel good,” she insists—and Harry doesn’t think she’s lying on purpose… But by omission, maybe. “Sir.” She tacks it on in haste, like the two seconds in which she hadn’t uttered the honourific would result in cruel and unusual punishment.

“Y’want to make me feel good? I see. Even after all my teasing today? You still want to put those pretty lips around me.” The contrast between his cock on her face and the light, scratching strokes he’s giving her head is mind boggling. When she nods, his tip threatens to poke her in the eye. “I’m going to give you… one chance to tell me what you’re actually thinking. Or else I’ll put m’self away and carry on ignoring you.” He doesn’t know if he hallucinates the increasing warmth of her face underneath him.

“Thought if I made you happy… you’d… you’d be pleased with me,” her eyes struggle to maintain contact with his. “And… and make me… y’know...”

“Hm, make you a nice dinner? Make you laugh all bright and bubbly? Make you—”

“Make me come!”

“Ohhh,” he smiles, “how silly of me.” He’s incorrigible. “Well let’s see then, shall we? If you can be a good girl and make me happy.”

She moves her head, mouth open and awaiting. Harry doesn’t tease her anymore—he gathers her hair in both hands, pulls it all away from her face whilst maintaining a controlling grip, and lets her do as she pleases. It’s perfectly imperfect, the way she delicately kisses up his shaft like it’s just been cruelly treated. Her hands stay unusable behind her back and her sultry mouth struggles to know what to do first. He can see the way she wishes she could do everything at once. Kiss him, tongue him, suck him. Harry thinks she could simply breathe on him and he’d feel good.

Y/N falls into a rhythm, soft eyelids closing in contentment as her mouth works around him. Head moving back and forth, slowly but attentively. She rubs her tongue on the underneath of his cock as she takes him, each retreat of her lips sucking tantalisingly. And when she manages to look up at him for just a second, Harry can’t help the quirk of his lips and the twitch of his dick as he mutters praise through quickly thickening fog. She buzzes with it, pushing herself further onto him until she stills in an attempt to adapt to the constricting weight nudging at her throat. When her breaths start to hit Harry harshly, he curls his fingers in her hair and urges her off of him.

“I’m plenty happy enough, my darlin’,” he shakes his head, “don’t choke yourself. We’ll do that another time.” And his words are breathy, sure evidence that he is happy, but Y/N doesn’t feel satisfied. She wants to see his tummy quivering underneath his t-shirt, wants to hear him pant, and groan, and lose all semblance of himself. She moans around him, at the promise of him filling her throat, at the sight of his glowing face and dishevelled hair. And then she speeds up. She feels the saliva collecting in her mouth and she lets it cover him—she moves her head in urgent bobs and digs her nails into her palm when Harry grunts.

“Oh, fuck,” he looks down at the shine she’s leaving behind around him. “Sweet little thing’s got a filthy mouth.” Spit drips down her chin and he thumbs it away, wiping it on his shorts. It makes her go even faster. “Good girl—shit. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” Y/N whines around him, eyebrows dipping in delight from his words alone. Her core is numbing, sure she must’ve dripped onto the floor and yet she doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed. Not when all she can think about is making Harry come.

But he’s mean. He says, “You’ll get up then, won’t you?” voice lilting.

What? “Mm-mm,” she shakes her head, disgruntled that he’d even suggest it, and pushing further down his cock in retaliation.

“No? But I thought you were a good girl. Good girls listen. So listen to me… and get up.” He drags her off by the hands in her hair, feeling smug when she gasps down multitudes of air. She’s annoyed—swollen, slick lips pouting—no aversions to showing how she truly feels now. “Don’t look so sad,” he mimics her pout, fingers squeezing her cheeks together as she stands on wobbly legs. Then he kisses her rumpled lips, tastes himself and her saliva and rubs his tongue on hers. Bless her heart, she keeps her arms behind her, melting into Harry’s grasp and forgetting all about her own limbs. His grip finds her waist, tugging her up his body and coaxing her thighs to wrap around him. He hums against her lips, content to feel her pressing into him… then her dress rides up and… oh—

“You poor thing,” Harry gasps, when his prick nudges very soft, very wet skin. “Just dripping and you didn’t say a word. Is that very sweet or very selfish?” Y/N can only whimper as their flesh meets. “You’re not selfish, are you, baby?”

