#i'm just having A Week and also have been sitting on this for a while lol

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Neighbour - Noncon

With your electricity out and your devices dead, you have no choice but to turn to your neighbour for help. He's more than willing to welcome you into his home. Really, you're lucky he's such a nice guy.

Tags: male yandere x gender neutral reader, noncon, somno, just the tip anal, daddy kink but only if you squint, 3.3k words

Living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

But after the third day with no electricity, those perks were starting to look pretty damn weak. Your fridge was sitting in an ever expanding puddle. Almost all your devices were dead. And if you had to take one more cold shower you were going to cry.

It was when you were digging through your drawer looking for desperately needed batteries that you found your neighbour's number. He'd offered it to you a little while after you moved in, and while you two were on friendly terms, you'd never actually spoken for longer than a few minutes. You sighed, looked at the 10% left on your phone and decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.

You: hey, it's me. I still haven't got any power. Do you mind if I come over to charge some stuff?

He replied almost instantly.

Unknown: aww that sucks

Unknown: come on over. I've got hot stew and a generator

Unknown: and you can take a hot shower too if you want

Score. And to think you found him intimidating at first. Just goes to show that you can't judge on appearances. You packed a change of clothes, your devices and the last tub of ice cream that wasn't totally melted. You'd find some way to properly pay him back but a tub of chocolate fudge double cream wasn't a bad way to start.

He was waiting on his porch when you pulled up. A bear of a man in a flannel and blue jeans, a five o' clock shadow darkening his jaw.

"Howdy neighbour," he drawled, opening your door for you while you grabbed your stuff. "Regretting leaving the city yet?"

You huffed a laugh. "You do NOT want to know the answer to that."

His cabin was much larger than yours, a two storey behemoth with wide windows and exposed beams. It had a rustic charm - like some natural park Air BnB where they charged a weeks pay for just one night. A little too big for just one man. Didn't he get lonely?

"I brought some ice cream and chocolate to say thank you. And also because it miiight have been melting."

He opened the door for you and ushered you through with a hand on your lower back.

"Hell, I'll never say no to something sweet."

There was a fire burning in the fireplace and a stack of logs in a crate next to it. He was so much better suited to this life than you were. He locked the door behind you and slipped the keys into his pocket.

"Old habit," he explained with an easy grin.

"Why don't you get settled? I'll plug your stuff in."

You handed over your tech with a relieved sigh.

"Thank you. Really. I'm so behind on work already and I haven't heard anything back from the power company."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he said. "Once ended up going a week straight with not even a light bulb flickering."

You winced. "It gets that bad?"

"Yep. Especially in winter. Gets dangerous then too."

He tilted his head at you, concerned. "You need to get yourself better sorted before it starts snowing. I hate to think of you stuck out there when the blizzards start rolling in."

God, could you be any more of a city slicker? You rubbed your neck, embarrassed.

"Thanks. I've been here a few months now and I guess I just didn't realise how serious things can get."

"It's all good. But if I'm honest, I get worried thinking about you out there all alone. Plenty of drifters end up passing through. Not a good place to be alone, not for a little thing like yourself."

Little? You wanted to feel indignant, but looking at his bulk, you reckoned that most folk probably seemed little to him.

He lead you to the fireplace and poured you a mug of coffee from the pot that was waiting for you. He jerked his head at the hunting rifle on display above the mantle.

"I can teach you to shoot, if you've got some free time."

You took a sip of the coffee, internally debating with yourself. You could see the sense in your offer but you weren't a big fan of guns. Hell, just being around them was nerve wrecking enough. Maybe -

You looked down at your mug in surprise.

"This is some really good stuff."

The coffee was strong, bitter in the best sort of way. You could catch a hint of chocolate in it too. Just sweet enough to make your toes curl.

" 'Course. Only the best for my guest. Help yourself to another cup. I'll just put your stuff on charge and be right back."

You finished your drink in a few sips and happily poured a second serving. Hot coffee... man, you didn't think three days without it would be so tough. Usually, you were pretty sensitive to caffeine. But by the time your neighbour came back, your head was tilted back and you were half asleep.

You tried to shake yourself out of it but he just laughed and pushed you back down.

"You probably haven't had a good sleep since the power went out. Just rest. We can talk once you wake up."

"I'm sorry..."

"It's fine." His hand was still on your shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles into your neck. "It's just fine with me."

You drifted off after that. Into a deep sleep without any dreams. Waking up was like slogging through molasses.

"Finally up sleepy head?"

It was dark outside and your neighbour was on one knee in front of the fire place, coaxing fresh wood to catch.

You sat up slowly. Your muscles ached and there was a strange, salty taste on your tongue.

"My heads killing me..."

He stood, poker still in his hand. "You must be starving then. I've already got some food on the stove. You'll feel better after you eat."

You didn't feel hungry at all. If anything, you felt almost hangover.

"Thanks," you managed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

He waved you away. "I don't mind a bit."

He came back with a bowl of steaming hot chow and stood with his arms crossed on the back of your couch while you ate.

"It's real late. I reckon you should stay over. I don't want you driving on dirt when it's so dark."

"Oh, it's fine. I've already put you out so much."

"Don't be silly. I insist."

You shivered without meaning to. That almost growl, low and bordering on menacing. It was so familiar, so...

"Just like that. Look at you, half asleep and still desperate for my cock."

"You like the taste? Yeah, I bet you fucking do."

"Ain't just gonna use your mouth next time."

You squeezed your eyes shut. Where the hell was this coming from? Were you remembering some sick dream from this afternoon?

"You okay there neighbour?"

You nodded. "Just my head."

Maybe he was right. Driving when you were so disorientated was just asking for trouble.

"If you really don't mind... I'll be happy to sleep over."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling thing. "I'll make the guest room up special, just for you."

"Could I use your shower too?"

"I offered didn't I? Come on, I'll show you where it is."

He took you to the master bedroom and jerked his thumb at the en-suite.

"Hot water is the most reliable in there. Door doesn't close that well though, so don't mind it. I'll be downstairs when you're done."

You brushed your teeth carefully. You lips felt sore, bruised in a way you couldn't explain.

You waited until you heard his footsteps going down the stairs before you stripped off your clothes. You stood under the hot water for a good few minutes, luxuriating in the feeling. The bathroom was thick with steam when you finally got to scrubbing yourself. The door was open just a crack and the bedroom beyond was dark. You forgot all about it until you heard the creak of the hinges.

You whirled to face the door, your hands coming up to cover yourself. The steam was too thick to see through. You called his name.

Nothing.

You stepped out with suds still on your thighs and pushed the door open. The room beyond was empty.

You sighed. God, you were being paranoid. Your neighbour was a great guy. It was unfair of you to treat him like a peeping tom when he'd gone out of his way to make you comfortable. It must have been just an errant draught.

You stepped back into the shower and rinsed yourself off. But no matter what you told yourself, you still kept an eye on the door.

When you went to change into your fresh clothes, you spent at least five minutes hunting for your underwear. Did you drop it somewhere? Oh, please say your undies weren't just sitting in the middle of his hallway. That would be beyond embarrassing.

Eventually you gave up and just decided to go without them. Not comfortable at all but still better than walking around in a towel to look for them. And much better than calling your neighbour in to help. Wouldn't that be fun? 'Hey neighbour that I don't know that well, you haven't seen my intimates lying around, have you?' Yeah, you'd never again get invited over after something like that.

When you were dressed, you found him already on his way up the hall. He was carrying a glass of water and some pills.

"Thought you might still have a headache, so I brought you some painkillers."

You paused, nervous but not sure why.

"Thanks." His hands dwarfed yours when he handed them over. You didn't recognise the name of on the pills, but they looked harmless. You tossed them back and gagged at the bitter aftertaste.

"They pack a punch, so tell me when you start to get drowsy."

"Aye aye captain."

You followed him to the guest room. It was at the very back on the second story, quieter than the rest of the house. A huge glass wall gave you a view of the forest disappearing into the darkness. You could see the ghost of your reflection in the glass, your neighbour a hulking, shapeless mass at your shoulder.

He took a seat in an armchair across form the bed and stretched out his legs. You perched on the edge of the mattress, still feeling a bit like an intruder.

"How long have you been staying out here?” you asked.

He smiled at you, teeth glinting almost wolf-like. "Got you curious?"

"A little. Folk in town say they hardly see you. I don't know... I'm just wondering if you ever get lonely."

He was quiet and you cursed yourself for being so nosy. You hurried to fill the silence.

"It's just that I get a bit lonely out here too. 'Specially when it's so quiet. And I guess I was wondering if it's the same for you."

He smiled at you, rueful. "At times. Used to be worse, but I've got a new interest to keep me occupied nowadays."

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Bird watching."

"Really? What do you look for?"

The way the room was lit up, you couldn't see his eyes. They fell into shadow and you only had his lips to read his emotions by. He smirked, slow and almost mocking.

"Just one bird I look out for. Flighty little thing. Tends to get caught by predators a lot. You’d probably recognise it."

The polite thing to do would be to ask what it was called. You didn't. Some part of whispered that you wouldn't like the answer.

You must have been quiet a little too long because he took it as his cue to leave. He stood, a mountain of muscle, his eyes not quite as nice as they seemed that afternoon. A trick of the light, surely. He wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You rest up. Got a busy day tomorrow."

"G'night."

He was gone before you thought to ask what he meant. And you were passed out on your pillows before you realised it. He was right. The pills sure did pack one hell of a punch.

You were aware of a shadow at the end of your bed. You weren't fully awake, and your limbs were slow and heavy with more than just sleep.

"Who..."

The shadow reached down and one warm paw circled your ankle.

"Just me little bird."

You knew that voice. It was the voice that brought you warm food and invited you in from the cold. You could trust it. Could go back to sleep and not worry about anything.

'No,' some part of you hissed, 'He's not as safe as you think.'

"Cold..."

The shadow laughed and it was the laugh of the fox finding the rabbit's den. Nasty. Hungry.

"Cold huh? Don't worry baby. I'll warm you right up."

He yanked your ankle towards him and your whole body slid down the bed. You were too drowsy to stop it.

"Knew you were gonna be mine the second I saw you," he cooed, hands running up your thighs.

His fingers slipped under your waistband, nails scraping your hip bones.

"Dumb little thing from the city. Doesn't even realise I've tripped all their breakers. That's why you don't have power baby. It's all me."

His fingers were as big as the rest of him. Thick, meaty. Skin rough from working outdoors. You whined when his fingertips scraped the edges of your hole.