“No.” She shakes her head vehemently, hands finally moving of their own accord and sitting on Harry’s shoulders.

He exhales a humoured breath through his nose. “Ah well, you see, I consider myself to be rather selfish. I want things. Do you… want things, Y/N?”

“Yes,” fingers sliding into curls, “want you. Please, Sir, want you.”

He can feel the heat of her pussy. All he’d need to do is nudge his hips forward… “Why didn’t you ask me earlier, hm? See how easy that was? S’all you needed to do was ask.” Y/N nods, apology on the tip of her tongue, but Harry kisses her again before she can talk. And then he’s moving—taking her somewhere—she’s unsure where. It doesn’t matter. She hears the rubber soles of his shoes against the floor, a door sliding open, the chirps of a bird from nearby. And then she feels the soft cushion of a chair as she is placed down upon it.

Y/N opens her eyes, reluctantly, as she hears Harry zipping himself back up. She curves her lips downwards as she leans back, expecting to feel a support, but she falls. Not far. The chair seems to be of the reclining sort, and Y/N’s back moulds into the soft fabric. Harry smiles… and then he’s digging his fingers into the supple flesh of her thighs, pulling her down towards him, and flipping her over. Y/N squeals, palms pressing down to push herself up.

“Hips up,” he swats her thigh, “back arched, good girl. Relax your arms, put ‘em out in front of you.” She focuses on the sight of a pool out of the peripheral of her vision, crystal clear water, pretty bushes, a coffee table under an awning—trying to keep her heart steady as Harry flips her dress up. There’s no hiding now. She’s completely bare and he can see everything. Y/N hides her face in her arms at the feeling of the breeze against her. That breeze becomes warmer, and more pointed, and suddenly it meets her directly—the swipe of a tongue through strings of slick. She jolts forward but Harry tugs her right back, kneeling at the end of the recliner with his face mere centimetres away from her swollen sex. “Don’t move. Don’t try and run away from me unless you want to play like this morning.” Y/N makes a little noise—it’s forced from her lungs, really, at the reminder of the heat his hands left behind. So she tries something, just a little something… she moves. She twitches her hips forward so slightly, he shouldn’t have noticed. But it’s Harry. And he knows that she wants to play like this morning very much.

So he smacks her. Hard. Right in the middle of her left cheek. Something akin to a choked squawk leaves her mouth and she jumps forward once again. So he hits her other cheek, “Stop,” again, “moving,” and again.

“Harry!” Y/N gasps—half moan, half cry. It burns deliciously.

“Keep still for me. I want to eat this pretty cunt,” he breaths over her, taking her in. “You remember your Yellow and Red, yes?” He looks up the expanse of her back.

“Yes—Sir,” Y/N forces out, lungs going at a rapid rate. Every word is a struggle.

“Good girl.”

And then he devours her.

Y/N is grateful he put something soft beneath her, because she struggles not to flatten out immediately. Despite the possessive grip Harry displays over her waist and on her thigh. She’s at the halfway point—of still feeling scrutinised and losing all inhibitions. Embarrassment being a turn on surely makes that line a little silly to place herself upon. But she forgets her thought process entirely with Harry’s tongue flicking between her legs. He’d gone straight in, initially, mouth meeting her centre with no motive other than to taste and to feel her on his lips. He kisses her—as much as one can there—open mouthed and impassioned, trailing from left to right over her thighs… then up to her ass that to Y/N’s curious horror he spreads, coming close but never right where she wanted him.

Did she though? Want him there? The thought has never crossed her mind before but the closer he gets the more her hips shift. But Harry only kisses the skin of her round flesh, moving back down to spread her lips and take a good look at her. The moment of waiting feels like years to Y/N. Years of being pulled apart and stared at like she is tied to a pedestal. Then he hums, deep from within his chest, and sucks her clit into his mouth. She lets out a long, pitiful moan, face dropping to the cushion with a thud. Her body must be moving—shaking or twitching—but she can’t tell. Not when Harry is holding her thighs with his thumbs still spreading her open, and switching between pulling her into his mouth and smoothing his tongue over her. In languid motions that start to unravel Y/N incredibly quickly.

He stays slow—which is something she envies, really—the ability to heighten an orgasm by dragging it out. Y/N always finds, and she’s not the best at masturbating anyway, that in the midst of the pleasure she speeds up her hands with the incoming sense of her climax. And it never feels completely satiating. But Harry… of course he knows what he’s doing better than her. But God, does he prove it. It builds so steadily; the pleasure elongated and intensified as Y/N grapples with her hands to find any sort of grounding. She pushes up, and then falls back down. She stretches her arms out, and then pulls them back to her chest. It’s a restless kind of pleasure—it’s disabling and wonderful and shattering and—

Harry pulls away. The sensation is so jarring that Y/N forgets all semblance of the concept of composure. She cries out and turns herself over. Her brows furrow so hard she’ll surely induce a headache and her wet mouth is open in the most betrayed of gapes.

“Please,” she reaches forward. For Harry who stays kneeling. He cocks an eyebrow at her.

“Were you about to come?”

Y/N could roll her eyes. “Yes! Please, please make me come.” Her hand falls down against the cushion fruitlessly.

Harry pushes up higher on his knees, caressing palms smoothing up her calves until they reach her thighs and sling them over each of his shoulders. Y/N’s head falls back with relief. But he reaches up and grabs her face, angling her head upright so that he can slide two fingers into her mouth. She whimpers in surprise, heat rushing all around her body. His index and little finger rest on either side of her face as he strokes her tongue in depraved motions, sliding over the expanse of the wet muscle.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Pleathe,” Y/N begs… except she doesn’t really because the word comes out garbled and unintelligible. But Harry smiles.

“Hm?”

“Pleathe!”

Then he slaps her thigh and Y/N yelps around his fingers. “Please what?”

“Thir.” Her eyes clear a little as she tries to inhale. “Pleathe make me come, thir.”

No matter that it’s near impossible to identify her words, Harry is pleased. He pulls his hand away to let her take a few deep breaths, and then he’s coaxing them back in with a little grin. Y/N seems eager for them, tongue laying down for his fingers. “That’s better.” And then she bites them. Not hard, but her teeth press into the skin enough to indent as Harry’s mouth meets her slick centre once again. He keeps his eyes focused on hers and his tongue on her clit—flattening out to collect her arousal from her messy entrance before smearing it over her sensitive button and building her back up agonisingly slowly. She climbs higher and he pulls back, teeth sinking into the inside of her thigh and lips trailing her wetness everywhere, stubble scratching her in a lusciously painful way. His palm stays flattened to her hip, holding her firmly to his face. Until he leans back just enough to purse his lips and drip saliva down onto her shiny pussy. Y/N gasps around his fingers and Harry smirks into her skin as he presses his face back into her, eyes never wavering from hers.

It builds up much quicker now, regardless of the excruciating pace that Harry sets. She tightens up, body desperate as her pelvis lifts up into his mouth. “Pleathe!” Y/N’s eyes clench shut. “Pleathe let me come, thir.” Harry smiles at her incoherent speech and doesn’t stop. He hums instead, long and deep, vibrations tingling through his face and her cunt. Y/N’s harsh breaths hit his knuckles, shallow from her nose. Her hands find his wrist, clinging on as Harry nods into her—not pulling away for a second.

“Ah!—ah—ah,” tiny noises are all she can muster as her eyes beg Harry not to stop and her orgasm dangles her over the edge. Just a bit more… a bit more… don’t stop. Her thighs tighten around his head and Harry moans, grateful to be crushed by such beauty. And if Y/N could speak she’d be more than grateful—she’d be at his feet, she’d pledge to make him happy forever. As long as she came.