"No underwear. You needy slut. That's practically a written and signed invitation to fuck you."

He pulled your pants down to your ankles and pushed your knees up to your stomach. And you were too out of it to stop him. Limp and pliable as a fuck doll.

Your tight ass was exposed to the cold air, entirely at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do.

"Cute." He circled his thumb around the rim, almost pushing in but not quite. "Wanted to be in this ass since you first showed up at my door all those months ago. Lookin' up at me all sweet. Fuck, it's enough to drive a man to desperation."

He lowered his head and you could feel his warm breath washing over your thighs.

He dragged his tongue across your hole. Some part of you must have been more awake than the rest, because your whole body jerked away from him.

"None of that," he cooed, hands digging into your thighs and dragging you back. "I haven't even gotten started yet."

He licked you again, deeper this time. The flexed tip of his tongue pushing at your entrance, and to your dull horror, actually slipping in. He moaned and you could feel the vibrations all through your crotch.

He pulled out and spat, rubbed it in with his fingers. One of them pushed in until the second joint, curling into your walls so rough that you gasped.

"Please..."

"Please what?" he mocked. "Please fuck my tight little ass? Please cum inside me? Use your words little bird."

"Please...stop..."

That made him laugh again, made him shove his finger in all the way to the knuckle. Twisting so cruelly as he pulled out and jerked back in.

"Stop? Stop? After all the work it took to get you here? No way baby. I'm not slowing down and I'm sure as fuck not stopping."

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, followed by a sharp intake of breath when he nudged his leaking head against your hole.

"You’re not going to remember this. And I'm not going to leave any evidence."

He pushed your legs tighter against your chest.

"So as much as I want to fuck you rotten, you're gonna have to be happy with just the tip."

He'd done a good job loosening and lubing you, but it still burned like a hot poker when he forced his way in. He groaned, almost in pain.

"You're fucking choking me. God, do you want my cum so bad?"

You could feel when the tip was in. That tiny difference in thickness between his head and shaft was oh so noticeable when your ass was clenching and fluttering around it. It was the smallest mercy, but mercy nonetheless.

He was panting from the effort of getting it in, the effort of holding back. The size difference between you almost perverse. Like a draft stallion trying to mount a pony. In every way, he was just too fucking big.

He spat in his hand and brought it to his cock, ran his palm up and down his shaft with sickly wet strokes. The combination of his palm and your squeezing ass was fucking delicious.

He had great stamina but fuck if it didn't feel like you were milking him.

He let go long enough to smack your ass. It almost finished him. You clenched around him so hard it felt like his tip was getting fucking crushed.

"Shiiiit, you're the best hole I've ever had. Can't wait 'til I can go all the way."

You whined, pitiful as snared prey. There were words there, though they were too slurred to make out. Something about Daddy and please and stop. He ignored you.

He pushed in a little deeper and watched your face scrunching up. So helpless, so fucking caught. That was what did it. The knowledge that he could do this to you at any point and you'd be helpless to stop it.

He came inside you, snarling through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to bruise. You'd notice the marks in the morning and chalk it up to just being clumsy. But he'd know. He'd see the bruises peeking out from the hem of your shorts and his cock would twitch just a little at the memory of leaving them.

His cock pulsed. Shot strings of spunk deep inside you. You could feel it. Hot, too hot. Gross. Make it stop. Get it out.

He pulled out with a wet pop. His cum drooled down and he took a minute to work it back into you with his finger. Your hole was gaping just a little and it made his balls pulse. If he had the time...

"A real fucking mess. And on my good sheets too. You're a terrible guest."

He mopped up whatever cum remained with a balled up piece of martial that he pulled from his pocket. Even in you stupor, you recognised it as your missing underwear.

"Terrible guest, but the perks of having you around are pretty fucking sweet."

He dropped your knees back to the mattress, pulled your pants back into place and roughly yanked the duvet over you. He grabbed your jaw and smiled at the lost, drowsy look in your half open eyes.

"Got a big day tomorrow. Gonna wake up and find your whole house was flooded. Ruined. Gonna have nowhere to stay but with me."

He sounded smug. It made your guts twist.

Outside, the night grew quiet. A predator was hunting and most prey knew better than to catch its attention.

"I made sure of it. All your family and friends in the city are away from home. There's no one around to help you out..."

He tightened his grip just enough to watch the fear start dancing in your eyes.

"No one...except me."

He let you go and smiled that same warm, comforting smile from that afternoon.

"Dumb little thing. Got no clue how your water mains work, do you? Got no idea how easy they are to sabotage."

He tutted. "Got me so damn busy. I'm gonna have to run to your place, fuck shit up and be back here before you wake up for real."

He traced his index finger over your lips and left behind a sticky coating of spunk. You'd wake up tasting salt again, with no memory of why.

"But it's fine. I forgive you. After today we'll have plenty of time together. Rest of our lives in fact. So just sleep tight and forget what you think you've dreamed."

There are perks to living in the middle nowhere. Privacy. Untouched nature. Peace and quiet.

There are perks, but unfortunately for you, your neighbour isn't one of them.

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[true-blue-sonic]

I finished the fanfic ^-^ I'm still not over Silver's utterly unamused facial expression, I love it so much <3 XD I hope you like the fic!💙🤍

☆☆☆☆☆

Only Fair

With a grin Sonic sneaks closer to his unsuspecting upcoming victim of mischief.

One day, when Tails had been a few weeks shy of turning five, he’d didactically insisted to Sonic that foxes were Predators who Hunted, and he thusly was also Very Skilled at Hunting. Sonic had laughed and urged him to show off his best hunting tactics… and he’d promptly ended up with a fox cub flinging himself right at his face before getting two fluffy namesakes stuck in his quills.

Sonic doesn’t have any large tails to get snagged in Silver’s, but that is only beneficial for the cheeky idea forming in his mind at the unexpected sight of the psychic.

It’d been a while since they’d last seen each other, a few days of Silver being in the past but not being around. Sonic thus also had had little opportunity to talk to him, and even less to tease and play coy. But that all will change imminently: Silver’s eyes are trained on the horizon above, the psychic sitting sprawled against a tree trunk with his legs crossed and arms sprawled out next to his sides. Enjoying the sky and the warmth of the afternoon sun, Sonic knows. Silver is plenty focal about his enjoyment of little things like that.

But it does mean he’s distracted entirely too. Silver already is a perfect participant for the silly ideas Sonic has sometimes to amuse them both, but his current lack of attention spared for the surroundings only work in Sonic’s favour. And thus, the speedster crouches… presses his feet into the ground and shifts them minutely to check if it won’t make any sounds…

In one fell swoop he shoots over, and Silver has been snagged off the ground and hoisted into his arms in the blink of an eye.

Grey quills spike right up, the hedgehog’s body tensing in Sonic’s arms and a sharp breath drawn. But Sonic grins his most coy, suave smirk, giving Silver the smallest of jostles. “Heh. Gotcha! Long time no see, Silver.”

Golden eyes blink. Then move up and down and up to regard Sonic all over, one of Silver’s eyebrow raising in a manner perhaps best described as unamused. The silent seconds stretch out between them as Sonic gets beheld, the speedster wriggling his own brow in turn all smugly…

Before a grin forms on Silver’s face as well.

And Sonic blinks, his whole body enveloped in a liquid-like cool before he can so much as react.  

“Heh. Is this a joke?” Silver smirks back… and Sonic squeaks as he gets yoinked away from his pal, off the ground and into the sky as well, and he’s left floundering his arms and legs to get a grip on nothing.

“Awwww, Silver!” he protests at his companion, who is also floating; but where Sonic is forced into an undignified struggle, Silver’s one hand moves casually behind his head and the other twists its fingers to make Sonic spin slow, teasing circles. “That’s not fair! That's cheating.”

Silver leans back a bit into the air, looking altogether smug. “Is not. And why are you trying to get the jump on me?”

“Just testing out my hunting skills,” Sonic’s grinned response comes. It earns him a curious look and a shrug, those fingers curling back towards Silver and the speedster bobbing over to him anew.

“But I captured you now,” the psychic remarks. “So you failed."

With crossing arms Sonic huffs. “I did get you first.”

“Yeah, for like ten seconds.” Carefully Sonic gets lowered onto Silver’s chest, psychokinesis dissipating around him. “So that makes my hunting skills better.”

“I’d love to see you try out your hunting skills without your powers next time,” Sonic grins back, leaning closer so their noses brush together. A challenge and a loving nuzzle combined, though for Silver it seems to be the latter, considering the happy rumble that reverberates in his chest as he smushes their foreheads together.

“After I’m done enjoying the sunset. Wanna join me?”

Shyly Sonic’s head falls in the crook of Silver’s shoulder; he’s no stranger to being held by the psychic, but his cheeks always grow red at how easily those touches and actions come to the other. But the speedster smiles all the same, shifting until he’s found a comfortable way to lie. Who cares that it’s in the air and on Silver, and not on the ground? “Anytime,” he assures his pal, enjoying the gentle bopping in the air and the way Silver’s chest rises and falls and the sunbeams that caress his fur, until the sky has long turned dark and Silver gently deposits the both of them onto the ground anew.

And very suspiciously keeps dilly-dallying beside the tree despite Sonic’s statement he’s gonna go away now, the speedster barely able to stifle his chuckles as he pads into a random direction.

Mercifully Silver does not have two long tails either: the way Sonic goes from walking with fake carelessness to crashing right into the ground from the weight slamming into his back with a triumphant cry is enough to mess up his quills anyway. “Gotcha!!” Silver croons from atop of him as Sonic spits out a handful of grass. “I am the best hunter!”

“You are,” Sonic agrees, a tad muffled… before huffing in amusement as the weight dissipates and he gets picked up by psychokinesis once more. Though, instead of being made to float slow, teasing circles, now it places him most snugly in Silver’s arms instead, bundled right into that downy white mane of his.

“That’s only fair,” the psychic grins as Sonic raises an amused eyebrow, before getting off the ground and flying into the night. With a laugh Sonic slings an arm around the other’s neck to keep him steady, comfortably dangling his feet and thanking the cover of the night for hiding his blushes every time Silver’s breath caresses his cheek.

Even if it’s flustering, he can accept becoming an unsuspected victim of mischief himself if it’s from Silver, after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

carry

[postracehair]

fracture

max verstappen x reader | 3.5k

max breaks his wrist during the first week of the off-season.

cw: max breaks his arm, r is a bit rattled, some blood, a naked shower, intimacy, mentions of sex

a/n: c'mon. you know he'd be so annoying. good thing we love him. [i wrote this before the season ended and then...never posted it. so, here, have it before we start all this shit over again in a few weeks.]

__

You are not there when it happens.

You're asleep, actually, curled up on Max's couch with the cats while he enjoys the first week of the off-season. The celebrations have ended and there is a great deal of work to be done in the next few months, but everyone gets a little bit of respite.

Vacation will come after the holidays. That's the plan, anyway. The last few days have seen you in Monaco, mostly inside Max's place. Just spending time together, relaxing, watching movies, rumpling his sheets. Today, though, he and Danny decided to go on a world-class-athlete-level bike ride.

Which is why you're on the couch. They've been gone all day and you don't expect Max to get home until later. You ran errands, cleaned a little, and then took an afternoon nap.

As you rouse from it, you fumble for your phone to check the time. The screen lights up and you're greeted with --

35 texts. 4 missed calls.

"What the hell?" you mutter, sitting up and opening everything.

DR: sorry for the three calls don't freak out but i think max broke his arm

DR: he says you're probably napping but i'm going to document this for when you wake up

DR: he's fine but yeah that shit is fucked

DR: he says not to tell you he fell off his bike but he fell off his bike

DR: he braked for some animal in the road and went over his handlebars

DR: oh he also scraped his face but he's still pretty, don't worry

DR: his palms are fucked though which is why he's not texting you

DR: we're on the way to the hospital, btw

DR: you're gonna be so pissed when you wake up

It goes on like that. Daniel, to his credit, has given you a play-by-play of the whole situation. You've only been asleep for about an hour and based on the time stamps this started right after you fell asleep.

You get up as you read, grabbing your things and trying to find your shoes as you read. You need to -- you need to go and be wherever they are. You need to help. Heart racing, chest tight, you need to be near Max as soon as possible, even though Danny said he's okay. If this was you, Max would already be there. God, why did you take a nap?

According to the texts, they got to the hospital and he was seen immedietly, x-rayed, and bandaged up. Broken right wrist, Danny had said. He's pissed more than anything.

You're about to call him back when your phone rings in your hands.

"Danny," you say as soon as you accept it.

"Oh, thank fuck," Daniel exclaims. "I thought I was going to have to surprise you in person with the whole thing."

"I'm about to leave, just give me 15 minutes to get there--"

"No, no, no," he interrupts you. "He just got discharged. I'm bringing him home."

You stop in your tracks, one foot shoved halfway into your sneaker. "Really?"

"Yeah, we'll be there in like, 20 minutes?" You can hear Max saying something in the background. "He wants to talk to you," Danny sighs. "Mate, you'll see her soon--"

He's cut off and there's some muffled noises and then Max is saying your name.

"I'm fine," he says. "I only made him tell you so it wasn't a surprise when I came home."

"Max," you sigh, shoulders creeping away from your ears at the sound of his voice. "I'm so sorry, I was asleep!"

He laughs. You feel a bit weepy, which is both an overreaction and cathartic. "Good," he says. "The whole experience has been a pain in the ass."

"You're coming home now? Are you in pain?"

"Eh," he says, dragging out the sound. "They gave me something while they set it so I don't feel it much. Daniel says we'll be home soon. Oh, hold on --" There is some muttering, Danny's voice in the background. "Okay, I'm going to give you back. See you soon, liefje."

"Okay," you say softly.

"Be there in a flash!" Danny says brightly. "Seriously, don't worry."

You hang up and just stand in the hallway, at a loss. Something bad happened to Max and you weren't there. It feels wrong. Not that he's in poor hands with Danny -- quite the opposite. He's probably the only person aside from yourself that you'd want there for Max in a crisis. But, god. You wish you had been there.

The cats weave around your ankles as you pace, waiting for Danny to call or for the door to open or, anything at all to happen. Your mind is running a million miles a minute. Objectively, it's the best time for Max to break something. There isn't even a car for him to test right now and he had at least another week of time off before needing to go back to Milton Keynes. This might throw a wrench in your holiday plans but you couldn't care less about that. How long will he be in a cast? You assume he's in a cast. What kind of help will he need? Will you be enough to provide it? What if he --

Noises in the hall make you freeze and then you hear Danny's voice. You bolt to the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open. You're greeted with the sight of the two of them -- Danny looking down at Max's keys in his hands, both of their backpacks on his back. They've both changed out of whatever ridiculous bike outfit they must have been wearing for the ride, but you devote your attention to your boyfriend.

You can see the bandages on Max's knees and forearms where he must have scraped himself up on the road. His wrist -- it's in a black cast that runs the length of his forearm. He cradles it to his chest in a sling they must have given him and then you make your way to his face. A few scratches along one cheek, hair a mess, mouth drawn into a frown. A frown that relaxes slightly when you meet his gaze. Your eyes well with tears.

"Max," you breathe. He steps in front of Danny and meets you in the doorway, his cast-free hand cupping your face through the bandages on his palm.

"I'm fine," he says. "You're looking at me like I'm in a coma."

"Sorry," you whisper. "I just --"

He tugs you to him gently, pressing your face into his neck and rubbing your back. You try to be careful of his arm as you breathe deep and will yourself not to actually lose it.

"Guys, can we at least go inside?" Danny asks.

Max huffs and you pull away. He drags his thumb under both of your eyes but doesn't comment on the dampness he finds there. "Inside, liefje."

Danny drops Max's stuff and passes along the documents from the hospital. He's quite the personality but he's all business when he needs to be. "Pain killers in his bag. Call me if you need anything, guys."

You step away from Max long enough to throw your arms around Danny. "Thank you," you whisper. "For looking after him." For calling. For bringing him back to me. For doing what I should have been there for.

He chuckles. "Alright," he says. "Max should break something more often."

Once Danny leaves, it's just the two of you. Max has settled on the couch, head leaning back into the cushions.

"Come sit with me," Max calls. "God, I forgot how much I hate hospitals."

His eyes are closed and he holds his arm gingerly. It's not the first time you've seen him injured -- you've been at his side in the medical tent before after watching him careen into a wall at 190mph. And yet, right now, you're still so upset.

You settle into the cushions on his left side and just watch him.

"I'm sorry," you say again. Max's eyes open. "I can't believe I was asleep when Danny called."

Max shakes his head. "What would you have done?"

"I could have come to get you and take you to the hospital, or just met you there, or--"

He puts his hand on your knee. "Come on," he says. "Don't be silly."

How do you explain it to him? How do you tell him that something happening to him feels like it happened to you? That not being there feels like a personal failing?

"Will you tell me what happened?"

He sighs and you pull his palm from your leg to hold it in your hands.

"It's stupid," he grimaces. "You don't need the details."

"Max."

He folds. Other people in his life have called this your superpower -- Max's will is iron clad. It is very difficult to get him to do something he does not want to do. But one word from you, one soft look, one gentle touch, and he often relents. It's like you can peel back that layer of him that has hardened out of necessity. To protect himself and his heart, to make sure he's taken seriously, to stop things from hurting.

It's like you remind him that it's okay to feel, even when it's hard.

"Daniel summed it up," he grumbles. "We were biking down a hill outside the city and something ran out into the road in front of me. I stopped. Or tried to, at least." He mimes squeezing the breaks, fingers curling in towards his bandaged palms. You stroke his unbroken wrist with your thumb.

"And you went over," you finish.

"And I went over. Got my knees, my forearms, my hands. My wrist, obviously. Just landed badly."

You reach for his face ever so gently, dragging the pad of your thumb over the shallow scrapes on his chin, his cheek. He allows it, knowing that you need to touch him to be sure he's okay. Whenever he has a crash on track you have trouble letting him out of your sight for hours. You just need to look at him, feel him warm and alive under your hands.

"I'm going to write a letter to your helmet manufacturer," you say, not entirely kidding. You slide your hand over his temple and into his hair. It's dirty, you can feel it, but you cradle his skull all the same. "Thank them."

He laughs once, amused with your sincerity. "I need to shower," he says. "But I can't get this wet." You finally direct your attention to his broken wrist, the entirety of his forearm and hand encased in the cast under the sling.

"Does it hurt?" you ask again. Max would tell anyone else off for badgering him so, but he keeps his face soft and reassures you.

"It's strange," he says. "I'm sure I'll feel it later."

"Did it hurt?" you whisper. "When you broke it?"

You know that Max has felt a great deal of pain in his life. His day job requires it -- physical, mental, emotional. He knows how to handle it and get over it. But he's also honest with you, always.

He wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't nice," he confesses. "I knew right away."

You grimace. In the silence, you match your breaths to his and just sit together for a little while.

And then Max's stomach growls.

"Whoops," he says, grinning crookedly. Still an athlete, still a boy with a fast metabolism. You can't help but laugh.

"How about this," you begin, unfolding yourself from the couch and standing in front of him, hands on your hips. Max looks up at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen. "I order some food and then we get you showered while we wait for it. Let the scrapes breathe and keep your cast dry, then we eat and watch a movie and go to bed. Okay?"

"We get me showered?" He sounds skeptical.

"You think you can wash your hair on your own?"

He smirks. "I can do a lot with one hand."

You roll your eyes. "So you're turning down an opportunity to shower with me, is what I'm hearing."

Max gets himself off the couch and rests his palm on your hip. "No," he says softly. "I'm not that stupid."

He kisses you lightly and heads for the bathroom.

"I guess we can wrap it in a plastic bag, or something?" you call after him. It takes a few minutes of opening and closing cabinets for you to find one. You put in a delivery order and make your way to the bathroom. Max has already turned on the shower and you find him shirtless and peeling off his bandages in in front of the mirror.

"Let me do that." He doesn't put up much of a fight, not even wincing when the tape pull at his skin. You see the gashes on his forearm, the raw skin of his palms. "Arm, please." The plastic bag goes around his cast and you tie it at his elbow.

"You planning to wash my hair while wearing your clothes?" Max asks with a straight face.

You stare at him, trying to seem unimpressed. He breaks first, mouth pulling up at one corner before he shucks off his soft shorts and briefs in one go. He pecks you on the cheek and gets in the shower, still smirking at you through the glass door.

"Alright, alright," you mutter. "So dramatic."

You feel Max's eyes on you as you undress, leaving your clothes on a pile on the floor.

The shower is unnecessarily big but Max does not give you much space. The hot spray is at his back and he keeps his plastic bag-clad arm mostly out of the way.

"Feel good?" you ask. Max sighs but nods. You'll bet he's aching but hasn't admitted it. He turns to the side so you can catch some of the spray, too, fighting off the chill outside the warm water.

"I might fall asleep in here," he mutters.