And all it takes is one more long hum, fizzling through her clit. Her nails dig into his wrist and her hips surely lift up enough to suffocate him as her orgasm rips through her. It’s blinding…and stilling; Y/N can neither see nor move for five paralysing seconds. Then the sounds seep past Harry’s fingers and her pelvis starts to shake, and the lack of satiating inhalation proves to make her lightheaded. She tugs at his hand to pull it out of her mouth, drowning her lungs in oxygen when Harry complies. But she’s high, head throwing back against the cushion and eyes falling shut as her chest heaves and her body tingles. Y/N misses the way Harry moves his spit-slicked hand down to her puffy core, lips pulled away to give some semblance of respite… until he pushes his two middle fingers into her and curls.

“Oh!” She jolts upright. “No, Harry, I—” her words fall away. The pressure is consuming as his digits press into her, forcing this unprecedented, extended pleasure out of her. And it’s good but… Y/N’s certain she’ll pass out if he takes anymore from her, “—need—a moment,” her back arches and her hands finally search for him. To push away or pull him closer, she is unsure.

Harry retracts his fingers, leaving a kiss to Y/N’s stomach as he gently places her feet flat on the lounger. “Yeah? That’s okay.” The skirt of her dress sits under her ribs and Harry traces the line of skin underneath with the pad of his thumb. “Was that a lot?”

“Mhm,” she nods, struggling to peel her eyelids open for long enough to look down at him. Who slowly stands and lifts her calves to rest across his lap as he seats himself at the foot of the recliner.

“G’na let me fuck you or do you want to stop?” He asks it so casually, as though they’re in the line at the supermarket and he’s offering to let her go before him. The centre of her legs is buzzing—she’s messy and can feel sweat gathering underneath her arms—but she wants more. She wants his pleasure now.

Y/N nods. “Your turn.”

He smiles, “My turn to be eaten out? I wouldn’t say no.” She giggles but it’s to mask a gasp as her eyes widen and her stomach fills with heat. “Let me go grab a condom,” his delicate touches form goosebumps along her arms whilst she nods dumbly.

The urge to cover her face with her hands and laugh is strong. She doesn’t. She presses her lips together instead, hard enough to feel her teeth indenting from the inside, as she watches the wind create ripples in the swimming pool before her. Y/N pulls her dress over her thighs; to tease Harry or herself, she’s not certain but it feels mischievous to do either way. To force him to rediscover the treasure between her legs. To make herself desirable once more.

Not that she doesn’t feel desirable. In the afterglow of her orgasm, Y/N’s sure she’s never felt as pretty—practically glowing and all pliant on Harry’s sun lounger. But if hiding the place Harry wants to see most, makes him lose a little composure? She smiles harder at the thought.

ㅤㅤ

His shirt is missing when he comes back, revealing the hard plains of skin and muscle that Y/N would spend hours tracing if she could. The broad of his shoulders, dusted in delicate freckles—contrasted by the full of his pecs and the stone ridges of his abs that soften into plush hips that beg to withhold the indentations of fingertips. It’s all radiant to Y/N. The sunlight paints the shadows of leaves onto his front as he makes his way back to her. His shorts are considerably tight, tenting obviously. She struggles not to stare. Especially because she knows what's underneath… and wants nothing more than to consume him again.

He looks cheeky, hands behind his back (Y/N truly hasn’t noticed because his arms bulge with the strain and any observation skills she may have possessed become completely redundant at the sight of his thick biceps) whilst he smiles at her reclining body. He stops to the side of her. “I’ve got something for you.”

Y/N looks up at him, eyes curious. “Oh. What is it?”

Harry drops a velvet baggy into her lap, watching with an attentive gaze as she loosens the drawstrings hesitantly. “It’s small and unassuming, yeah?”

A bullet vibrator. “I’ve never used one before,” she admits, cheeks hot and heartbeat racing.

“That’s not on, is it, love? You g’na hold this right here f’me?” He takes it from her and sneaks under her dress, tapping once where it's sensitive. She jolts. “Right over your pretty clit whilst I fuck you?”

She nods, mewl lodged in her throat. “Thank—thank you… Sir.”

A deep hum and a kiss to her head before he says, “Go on then, show me,” kneeling onto the end of the recliner, palms smoothing up her thighs to push the encroaching fabric out of the way. Y/N lets him put the vibrator in her hand, his eyes kind despite the excitement coursing through his veins. She thinks for a second—difficult under normal circumstances but even harder now—and brings the small cylinder to her mouth, pushing the rounded tip past her lips and forcing her stare not to wander from Harry’s. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, all gentle smiles and easy eyes dripping into molten liquid. His pupils blossom and his fingers stop their trailing across her skin as Y/N slicks the vibrator up with her tongue.

It’s overwhelming; the tremors that hit her oversensitive bundle of nerves. She pulls it away as soon as she turns it on, a loud gasp sounding out around them. “Can’t,” Y/N shakes her head.

“Yes, you can, baby. For me.” It’s likely she would do anything as long as Harry asked she do it for him. He unzips his shorts, pushing them down his thighs along with his briefs, thick hardness begging for attention. He’s a harsh blushing colour, and veins stand out against the taut skin, pearls of precome shining from the slit and coating the head deliciously. Y/N feels herself clench around nothing, the weight of the calm vibrator suddenly a very welcome sensation. Harry pulls a condom out of the pocket of his shorts and rolls it on. “Turn it on,” he demands, rubbing the thick mushroom tip of his cock around her entrance, smearing arousal.

She takes a deep breath, eyes cast downwards to the sight of Harry pushing himself in just past the opening and pulling out. In and out. In and out. Teasing. Torturing. Y/N switches the vibrator on, immediately writhing under the overstimulation, just as Harry rocks in to the hilt—hips meeting and breaths mingling when he bends over her body. Strong hands grip the underside of her knees, folding them to her chest and granting the most stimulating of angles.

Her grip on the bullet is weak, unable to maintain placement as it slips down to press into Harry’s shaft as he thrusts into her slow and hard. He groans from the sensation before gripping her wrist and tugging up—back directly on her clit. Y/N moans, head shaking and hips squirming, but Harry only digs his fingers into her thighs and pushes them further into her chest.

“You’re so—fuck—so wet, darlin’. Can’t fuck you or I’ll slip out,” he grunts, pulling out to the tip painfully slowly before skin slaps as he fills her back up heavily. It expels all the air out of Y/N’s lungs, his every thrust jolting her entire body. “Clench f’me. Hold me in, baby.”

Y/N mewls, tightening her pelvic floor and making Harry groan out as he smears his mouth over hers. She doesn’t know what to focus on. His lips scattering tingles all over her face, the harsh buzzing of the vibrator on her clit, the vast span of his fingers indenting her skin, or the heavy thrusts of his cock into her tightness. Over, and over, and over again. She moans into his mouth, crying out as he speeds up. His palm slips over the bottom of her stomach and presses down in search of something.

He pounds into her harder when he feels it. “In your tummy. So fucking deep inside you, pretty girl.” Y/N can’t speak, she can’t do anything but whine out helplessly as Harry pushes his palm into the bulge he’s swelling. Her orgasm starts to build—the convulsing sensitivity of her clit has surpassed to a near numbness—she knows she won’t be able to come again after this. But as she looks down and Harry moves his hand for her to see each thrust, Y/N throws her head back.

“Come all over my cock, baby. Squeeze me so hard I see stars.”

And she’s convulsing, vibrator falling away from the immense sensation of it all—chest heaving, fingers reaching out to dig into Harry’s biceps as she shatters around him. “Harry! Thank you—thank you—th— thank you.” Tears slip out of her tightly shut eyes, wet lips hanging open as her arms grow numb and they fall atop her ribs.

He’s grunting, low and gravelly, curls falling over his forehead like cascading waterfalls of chocolate. His hips don’t falter as he gathers her into his bulging arms. Y/N’s still twitching from the aftershocks when he stands up, fingers splaying on her ass and encouraging her legs to wrap around him. The vibrator stays buzzing on the sun lounger, falling on deaf ears as Y/N clings on and Harry fucks up into her. If she hadn’t just come she’s sure his display of strength would have her drooling.

And she’s close to drooling now. Involuntarily from the pace in which he sets, forcing her to grip onto his shoulders. She smooths the backs of her arms over them, shaking fingers weaving into the hair on the back of his head.