"That'll be the painkillers, darling," you tell him. "C'mon, get your hair wet."

Max tips his head back. You readjust so that you can card your hands through it. You shampoo him gently, taking your time and massaging his scalp. It's a miracle he stays on his feet, but he does. You hum as you work and Max's breaths get deeper, slower.

"Head back," you say softly. He obeys. You do the same with some of your conditioner because you know he likes how it smells.

This shower feels more intimate than the countless hours you've spend in his bed, tangled up in one another. He's been inside you and yet this feels more vulnerable. He's totally ceding control, trusting you to take care of him. You're naked, slick bodies brushing, always touching whether it's your hands in his hair or Max's own fingers reaching for your skin just to feel.

One time, when you were sick, you couldn't muster the energy to take a shower. Max ran you a bath and washed your hair for you, talking all the while because you asked to hear his voice. It's obvious that you'd do the same for him, as you're doing now. It's just how you love each other -- all the way, all the time. When it's easy and when it's hard.

"Danny was right," Max says, words slurring half from bliss and half the fatigue of the day catching up to him. "I should break bones more often."

You finish rinsing him and just stand there in the spray for a few moments.

"Please, no," you groan, brushing wet strands back from his forehead. "If you want me to wash your hair I will, Max. You don't need to break anything."

His eyes flutter open and find yours. He smiles lazily and you turn off the shower.

"If you say so," he says. "Can we take this off, now?"

Bag removed, skin patted dry, comifes on. The food comes when you're settling Max on the couch with a pillow for his arm. In all likelihood he'll manage a few bites of take out and fall asleep 15 minutes into the movie. But he needs the rest, you think. And besides, he'll have you to watch over him.

__

It becomes clear remarkably quickly that Max is an awful patient. You sort of knew this -- he's been sick a few times when you're around, but you figured that was just man-disease. Whining, refusing to sit still. This is 10x worse. He won't let you do anything for him until he's proven that he can't do it himself. You consider locking him in your bedroom to keep him from trying to do things he shouldn't do.

Max just wasn't made to sit still.

But you can empathize -- it's frustrating to not be able to do any of the things he really likes to do. Drive, use his sim, even play regular video games. It's a lot of movies and long walks and leg days with his trainer.

And then there's the way he just won't ask for help. That's a Max Verstappen original and you know it gets worse when he's frustrated. You do it too -- everyone does. But Max wants to do everything himself, wants to prove that he can.

You try to sit back and let him work it out. About a week after he comes home with his arm in a cast, he calls your name. You're in the kitchen, staring into the open fridge and wondering if you should order more groceries or just go to the shops yourself.

"You okay?" you call back. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom,"he shouts.

Ah, you think. Here we go.

He hasn't shaved yet. You've always loved when he keeps his facial hair a little longer. You love the feel of it on your skin and how it lightens along with his hair when you're on holiday somewhere nice. It's more likely that he keep it long in the off-season. Hot races are a nightmare with a beard, he's said. It itches like mad.

"Coming," you call.

Sure enough, you find him in front of the sink, razor in hand and frown firmly in place. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and even though you can feel his annoyance from here, the set of his jaw softens.

"Do you think you could help me shave?" he asks. No lead up, no hem and haw.

"Of course, Max."

You quickly work out that sitting on the counter next to the sink while he stands between your knees works best. His broken wrist hangs at his side, the other hand resting on the counter next to your leg.

You lather him up, carefully applying the white foam of his shaving cream on his cheeks, his chin, his neck. He's got a fancy razor, one that will probably make it hard to cut him. Still, you feel the way he's basically handed you a blade and asked you to use it on him. In so many ways it's one of the most intimate things you've ever done. Even more than the showers you've had this week, just chatting and washing his hair.

"I'll be careful," you say softly.

"I know." He tilts his chin up, showing you his neck. "Go on, then."

It's quiet work. You're focusing hard and Max seems content to allow you. Stroke after stroke, rinsing the razor in the sink. You keep one hand at the base of this throat as the other works, gliding it over his skin. Cheeks, jaw, upper lip. Chin, neck.

"I like your beard, you know," you say when you're almost done. He waits until you're rinsing the razor again to reply.

"I do," he says, smirking. "You aren't quiet about it."

The last patch comes off as easily as the rest and you grab a damp towel to clean the rest of the shaving cream. Max appears to have relaxed enough to become pliant, leaning into your touch as you finish. He lets you rub moisturizer into his cheeks, eyes fluttering closed. His hand ends up on your leg, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh.

"Cheeky," you mutter. He smiles, boyish and easy. You take your time, pleased that he's letting you, but also because you could touch him forever. "Schatje," you whisper, trying to make it sound like it does from his lips. "All done."

Max doesn't move. You frame his face with your hands and lean in until your lips touch. You feel his smile against yours, but he dutifully tilts his head to deepen the kiss. His freshly shaved skin is so soft. You've kissed thousands of times by now, but you can never get enough of him. The way he responds to your every move, meeting your pressure with some of his own. Your tongue with his, swallowing your moans and giving you his own like a gift.

It's Max who pulls away, dragging his lips over your cheek.

"Dankje," he whispers. It means more than that, you know. From Max, it means thank you for dealing with me, for taking care of me, for loving me.

He doesn't think any of that is easy for you. But he's wrong. It's the easiest thing in the world.

[its-a-me-mango]

Oh hey... it's been a while Telly...

Everypony, this is URGEN, and I need your help, I have a sad TV that needs cheering up, can you help me? You guys think you can help me? Pretty please?

THIS IS A FUN LIL OC/SONA DRAWING/WRITING/WHATEVER EVENT THINGY AND YOU'RE INVITED TO TAKE PART!!!

INFO BELOW THE READ MORE!

Hi welcome to below the read more, nice down here innit.

THIS IS NOT AN EVENT WHERE YOU SUGGEST THINGS TO ME, THIS IS FOR YOU TO DO, I WILL BE IGNORING ANY ASKS RELATED TO REQUESTS FOR ME TO DRAW!

Anyway so as I said, you're invited to have your sona, your OC, your AU or heck even one of the SMG4 crew help cheer up Telly! You can do this in anyway you like, wethers it's taking them out somewhere nice like a park or city, to playing games with them, or just hanging out with them! You're in charge of picking out something fun for your character of choise and Telly to do together! They love doing anything as long as its with friends so you're welcome to do pretty much anything!

You can also make this in an medium you'd like, be it art, comics, writing, or anything else you can think of, there is no strict medium this has to be done in so go wild and most importantly have fun!

For the sake of keeping things clear in the SMG4 tag, you can use #SMG4CheerUp as the tag for this event, you are obviously free to @ me but if not, I will check the above tag instead.

Before I go any further, just want to make this clear:

THERE IS NO PRIZE! THERE IS NO DEADLINE! THIS IS JUST FOR FUN!

THIS IS NOT A COMPETITION

Just saying this as I don't want people expecting anything from me in return for this, nor do I want people putting themselves down or comparing themselves to others, I want people to have fun for the sake of having fun.

I'm obviously not super stricks on rules as this is for fun but I do have a few requests:

No just straight up brining Mr Puzzles back, that kinda defeats the point. You're more than welcome to use your AU or OC version of Mr Puzzles for this, but no actual Mr Puzzles, let him rot in prison for a bit please.

I know I said you're welcome to do pretty much anything but please keep your work age appropriate! Telly is meant to be no older than 10 at max so nothing too outrageous please! I don't mind a bit of angst or anything like that but you know, be nice to the kid alright, I will kill you otherwise /j

Also for this please don't use their teen/adult design, this is focused on them as a kid so please keep them as one, no aging up to do anything not age appropriate please.

Please keep in mind that Telly is mute and cannot talk! They can write/type to talk (as they don't know sign language yet) and they can make static noises, but no actual speaking for them!

TELLY USES THEY/THEM PRONOUNS AND NOTHING ELSE, PLEASE JUST REFER TO THEM AS A CHILD/KID

That's all I could think of lol, will add more if I think of anything else.

TELLYS REF IS HERE FOR ANYONE WHO NEEDS IT (it is also linked on my pinned post at all times) I'm not overly strict on design so feel free to add your own lil details to them, I think it's fun! :3

My media asks are off for now, as I'd rather people make their own posts, it's what Tumblr's for and I wouldn't want anyone's amazing work to sit and rot in my inbox! I will be reblogging everything I promise.

You're welcome to ask me any questions but my response will likely be either "yes" or "if it's fun for you go for it!"

There is no deadline as stated, but I'll say this is open for at least a month-ish, or at least until Mr Puzzles comes back or something lol (watch that be, this week! wow how short lived /j)

ANYWAY WITH ALL THAT OUT THE WAY, GO FORTH AND ONCE AGAIN, HAVE FUN ABOVE ALL ELSE!!! :3

[seokminfilm]

seventeen as my memorable school experiences

♫ pairing, seventeen x reader ♫ warnings, fluff, unserious/crack, non-idol au, very short, headcanons, debut/high school age seventeen, cliches, cursing, kind of dramatic, my personal stories

♫ author's note, hi everyone 😞 school and deadlines have been driving me insane so i'll be semi-active until further notice 🧍 ANYWAYS wanted something fun (slightly unserious) and quick, so i thought of this idea! these are all in good fun so don't worry 🤍 without further ado enjoy these headcanons (and tell me if you like them/want more of this format!)

seungcheol would definitely be the type of guy to hold the littlest things over you 😭 definitely one to pull the "I'm older than you" or "I'm stronger than you" card in literally every situation 🧍 you know the kid that was like "i'm so fast i can run here and back in three seconds"? seungcheol would be the one doing that, and trip over something and face-plant 💀 i would not take him seriously let me tell you that

jeonghan teacher's pet 100 percent LMAO definitely the type of person to tell on someone when they're not doing something they "should" be doing. has to be the teacher's helper, passing out papers and running errands for them. jeonghan would be the sly one that is actually one of the most unruly ass students but gets away because he sucks up to the teacher 😭

joshua he'd be the popular transfer student that everyone would be focused on for like a week. he's the talk of the school okay 😭 has that generic 2010 gelled/swooped to the side hair with a button-up for sureee joshua is the kid who's really polite and sweet and has the teacher singing his praises, but when he gets around the right people, he cannot be stopped

jun jun's the really quiet one you forget even exists sometimes 😭 your teacher is taking attendance and says "who are we missing" and you say someone jun, while everyone else is yelling another person 🧍like no jun's sitting right behind you, he's just really quiet. (part two of getting around the right people and being loud)

hoshi hoshi is that one kid that cannot be embarrassed by himself. he will do the most cringy things known to mankind, and still be able to walk away normally after it 💀 does not care about what he likes (definitely an anime kid i feel it in my soul), and makes references that no one gets. people are scared to have to be his class partner let me tell you 🧍

wonwoo not be overused or anything but i seriously do see wonwoo as a gamer boy 💀 my childhood best friend (who goes to school w me & is in my class) is an absolute dork when it comes to video games. wonwoo would be the person to bring a sketchbook skilled fo video game characters 🧍 would also be the person to listen to video game osts while doing homework/assignments

woozi part two of "the really quiet kid you forget even exists sometimes" LMAO woozi is definitely to be the one in the back of the classroom minding his business, doing his work, or sleeping. woozi can be funny, but just doesn't feel like trying 🤷 has great timing with the things he says and makes the whole class laugh

the8 did (or do) you know that one kid that would correct your grammar or pronounciation without your consent? the8 would SO be that kid omg 😭 lord forbid you stutter around him cause he'll go straight to mocking you for it. the8 would be such a stickler w that i fear (i can just imagine you having him read something you've written and there he is correcting your run-on sentences 💀)

mingyu there's this one kid i see walking around in the hallways of my school with a mop of curly hair shielding his eyes 🧍 that just screams mingyu to me LMAO idk he tries so hard to be cool and hip but it just doesn't work 😭 considered one of the more popular people of the class, even if it's just because he's "mysterious".

dk he's definitely the type of person to make you come undone with an "are you okay?" or bunches of compliments CHANGE MY MIND i have a friend who's so good at coaxing feelings & tears out of me w a simple "hey, are you okay?", and i feel like dk would be the same way 😭 gives you a hug every day when you're leaving, and texts you on school holidays/breaks because he "misses human interaction" ("i miss you so bad ☹" "seokmin it's been 2 hours since i last saw you")

seungkwan theatre kid or choir kid 🤷 also probably has his mom working as a teacher so has those privileges to where he can visit his mom's class and participate in a bunch of things since his mom is already at the school 🧍probably also a generic popular girl too LMAO hears things from other people and spreads it professionally (probably to the8: if you see them two conversing and looking at you, 9/10 you're being secretly roasted)

vernon debut vernon to me screams "random boy every girl in your grade liked with a windshield wiper laugh and thick, brown wavy hair" 🤷 had this one boy in 3rd grade that EVERY SINGULAR GIRL THOUGHT WAS CUTE. also probably says cringe things (ex: dude, bro, fire, lit, sike, etc) unironically because he has an image to uphold or something. please don't make him laugh really hard (you'll hear this squeaky grating sound that makes you want to stuff your head in your backpack)

dino dino is the popular boy by association 😭 he's not really popular on his own, but when with vernon/mingyu suddenly multiplies in popularity. he's actually a really chill, down-to-earth dude LMAO lord forbid he makes a terrible joke though 💀 he'll be so embarrassed he'll shut down and never come back. would friends with vernon and probably practices the windshield wiper laugh in his bathroom at home 🧍

a/n: lowkey very cliche and personal but still fun/comforting to write (speaking with experiencing most of these things firsthand LMAOAOOA!! tell me what you think about it LMAO

[camerahaterlittle]

Morning | Beth Mead

Summary: An early morning with Beth before training

Warnings: bad writing and grammar bad attempts at fluff and quite short if I'm being honest

You let out a groan nuzzling closer to Beth when the alarm you set every morning for training went off already a bit annoyed that you'd have to get up and remove yourself from Beth just to get ready.

Beth chuckled, running a hand through your hair, having been up a couple of minutes before the alarm went off, just enjoying the quietness of the morning since Myle was yet to wake up. Beth's voice is still slightly raspy from just waking up cut through the quietness of the room.

"Morning love, it's time to get up" You grumbled in protest at the thought of leaving Beth's arms and facing the cold air of the morning. Your groggy, tired, filled voice cut through the quietness a few moments later "5 more minutes".

Beth let out a sigh, already knowing just from that it'd be hard to get you up and out of bed to get ready. "Darling as much as I'd love to give you five more minutes, I've snoozed the last couple of alarms just to let you sleep". You cursed Renée in your head for the early morning training session as you sat up yawning the blanket, now pooling at your waist.

After staring at the wall for a couple of minutes, you got up out of bed, grumbling on your way to the bathroom moving past Myle who was lying on the floor next to the bathroom starting to brush your teeth ignoring Beth's laugh amused by your annoyance of having to get up.

Beth got up not too long after you started brushing your teeth, coming up behind you wrapping her arms around you, swaying you both before she grabbed her own toothbrush, starting to brush her own teeth keeping her one arm around you.

When you both were done brushing your teeth, you turned to face her finally kissing her for the first time this morning it was a lazy, passion kiss lasting a good two minutes before you pulled away to do your hair and get dressed. You pulled your hair up into a ponytail, making sure there were no fly aways once you were sure it looked good you left the bathroom to go put on a change of clothes as Beth did her own hair.

You grabbed one of Beth's Arsenal hoodies throwing it on before you grabbed a pair of your sweatpants, putting them on grabbing a pair of socks beginning to head out of your shared bedroom to the kitchen Myle finally having woken up following behind you.

You sat down, putting on your socks petting Myle once you were done chuckling as she glanced at her dog bowl, clearing wanting food you got up grabbing her food, pouring some into her bowl watching as she immediately started to eat.

Once Myle's food was sorted, you got to work on yours and Beth's food, making something light since you knew you'd be eating more before training started. While you were in the middle of making your guys food, Beth came up behind you once again looking over your shoulder to see what you were making this time, which was a simple fruit filled smoothie.

Beth smiled at the sight, starting to hum one of your guys favorite songs starting to help you out with making the smoothie both of you working in sync of each other already having a practiced routine even though you just moved in together 2 weeks ago after spending almost everyday at each other's apartment.

Once the smoothies were done, you poured them into your cups, sitting down at the table starting to drink it while you did a Norwegian cross word puzzle. While Beth was giving Myle attention, you equally had quiet mornings but also loud mornings just depended on the day, and clearly, this was a quiet morning between you two.

Soon enough, you both finished your smoothies getting up. You took yours and Beth's cup washing them out while she grabbed both of your bags out the closet, setting them on the floor before putting on her shoes you following not too long after grabbing the bags saying goodbye to Myle before you were out the door.

On your way to training mornings with Beth had always been your favorite part of the day, no matter how it started. You always said you only enjoyed your company but ever since you met Beth and got closer to her you slowly grew to love her company just as much maybe even more than your own company and that was just fine since you loved Beth with all you had.

(Any feedback is very much so appreciated)

[miss-lesbian16]

A secret love

Warning: a little bit of groping and injury.

Who would have thought that the daughter of Councilman Kiramman and Sevika, a criminal since she is Silco's right hand, would have an impossible love?

I’m at home, sitting in front of the mirror, dressed in a long silk nightgown while I brush my hair. Today I received a letter saying that Sevika would come to see me. Just then, I heard something tap against my window. I turn and quickly get up to open it; I see Sevika as she steps inside my room.

—"Sevi," —I say excitedly as I move closer to her to hug her—. "I've missed you and worried at the same time. Sevika, I thought something had happened to you; it’s been two weeks since you last came" —I say, lifting my head to meet Sevika's gaze, a deep look, calm yet filled with profound love.

—"I know, babe. It's just that Silco had too much work, and as you know, I'm always the one who handles the dirty work," —she says while her hand gently caresses my head and with her other metallic hand she holds my waist, squeezing it lightly—. "You don’t have to miss me anymore, and worrying about me is unnecessary; nothing is going to happen to me, babe" —she says with a proud smile, as she is the most fearsome and strong woman in Zaun.

—"Yes, I know. My mother never stops talking about you," —I say while laughing. I stop hugging her to guide her to my canopied bed.

Sevika has spent so much time here at night that it’s no longer necessary to insist on sitting down; so Sevika sits comfortably, pulls out a cigar, and starts smoking.

—"It must be good things about me, right?" —she says with more pride and a playful smile. She grabs my hip and pulls me onto her lap with her human hand firmly around my waist.

—"Yes, like how you kill and beat up the enforcers who suspect that their illegal shimmer passes through Piltover," —I say in a tone that’s both serious and playful at the same time.

—But let's stop talking about that and rather tell me, did no one notice when you arrived? —I say curiously, my hands resting on her neck as I look deeply into her eyes.

—Why do you ask? —she says, puzzled, pulling away a little and tightening her grip around my waist—. Does someone already know about us?

—No, no one. Just that some guards informed my mother that someone left through my window in the early morning —I say sarcastically while looking away—. I don't want them to know about us —I say worriedly, my hands moving to her shoulders.

—Are you embarrassed about our relationship? —she says in a serious and natural tone while looking straight into my eyes.

I feel her gaze, even though I’m not looking at her. It’s like... but when she said she was embarrassed about our relationship, I quickly turned to face her.

—No, Sevika, I’m not embarrassed about our relationship. You are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. What I'm afraid of is that they will find out and send me to another nation, separating me from you, and I don’t want that —I say while hugging her. My words came out too fast and a bit desperate—. I love you with all my heart, Sevi —I say with fear but in a loving tone.

—It's okay, I understand. Calm down —she says as she moves her hand from my waist to my head, pulling me back a bit—. Although I know I don’t say it very often, you are also the most beautiful thing I've ever known —she says calmly and then gives me a kiss on the forehead.

I push her so that she lies down on the bed, getting on top of her to then, without warning, start a slow kiss. Sevika lets herself go, placing her metal hand on my back and the other slowly caressing my skin as the kiss becomes more demanding and desperate to the point where Sevika tries to take off my robe.

—Sevika —I say between kisses—. I love you —I say in a moan between kisses.

—I love you too, babe —she says as she lightly bites my lower lip.

My hands start to caress her abdomen under her shirt, but I feel something wet and suddenly pull away from the kiss, sitting on her thighs. I pull out my hand and see blood.

—Sevika! What happened to you? You're hurt! —I say worriedly as I look into her eyes.

Without waiting for her to respond, I lift her shirt and see a bandage already stained with blood.

—It's nothing. I just had a fight and the jerk used a knife and hurt me. But it's nothing to worry about; I just washed the wound and put on a bandage —she says calmly as if it were something natural that happens to her.

—No! Sevika, let me take care of you —I say worriedly—. And how is it not concerning? Sevika! You have a wound on your abdomen! —I say in an angry tone but with more concern.