Harry is relentless. “Good girl. Such a good girl. You take it so well. I’m so proud of you.” She keens into his throat, tired smile stretching against his neck. The words warm her.

I’m so proud of you.

She’s elated, she’ll never ask for anything ever again… But she wants one more thing.

“Come in my mouth, Sir.” Her voice tickles against his ear. So shy, so unsure. Harry’s knees nearly buckle.

“Is that a demand, little one?” Fuck, he’d give it to her even if it was.

“Please?” His hips snap up harder, their skin is slapping and sticking, and their bodies are going numb.

“You want me coating your tongue, yeah? You w’na swallow me?”

“Yes, Sir,” she nods desperately.

Harry pulls her off him, setting her down onto the hard floor as gently as his sex-muddled brain can offer. He tugs the condom off, shoving it into a pocket of the shorts he never managed to take off. Y/N opens her mouth obediently, her tired eyes fighting to stay open and watch Harry’s frantic strokes. His head thrown back, jaw sharp and veins in his neck jumping—she’d be a fool not to look.

“God, want you here forever. On your knees f’me,” he looks down at her glowing, sweating skin. “Want to keep you,” his voice trails off into a moan, shuffling forward so the leaking head rests on her tongue as he tugs his length. “Will you let me keep you, Y/N?” She nods, tongue moving on the underside of him. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

It’s her eyes that get him. Big and pleading. Like the only thing she’s ever wanted in her entire existence is for him to come for her. In her mouth. Her eyes… and maybe her tits too. When she pulls the pretty décolletage of her dress down to free them and holds the underside as if to display them for Harry. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he whimpers, leaning forward to spurt thick streaks onto the back of her tongue and watch it drip down. His other hand shoots out to hold the top of her head, strokes slowing and becoming little ruts of his hips when it all becomes too sensitive.

Y/N kneels there for him, mouth open, come painting her tongue. It’s only when he thumps his softening cock against the mess he’s left that she pulls back, making a show of swallowing it all. He’s spent but the sight is one to behold. She smiles shyly up at him, so clearly overjoyed. “Thank you, Sir.”

ㅤㅤ

During their shower, he asks her an important question.

“Was there anything I did to you that you didn’t like?”

Y/N is nearly a deadweight in his arms—so exhausted, so sweet—as she blinks up at him. “Hm?”

Harry smiles. “Did I push your boundaries at all today?”

She nuzzles into his chest, shaking her head, as they stand under the hot stream. “No, Sir.”

“You liked the vibrator?” Harry drags his soapy nails across her back, scratching wonderfully.

“Sore now. Too much, I think,” Y/N admits, as she tightens her arms around his waist. She’s fighting the fog and failing. Harry doesn’t mind.

He hums. “Abused her a little, didn’t I? We can work on that, if you like.”

“Mhm. Anything, Sir.” Then suddenly she pulls back, looking up with harsh brows. “Didn’t like how much you ignored me… down there. Wanted to come all day.”

Harry laughs, “That,” he emphasises, “is something you’ll have to put up with, darling. S’fun to play with you—watch you silently suffer. Promise it won’t be all the time. If only you’d just asked for what you wanted.” Y/N grumbles to herself, basking in the serenity of their touching skin and the clean smell of shower gel as the hot water cleanses them.

The next thing Harry says is unwise. In Y/N’s floaty state, and generally as a rule of healthy relationships, it’s unwise—but he says it anyway.

“You should quit your job.”

She doesn’t register his words immediately, but even when she does, Harry doesn’t receive the expected reaction. She laughs, “Yeah,” sighing. “Can stay in your house all day. Make you happy, whatever you want, all the time.” It feels like she’s joking—like she believes he’s joking and is just playing along—and Harry knew better than to suggest it to her in this moment. He knew better, especially because they were hardly any time at all into knowing one another. It was a rash thing to say… and Harry can’t quite believe he’s thinking it. But he is. He’s thinking it very much. And it feels right. It seems easy.

But he won’t mention it again. Not yet. Not until the girl in his arms is a little less incoherent.