I get off her while going to the bathroom for alcohol, bandages, cotton balls, towels, and water; everything on a tray. When I come back out, she is sitting in an armchair next to a fireplace but without a shirt on, wearing only her bra.

—Sevi, it wasn't necessary for you to take off your shirt —I say shyly and blushing as I approach her to tend to her wound.

—I see nothing wrong with being like this; besides, I feel more comfortable like this —she says with a calm and mischievous smile.

I sit next to her while Sevika watches all the movements I'm making. I grab the towel and wet it to wring it out and start cleaning the wound; around it, her abdomen moves slightly due to the pain. I leave the towel on the tray; grab the cotton ball and moisten it with alcohol. Gently, I pass the cotton over the wound to disinfect it; Sevika grunts a little.

—Am I hurting you, Sevika? —I ask worriedly but calmly; lifting my gaze.

—No, keep going. Don’t worry —she says with a vulnerable yet serene tone.

—Alright, Sevika; I'll continue —I say worried but somewhat calm.

After a few minutes of treating her wound, once disinfected I take a bandage and gently place it over her injury.

—Done; I'm finished Sevi —I say while grabbing the leftover bandage and leaving it on the tray.

—Babe, it's time for me to go; I have work to do —she says seriously as she stands up and goes to grab her shirt from the bed to put it back on.

—Why so soon? I thought you'd stay to sleep with me —I say surprised; walking towards her stopping her by hugging her from behind before she leaves through the window.

In one swift motion she turns around facing me and starts kissing me passionately and desperately inserting her tongue into my mouth; starting a somewhat messy kiss while her metal hand grabs my butt and the other is on my back. After a few seconds we pull away from the kiss due to lack of air seeing how a string of saliva connected us.

—I’ll be back tomorrow okay? —she says smiling and gasping slightly.

—Alright Sevi; I'll be waiting for you —I say moaning slightly because of the kiss.

Before Sevika pulls away from me she gives me a hard slap on my butt causing me to moan again and unable to say anything she jumps out through the window leaving me alone in my room.

Thanks for reading and I hope you support me. Have a nice morning/day/night

[aringofsalt]

you are on 🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕 lockdown actually idk what you were thinking adding other WIPs to the list only 🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕🐕 (12 dogs!)

12 dogs 😭 the way this is gonna be like a quarter of the fic lmaoooo

"An...adoption drive?" Bobby asked slowly, looking down at the clipboard Buck had dug out from god knows where.

"Yeah!" Buck replied excitedly. "I was talking to James, you know, the guy from the shelter from the other day? They were full when the fire happened, and we got everyone out, but now they're down to less than half capacity until they can get the repairs done, and none of the shelters around can help because they're also full. So I thought maybe we could help out, get some visibility."

Buck turned on his own puppy eyes then. Bobby would never admit it, but Athena had made many comments about them working on him far more often than they really should.

He sighed. "Fine. But you're organizing it."

—

Two days later, by some miracle of planning and sheer determination—and more than a few cans of Red Bull—the firehouse was full of barking, meowing, and even the occasional chirp. They'd had a steady stream of people all day, and far more of them had actually adopted than Buck expected. He stood next to James, matching grins on their faces as a pair of twins walked away with their mom and a bonded trio of kittens.

"I can't believe how well this is going," Buck said happily. He turned to James, who was already looking up at him, smiling softly, and his own smile faltered for a second.

"It's all thanks to you," James said, gently nudging their elbows together. "I don't know how you got this together so fast. I should give you my number, get you on the board at the shelter, I could use you."

"Oh, yeah, I—I love helping out—"

"Hi, I'm so sorry, I was wondering if I could meet that cat over there?"

James gave his arm a squeeze and went to go help the woman who'd interrupted him, and Buck sighed, face falling as soon as James wasn't looking at him anymore.

"You know he was flirting with you, right?"

He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't even noticed Chimney coming up behind him.

"Yeah, I know."

"And you're... not going to do anything about that?" Chimney asked slowly.

Buck shrugged. "Nah."

Chimney opened his mouth, clearly about to start in on a lecture, but Buck was saved when one of the other shelter employees came in, struggling with three dogs on leashes and a fourth in her arms.

"Hey, let me help you with that," Buck offered, reaching for the dog she was holding before the poor thing could squirm its way into falling to the floor.

"Thank you," she said gratefully. "Billie gets so stressed out with change, poor girl. It's been a rough few days."

"I bet." Buck stroked her little forehead, cradling her gently against his chest. "Hi, Billie!"

She was a tiny thing, practically able to fit in one of his hands, with soft blonde fur that fluffed up around her ears and on her tail. Her eyes seemed to take up half her face, deep brown and soulful and looking up at him with the most trusting expression he'd ever seen. He hadn't been around a dog in years, but one look in Billie's eyes and he knew he wasn't going home without her.

—

"You want to what."

Eddie sounded unimpressed.

"Uh, house sit for you?" Buck winced. "Look, just for a week or two, I know you're still looking for renters and I don't want to mess with that. I can just—I dunno, take care of the house for a while instead of you having to pay the real estate guy to do it."

"How the hell did you forget your apartment doesn't allow pets? Again? Didn't this happen with that dog a few years back?"

"Hoover," Buck supplied. "But, come on, Eddie, look at this face." He flipped the camera, zooming in on Billie, who was happily playing in the corner of the room with one of her new toys. "She doesn't bark, we've been really lucky so far, but sooner or later somebody's going to notice me smuggling her in and out for pee breaks."

make me write!

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

RANSOM NOTES KEEP FALLING OUT YOUR MOUTH

Summary: Bill’s been successfully cured, and now he reflects on how great life has been

Word count: 437

TW/CWs: Implied Brainwashing, the f slur, brief mentions of vomit

A/N: Saw the TikTok @mischaqueen did for the Mandom Bill, and decided to do a quick Drabble of it!

Reblogs are appreciated!

You stare at the window in your room. Your feet are placed perfectly parallel with each other, your hands clasp together.

150 leaves. That’s how many were left on the tree. Fall’s starting soon, and you know you have to prepare for dinner tonight. Last night was chicken and broccoli with pasta. You mentally pat yourself on the back, your mom praising how absolutely delicious it was!

You didn’t pay attention to how your sister looked at you. Her brown eyes fixated on your robotic movements. She watched you barely have any fluidity between cleaning dishes to making dinner.

“Bill…are you okay?” She asked.

“Why, yes, Jane. I’ve been very chipper! I’ve never had this much energy to do anything really! I’ve finished reading “Jane Eyre”, “Little Women”, and I’ve studied some of Julia’s Child’s recipes for mom’s birthday.”

“That’s great and all, but…are you okay?”

“You keep asking that Jane. I told you, I’m alright.”

“I know, but I'm worried. I mean, you haven’t asked me all week where mom’s money was, you haven’t barged into my room during my programming, and worst of all…I kind of miss seeing your room being geeky. It annoyed me before, but it was the one thing going for you…”

Silence. You do remember that collection of yours; Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Major Violence, Battle Broad, Star Trek, Tasha Yar, The Flash, Shazam, the works.

You remember how it surrounded your room. You’d sit on the floor, flipping through both used and vintage comic books, meticulously picking out each and every detail of the page. You can still remember picking out the little mistakes your favorite comic book artists would make, almost crashing out at how noticeable they were…

You also remember being tied to the chair, vomit on your shirt, crying about the bullying from school. A geek, a nerd…a faggot…your hands still burn from how tightly the rope was on your body, wriggling to be freed.

“We know how you feel, Bill. Let us help you…”

“Bill!”

Jane’s voice snapped you back to reality, her face reading just pure worry (strange. You don’t remember caring this much about you before)

“Jane…I’m okay Jane. You don’t have to worry about me; that’s my job as your big brother. Now, just watch the chicken cook while I use the bathroom.”

You left her at the kitchen table, not noticing how her eyes welted slightly for your safety.

“Bill! Dinner’s ready!” Your mom yells.

135 leaves on the trees now. Falls coming quickly.

You get up, the warm light hitting your face before shutting the bedroom door. It’s dinner time now.

[harrysmileycostume]

Only Alibis

"Here, right here," you instructed your Uber driver a little rudely for your taste. You mentally sighed. You needed to tip a little more generous than usual, and fix your attitude before going in to meet Harry.

The car pulled up to the curb in front of the restaurant and stopped. "Thank you!" you said nicely, opening the car door. "I'll leave a good review," you called, hastily walking into the place while doing just that and tipping $20.

You were late, and Harry wasn't going to be pleased with you. 

You'd had a subpar day, to say the least. You accidentally woke up late for your first class and rushed to lecture only to be handed back a failing essay. You were confused and upset at your mark, but you had another class right after, so you planned to attend office hours later in the week to inquire about it. You tried to brush off the bad morning and focus on your other classes, but you couldn't manage it. You were hungry because you didn't eat breakfast, tired from a rigorous schedule, and nervous about your bad grade. It wasn't like you to fail anything, period. You were a good student.

That was one of the things that attracted Harry to you.

He wasn't going to be happy if he found out.

He also wasn't going to be happy with your tardiness.

You'd been outlining lecture notes for an exam later in the week when you realized you needed to order your Uber right away to make it on time to the restaurant. Unfortunately, with dinner being set at 7pm in the heart of the city, there weren't a lot of cars available, and Harry hated for you to take a taxi, especially with his money. He wouldn't tell you why, only that he'd had a negative experience once, and you weren't to use them.

You waited longer than usual for your Uber, and then there was traffic, and now you were late for dinner. You texted him that you might be late, and he hadn't replied.

You were nervous to see him, and you didn't like that. Usually, you looked forward to time spent with Harry. He was a little older than you and a successful businessman, so he was a nice escape from your college peers obsessed with grades and internships and law school admissions. He also could be terribly romantic, although he'd never want you to admit that. 

And what girl didn't like shopping and sex?

You strode into the restaurant, immediately spying him sitting alone. It made you a little sad to see him all by himself, waiting for you. You didn't know it for a fact, but you always imagined Harry a little lonely in his private life.

The receptionist tried to stop you from going past the lobby, and it was then that Harry looked at you, having drawn attention to yourself. "I'm meeting Mr. Styles," you explained, annoyed that you always got stopped at these places. You were wearing a thousand-dollar dress that he purchased. Why shouldn't you belong in this restaurant?

You gestured over to Harry and the receptionist looked over at him. Harry gave him a singular nod and then stared coldly at you. You quickly walked over to his table and stood behind your chair like he liked you to. "Hi, Harry," you said, smiling uneasily.