He’s a patient man, is what he tells himself. There’s no rush; Harry certainly isn’t desperate to rush out of the shower, or rush Y/N home, or rush to work the next day. He can wait.

He can wait.

ㅤㅤ

Working with people takes a particular set of skills. Sociability, quick thinking, a strong backbone... Y/N wouldn’t say she particularly possessed any of these qualities—which would largely explain why she hates her job so much.

But she gets up and does it. Every day. And she returns home feeling as though it can’t get any worse, and then the next day proves her wrong.

Despite this, you’d think—after all the practice she has—that entering Harry’s work shouldn’t be so intimidating. That having to ask for him at reception whilst holding a lunch box and a cake tin needn’t stir up the incessant swirls of nerves in her stomach. And even though the woman who tends to her has a soothing smile and a lilting tone of voice, Y/N still stands there feeling obvious. Obvious and unaware at the same time.

Would Harry even want her here? Was showing her face in his workspace breaching a rule? Did he leave his lunch behind on purpose? Would he want the cake she’d brought with her?

The receptionist talks to someone on the phone, announcing Y/N’s presence and her request to see the CEO. She’d thought, perhaps, that she would be immediately denied. Mr. Styles is a very busy man and he doesn’t take surprise visits. Good day. But the lady had smiled almost knowingly at Y/N, as though she’d been expecting her—which seemed even vastly more silly than the prospect that Harry might turn her away himself.

Which hadn’t crossed her mind until now. What if he scolded her? In front of all his employees? Y/N would die.

A man suddenly appears in her peripheral vision. Hair tied back, suit pressed of all wrinkles, and a harsh line of a mouth that curls so minimally that it could be passed off as a twitch when he meets Y/N’s eyes. “Follow me, Miss L/N.”

He takes her up stairs, through halls and to a small sitting area that she assumes is outside Harry’s office. One sofa and one armchair, adjacent to a water cooler and a vending machine in which two other men in pressed suits loiter, trading inconsequential small talk no doubt. And really, it is too small to be considered an area of any sort, and their looming presence does nothing to quell Y/N’s worry.

“He’s just finishing up a phone call, please sit.”

Y/N smiles at the man and rushes out a small thank you before he disappears down the hallway. The soft cushioning of the sofa cradles Y/N’s heart none, despite the silent appraisal her legs give when they’re granted respite. No, her heart is still beating rapidly, and the mumblings of the two men are pecking away at her ears as she tries to block them out without success. She sees one nudge the other out of the corner of her eye, and she hopes—no, begs—that neither talk to her. But it seems there’s no one there to listen to her pleading.

“Excuse me.” One of the men says. Typically those words come attached with a questioning swing but he doesn’t ask her anything. He demands her. “What have you got in there?”

Y/N slides her palms around the spherical tin, the cold metal granting momentary bliss for her clammy skin. On top of the tin is Harry’s lunch. In the box he’d forgotten to take with him on his way out.

Y/N had a day off—calling her boss to fake sickness had been scarier than it should have been (Harry rewarded her for her bravery in ways she can still feel if she clenches her thighs together)—and Harry had ordered she lay about his house all day doing, and she quotes, absolutely nothing.

He’d silently managed to pick up on her preference for a little time alone when talking and coexisting got to be too much (after observing the way she’d spend just that little extra in the toilet after a long day, or insist she’d be with him in a minute that turned into three), and had asserted she finally explore the depths of his garden whilst he was at work. Y/N had thought about asking him to stay home—after all, she only took the day off because of him… and now he was leaving?—but the idea did appeal to her. And he’d kissed her so fervently goodbye that the shape of his lips existed in tingles against hers for an hour after he’d gone.

She’d felt whimsical, like she was existing in a dream, as she slipped on a new dress Harry had bought for her—made of pink silk—and floated around his house like she owned it. She ate fruit whilst perched on his kitchen counter, and sunk her toes into his fluffy rug, and wandered the garden that surely Harry had stolen from another era.

From the patio that leads out to the pool (and those sun loungers that Y/N can’t look at the same), nothing about the vast stretch of grass and towering trees suggested that there were any hidden passageways or undiscovered alcoves. But as Y/N walked down the lawn, she spotted an archway twined with ivy and vines that nestled in between consuming bushes and thick trunks.

Once she walked under it, it seemed as though she’d entered another time period—one that rejected the modernity of white interior decor and lavish patios with swimming pools. A nook—was what Y/N first described it as in her head. A walkway through foliage that led to an opening that homed stone, and trellising flowers, and complete and utter silence. It was circular, a donut shaped stone bench in the centre with bushes and flowers galore surrounding it. Y/N was stunned. And she hadn’t even discovered all of it.

“It’s Harry’s lunch,” she says, focusing on maintaining steady breaths.

The men look at each other with curling lips. “It’s Harry’s lunch,” the other one parrots, nodding once to his friend like her answer was obvious… which it was, she supposes. What else would it be? “Did he forget it at your house?”

“No…” Y/N doesn’t understand what the pair are trying to do. But she recognises the cruelty of their voices. The mocking—immensely unlike the way Harry speaks to her.

“Did you bake him a cake too?”

“Has Styles got himself a little housewife?”

Her skin heats and her chest aches, as their words crawl inside her head, with the intensity at which she is trying to school her lungs. They want to inhale as though she’s been underwater for twenty minutes. They want to heave and splutter desperately and loudly. But she only allows tiny, little teases of oxygen. She doesn’t know what to say.

Her mouth opens and closes again.

“Fancy coming round to my house and baking me a cake?” They both laugh. “I could do with a little lady like you. Always forgetting shit.”

She fidgets uncomfortably on the sofa. It is now made of unrelenting stone. Even the bench in Harry’s garden would grant more comfort than this. A quick glance to the door handle to see if she is capable of summoning him only encourages the men further.

“I didn’t know he had time for a woman.”

“I know,” the other scoffs, “probably very neglectful of his nice housewife…” He pauses, “Are you? His housewife, sugar?”

It had sounded so much nicer from Harry’s lips. Now she just feels dirty.

“No— I’m… We’re…” What were they exactly?

Harry’s door handle turns.

“I’m his—” Submissive. She couldn’t possibly…

His door opens.

“—friend.”

Harry steps out. Y/N doesn’t know how much of the conversation he heard but… from the look on his face, he’s stern. The two men have straightened their backs and are pretending to be involved in unrealistically riveting small talk once again. But Harry glares at them.

His voice is hard, clearly indicating that he had in fact heard their unpleasant probing. “Mr. Acosta and Mr. Havers, as pleasurable as it has been to have you working here,” his tone drips with sarcasm, “resign or be fired. Immediately. Your choice.”

And then he’s glancing down at Y/N, gaze hardly lingering as he nods towards his office with a clear expectancy that she follows, before he turns his back and leaves the water cooler creeps spluttering in their spots. Y/N rushes behind him, not looking back for a second.

“You forgot your lunch,” she exhales once his door clicks shut. Her breathing deepens now that she’s out of the prying stare of those men. Harry stands with his back to her, hands in his pockets as he looks out the window.

“Yes, I see that.” He seems… short-tempered... Angry. He’s never seemed angry before. “Thank you, darling. And a lovely baked treat to go with it, no doubt.”

And maybe his voice lacks his usual authenticity but Y/N smiles a little, though he can’t see her, as she creeps forward slightly to place the tin and his lunch on his desk. She looks up as she stands beside him, observing the harsh line of his jaw and the furrow of his brows. But he walks around his desk and prods a finger into the hardwood, rolling his chair out of the way.

“Take a seat,” he orders. Y/N always obeys Harry but his tone carries a sharpness she’s not used to—lacking the soft feathered curves for when he speaks to her—and she lifts herself onto the edge with a haste that surpasses that of her general avidity. Perhaps, in this moment, a part of her is pretending he’s her boss—and he is in a way, she supposes. Then Harry crowds her senses, thighs brushing her knees as he steps forward and utters something that makes Y/N’s stomach drop. In a bad way. In a definitely bad way.

“I want to have a little chat with… my friend.”

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