"What?" he asked, annoyed.

You blinked, positive that he'd heard you. "Hi, Harry," you repeated.

"You can address me properly, please," he said, unsmiling.

Your face fell, shocked. Harry sometimes liked to be dirty in public, but never at dinner before he took you home. You were actually excited to sit and talk with him today, to relax and enjoy yourself for a moment in your bad day.

You supposed he had other plans. And you needed the money.

"Hi, Daddy," you corrected yourself, plastering a smile on your face.

"Sit." You couldn't help but erase your fake expression at that, pulling out the chair and sitting down.

"You're late," he said unhappily.

"I know, I'm sorry. I texted y--"

"I make reservations for these dinners, Y/N. A text doesn't fix my reputation at a place I like to come to," he said.

Just then, a waiter approached your table. You glanced down at your menu, looking for the drinks they offered here speedily, not wanting to delay Harry any longer than you already had.

"She's here. I'd like the filet dinner, and I want the potatoes that come with it to be extra crispy," Harry said before the waiter could greet you. He held out the menu for him to take and glanced over at you expectantly.

The waiter held out his hand for your menu and you reddened. "Um, I'd like a water," you said slowly, "and do you have Caesar salad?" you asked.

You didn't want Caesar salad. That actually sounded awful. You liked dining out with Harry and eating actually filling and delicious food, so different from the dining hall and the snacks you kept in your dorm.

As a matter of fact, you probably wanted the same steak Harry was having, but you had no idea what it actually was on the menu, and this was your safest bet to order. Everywhere had Caesar salad, right? You were starving, but it probably came with chicken and bread at a place as fancy as this, and maybe some soup. And after your day, you weren't in the mood to look through the menu and sweat as Harry and the waiter stared you down. 

"No, we don't," the waiter replied.

Shit.

"Okay, well, um--"

"We have a garden salad that can be served with Caesar dressing," the waiter suggested.

A garden salad would certainly not have any protein on it.

Fuck this day.

"That sounds great, actually. Thank you so much," you said, handing over your menu.

"All right. I'll be back over with your water, miss," the waiter said, walking away.

"You didn't want wine?" Harry asked you.

You shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't really get the chance to look," you said without thinking, hoping he didn't perceive it as rude.

"Well, I waited half an hour here for you like an idiot, so I wanted to order," he told you, and you frowned. "Tell me, are you usually so late for appointments at school?" he asked, and that struck a nerve with you from earlier today. Your professor was less likely to adjust your grade after you came in late this morning.

"No, Daddy, I--"

"Order a glass of red when he comes back. I imagine it'll assist you later tonight," he said with no attempt to lower his voice, and your face reddened some more at the thought of him punishing you, and that the people surrounding your table were listening in. He already was making you call him Daddy, was that comment really necessary?

"Yes--"

"And order it properly, please. I don't want to hear 'Well, um--' when I'm sponsoring you through school on track to become a lawyer, Y/N. It's not very becoming of an attorney to talk so childishly. I certainly wouldn't take you very seriously in my office, and in such a slutty outfit as well. I work with attorneys everyday; I've told you that," he said sternly. "Y/N?" he asked, waiting for your reply.

You hadn't realized he was done speaking. "Yes, Daddy," you replied.

The waiter returned with your water and you spoke up. "Excuse me," you said.

"Yes, miss?" he asked.

"May I please have a glass of red wine?" you asked.

"Your finest Merlot," Harry corrected. "She'd like a whole bottle, actually. Bring a glass for me as well, please. Thank you."

"Of course, sir. I'll be back with that," he said, turning and walking away.

"Thank you," you said politely, the waiter not addressing you in return. You took a sip of water.

"Are you going to ask me how my week is?" Harry asked, and you were beginning to break down.

"I was only taking a--"

"Are you talking back to me? I really don't appreciate your attitude today, Y/N. You're rude, sloppy, late. I'm honestly upset with you," he told you. His face hadn't made a figment of a smile since you saw him. He was now actually frowning at you.

"O-Okay--"

"Well? Are you going to ask?" he snapped.

You took a deep breath. "I will, Daddy, and I'd love to hear about your week. May I please be excused to the restroom first, though?" you asked.

"Go," he said. "Go, and come back much nicer," he commanded.

You nodded. "Yes, Daddy, I will. Thank you." You stood from your chair and paced to the bathroom, feeling tears bubble in your eyes. You couldn't cry yet, not here where he could see you and become more disappointed and undoubtedly reprehend you some more.

You pushed open the door to the bathroom, grabbed a couple of paper towels, and shut yourself in a stall. You cried. You cried on behalf of your grade, Harry, and a million other things. You didn't know why, but your roommate kept resurfacing in your mind as well.

Your roommate Gina was having trouble. Her dad had passed away late last year, and along with that, she was worried she wouldn't be able to return to school this semester because of her dad's funeral expenses and her family's loss of income. She'd applied for loans and been denied. Thankfully, over the summer, it appeared that she would actually have the funds to attend school, and she was in classes with you currently. However, now her grandmother was undergoing chemotherapy. Her mother was using money set aside for tuition to help her grandmother, and the school was now constantly emailing and calling Gina, asking her for her payments.

When you finally pried all of this out from your proud roommate, you confidently promised her that you could take care of her tuition with your monthly allowance from Harry. Sure, it'd use most of it up, but you didn't mind. You didn't need new shoes; Gina needed to continue her education. You were happy to help her, especially in a time of such distress.

Even though you were able to help, you still caught yourself feeling horrible about the situation. This was actually why you wanted to become a lawyer, to hopefully help people like Gina. The country was just set up so unfairly, and you hated it. You especially hated watching your grieving roommate stress about things out of her control.

You calmed down after a minute, drying your tears and taking deep breaths. You wished that Harry wasn't so mean today, but he was paying you to do exactly what he wanted. You ought to go out there and act however he liked you to, and you knew he would not like to see you crying out in public. He was always reminding you what it took to be a lawyer, and that was stone-cold professionalism. There was no time for crying.

You exited the stall and ensured that you looked normal in the mirror, splashing cold water on your face and readjusting your dress. It had also upset you that Harry'd called your dress slutty. You wore things like this all the time when you went out with him--it had spaghetti straps, but it was generally respectable. He'd even purchased you it on a shopping trip last weekend. You knew that you were technically Harry's sugar baby, but you resented the thought that he really thought of you as some slut he was putting through school.

It reminded you that you weren't going to establish any more of a relationship with him.

Never mind that. It was time to go out there and earn Gina's tuition. You'd told her she could count on you, and weekly dates were certainly something Harry expected of you.

You left the bathroom and sat back down with Harry, finding that your salad and wine were at the table. Harry hadn't touched his steak.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Daddy," you said, rejoining him. "I didn't realize the food was almost ready."

He didn't reply, cutting into his steak.

"Daddy, how was your week?" you asked then.

"Much better," he remarked, looking up at you with that proud glint in his eye. "That's my favorite girl."

You couldn't help but smile as you cut your salad. You definitely sought Harry's approval. You'd grown to trust him over the past year, and it made you happy to think that he thought you'd be successful.

"It was all right, babe. Busy. I'm a little uptight, you probably have noticed," he said.

You didn't know how to reply to that.

"And you?" he asked.

"I'm... I'm okay. My workload is really starting to escalate in my classes," you told him.

"Oh, I know. They're simply preparing you, baby. Law school isn't easy," he said.

"I know, Daddy. I'm working really hard," you said, your bad grade flaring in your mind as you dressed your salad.

"That's what I like to hear, love-y. You're going to be very well-prepared, from such a good school," he said. "Schools here in New York are very high-regarded. And you know that I can call anywhere and speak with admissions," he told you.

You rolled your eyes a little. "I plan on getting admitted to law school on my own merit, Daddy."

"I know, pumpkin, and you will. Just... If a problem comes up, or you don't think they've been fair to you, I could work something out. Write a reference for you, something. You work very hard, baby. I want you to go exactly where you want for school," he said. "You shouldn't have to settle."

You took a bite of your salad. "Not planning on it."

He smiled largely at you, his eyes crinkling and his dimple showing. "That's a good girl. That's my Y/N. Much, much better," he praised you.

You smiled back at him, feeling better, too. "Thank you, Daddy. Means a lot, coming from you," you said.

Your waiter came back with a plate of chocolate cake and set it on the table. "Let me know if you'd like anything else. I'll have your check momentarily."

You looked over at Harry, confused.

He shrugged. "I know garden salad probably isn't what you really wanted," he amended. "I'm sorry I was in such a sour mood when you arrived. Just... I've had a hard week at the office, and I didn't sleep well last night," he said.

"Me neither. I think the stress has caught up with us both, Harry," you replied. "Daddy. Sorry--" you began correcting yourself.

"No, Y/N, Harry's fine," he interrupted you. "I'm sorry," he added, and the gravity of those words on their own, coming from Harry Styles, New York executive, made you pause a second. 

"Here, have some of my steak." He moved pieces from his plate to yours as you sat in silence a second.

"You're fine, Harry. Thank you," you said, glancing down at your cake.

"Don't thank me yet, babe. You don't know what awaits you at home," he told you.

You smiled back at him, though you weren't sure you were excited. - Harry's car took you back to his penthouse on the Upper East Side. You always liked looking out the window on the way to his place, but tonight, Harry insisted you sit in the middle seat, closer to him. It was a reminder that he was angry after such a hard week, and wanted to keep you close as a precursor to tonight's lashing out.

You usually liked Harry's punishments. He'd spank you, deny you, insult you for awhile before fucking you mercilessly into his mattress, up against his wall, over his desk. It was hot. 

Tonight, you were nervous, though. You'd had a rough day, and you almost broke down when he was stern with you in the restaurant. He'd apologized, which was admittedly rare, and you had a nice meal afterwards, enjoying your cake and nodding along to his stories from the office. But you felt in your mind that you still weren't elated for tonight.

It didn't matter, though, you told yourself. Harry paid you an allowance that you especially relied on this month. He could have you any way he liked you.

His hand massaged your thigh rigorously. You knew he was planning on spanking them painfully later.

You kept quiet the whole drive, not speaking unless spoken to. When you first met Harry, you were perplexed by all the time he spent in silence. You wondered if it was a signal that he was angry with you or didn't enjoy spending time with you. As you got to know him more, you understood. He wasn't interested in speaking unless there was truly something to be said. You grew to like it about him; it was a quality that had taught you a lot while you were in lectures full of opinionated political science students. 

This wasn't pensive silence, though. It was anger mulling; anger from a sleepless, hard-working, cunning Wall Street executive. You could see it in his eyes when you were brave enough to glance for a millisecond. He was going to want to see you suffer and beg.

The car pulled up to a stop at the curb of his apartment building, a swanky, sky-high, glass mirrors sort of place. He got out and held the door for you. "Goodnight, James," he called into the car before shutting the door and waiting as the car drove away.

"Christ, do you ever get the feeling that sometimes he deliberately takes the route with the most traffic?" he asked you, and you didn't reply, not knowing anything about one way being better than another. "Come on," he beckoned you, walking into his building.

You got into the elevator and he sighed heavily when you were stopped several times by other people getting on.

He was angry, and it made you sad. It made you sad because this usually thrilled you, the mystery of not knowing what was in store for you upstairs. Right now, you were anxious you weren't going to be able to handle it.

The doors opened to his floor and you waited for him to exit the elevator first. "Go," he told you, and you stepped off, him behind you. "Go on. You know the way," he instructed bossily.

You walked to his door and waited for him to open it. You turned after a minute to find he was several paces behind you, still making his way over. "I like to watch you," he said lowly once he was close enough. "Have we ever discussed getting you your own key?" he asked.

"No," you told him.

"What?" he asked you.

You chastised yourself, so forgetful. He'd told you last time that you should address him by Daddy in his penthouse always. "No, Daddy, we haven't."

He opened the door. "Perhaps we should consider it. I wouldn't mind having you around more often, and you could come up and study from my desk, order lunch for yourself. I like the idea of you having somewhere safe and quiet to come and do your work. Your dorm and the library probably get tiring." He stepped inside and you followed him. You were almost flattered by his suggestion until he tacked on, "And I'd get to see you naked more often, fuck you over my lunch break."

"It would be nice, Daddy," you agreed standardly as you entered his penthouse.

He stared back at you, taking off his suit jacket. He draped it over one of his living room chairs and raised his eyebrows at you. "You've been very naughty, and you know it, Y/N. Head upstairs."

You resisted the urge to sigh and made your way up his steps, him one step behind you the whole way. He grabbed at your ass a few times between the sounds of him taking off his belt. He was going to make you hurt, and you knew it.

You entered his bedroom and your heart sunk in your chest. It was then you knew: you didn't want to do this tonight. 

He shut the door behind you and you shut your eyes.

"I want you to tell me exactly what you've done wrong," he directed you, "because you know what it is, and I won't tolerate it."

You took a deep breath. You had to start before you finished. "I was late--"

"Face me."

You turned around, gulping.

"So foolish. What good would your admission be if I couldn't see the guilty look on your face?" he asked you. "Y/N, you're brighter than that."

You hated when he called you Y/N in here, and he knew it. Apparently, you didn't deserve the title of baby or little girl or princess right now.

"Begin again. I'm waiting," he said, and you took another deep breath.

"I was foolish when I did not turn around to give my apology," you started. "I was late to dinner, and I kept you waiting. I wore a dress you did not like, one that you said was slutty and not becoming of a lawyer. I spoke... I spoke impolitely to you several times at dinner. I contradicted you, and you're always right, Daddy. I was wrong. I also made a fool out of myself when I ordered my meal and my wine. You always say that I should speak like a lawyer all the time, and I didn't, and I'm sorry, Daddy. I also forgot to ask you how your week was, which was rude," you listed. 

"What else did I call you?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I was rude, and sloppy, and late," you listed, your voice breaking a moment. "I've been bad." 

"That's right, Y/N. You remember well. Now, I want your thoughts on this. What do you think your punishment should be?" he asked you, smacking his belt against his hand much more gently than he ever used it with you. 

You looked at the belt and back at him a moment. "Five spanks," you said without really thinking, although it was a low number for you both. When you thought about it, that is really the punishment you wish you'd receive.

"Five?" he asked you, incredulous. "You listed all of those things, and you think they amount to five spanks?" he asked.

"I--" you began, not knowing what you were going to say.

"You're right, Y/N, you are foolish. I'm not going to waste time recounting all the things you just listed, but I will tell you that you have been insubordinate, stupid, and lazy. You disrespected me and ruined my reputation at a restaurant that I like to frequent. I expect much more from you. You behaved like a child, and I... I am not going to stand for it any longer. Undress. Undress right now. For saying that you deserve five spanks, I'm going to employ thirty. Thirty spanks for Y/N for being bad," he said. 

Thirty spanks. You'd never received so many, usually twenty being your maximum.

Your face flushed as you began to remove your dress.

"Look at you, you're pathetic. You walk into the restaurant looking like any whore off the street. It was no wonder the receptionist thought to stop you from entering the dining room." You lifted the dress from your shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor, willing the tears back into your eyes as you pulled down your panties and dropped them next to your dress.

"You're very bad, do you hear me? You're--Look at me when I speak to you!" he yelled.

You gasped, having been looking over at the door behind him absentmindedly. "Sorry, Daddy--"

"No! No more sorry. You're going to hurt now, and realize what you've done. Thirty-five spanks for a naughty Y/N, are you proud now?" he asked you. What he did next shocked you. He reached forward and smacked you across the face--not too hard, but it stung. He'd never done that before.

You stared back at him in shock.

"Answer me," he bellowed.

"No, Daddy, I'm not," you replied.

"Bend over onto the bed. Forty spanks for you, you whore. Can't even respond when I ask you a question, you useless slut."

You turned around and did as told, allowing the tears to escape your eyes and flow down your face then. Useless slut. That's what he thought of you.

Without warning, he lashed the belt on you and it stung familiarly, but not well. You allowed yourself to sob into his comforter.

"Count," he instructed you. "Count, you stupid, bad little girl! You know I like you to count. And now you've made it fifty! Fifty spanks for Y/N, or more if she doesn't fucking count right this second!"

"One," you cried aloud. You tensed, waiting for the next spank to hit you, but it didn't.

"Y/N? Y/N, baby?" he asked gently then. 

You stayed still, untrusting.

He leaned over to get a better look at you and saw that you were bleeding your makeup onto his white bedspread. "Baby, are you all right?" he asked softly, his hand coming to caress your back. You flinched at first, but then relaxed, realizing his movement wasn't to spank you.

"May I sit up?" you whimpered. "Daddy! Daddy, may I--" you corrected yourself miserably.

"Yes. Yes, you may," he said, and you flipped over and sat properly on the bed, crying into your hands. 

"Just... Just give me a minute. One minute, and we can start over, I promise. I don't mean to ruin it," you cried, sniffling in an effort to suppress your tears already.

He frowned. "No," he said, and you began to sob again, thinking he was going to flip you over and strike you. "No, Y/N. No, baby, why are you crying?" he asked you, his expression containing heaps more sympathy than it had all night.

You blubbered. "I... I failed my paper," you bawled, the first of your many grievances against life today. "I failed, Harry! And you're going to be upset with me. I failed, and I don't know why. I worked hard on it and I talked to my TA about it, and I got it back today, and it was all marked up with red pen and a big F on the front! And I'm bad! I'm a bad, lazy, stupid girl!" you cried.

His face fell. "Oh, baby," he whined, pouting. "There, there. It's one lousy paper, babe. It's no reason to be so upset," he said.

"Yes it is, Daddy, when any law school worth studying at practically requires a perfect average!" you wiped your tears. "And I'm not meant to fail. I... I studied it. I spent a week on it, apparently not realizing that it was all wrong. I'm useless," you cried out, frustrated with yourself. You wiped your tears again. "But it doesn't matter, you don't want to hear it. And I need the money this month. I'm fine. Let's just... Fifty spanks for a naughty Y/N, let's do them," you said, beginning to flip over.

He stopped you, pushing your shoulder. "No," he told you, shaking his head. "No, what was that you said? You said you need the money?" he asked you. "What's that about? What are you saying?"

You rolled your eyes. "I don't want to bother you with it," you said. "Let's just do it, come on. I know I kept you waiting at the restaurant like a fuck up, and now I'm wasting more of your time. Let's get on with it."

"No, Y/N," he said stricter. "No. Tell me what you need the money for. Is it not enough? Do you need more? You're meant to spend that money on things you want, babe."

You frowned. "I know, and I'm sorry, but--"

"No; don't apologize, tell me. What do you need the money for, Y/N?" he asked you plainly.

You sighed. "It's my roommate. She... Her dad passed away last year, and she needs the money to stay in school. It's a shit situation. Her grandma has cancer, and--" you cut yourself off, letting out a sob. "It's just... She's so sad and worried all the time, and I told her I'd pay for it, and let's just do it. I've already fucked up the whole date. You at least deserve the sex. Hit me, tell me I'm bad," you said.

He frowned at you, pausing. "Your roommate. That's Gina, right?" he asked.

You nodded, a little surprised he remembered, but not really. You did talk about her. 

"She's your really good friend. You girls go and see movies together," he recalled. 

You laughed through your tears, nodding. "Yes, since freshman year because we were too scared to go party on the weekends."

"That's right, I remember that," he said softly. "All right, Y/N. I think you need a shower and a proper dinner. I'm going to order a pizza, and I want you to take a long shower, and by then the pizza will be here, and we're going to talk. Only... Only it's not a bad talk; don't be worried. I'm not gonna hit you," he said, frowning some more.

You blinked, terrified. Was he going to let you go for your behavior? "No, Daddy, you don't understand," you told him. "Please. Please, I can be better. I was only late because I was studying and forgot to order a car, and then it took forever and there was traffic, and I know you tell me never to take a taxi, so I didn't, but--"

"Y/N, you listened to me when I said that?" he asked you.

You frowned, confused. "Yes. You told me not to take a taxi with your money, and I haven't. Why?" you asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. It's only to keep you safe, but I can't believe you listened. Why wouldn't you tell me that's why you were late?" he asked.

"Because you always tell me you don't want to hear excuses. Excuses don't matter in the courtroom, only alibis. That's what you say," you told him.

He smiled softly at you, leaning forward and caressing your cheek. "Right, dear. That's what Daddy says. Run along and take your shower. It's nothing bad. You just aren't ready to do this tonight," he said.

"Daddy, if you fire me, I'll have no way to pay for Gina's school. It's not fair to her. I promised," you stated. "Please. I can be better," you repeated, begging. "I'll never be late again, I won't talk back--"

"Y/N, I'm not firing you. Please go and get in the shower and relax. I'm not coming in, either. Just spend a moment alone right now. Get clean," he instructed.

You got up off the bed then and stared back at him. "Yes, Daddy."

That's when he did something that shocked you to your core. He stood up as well, and leaned forward and kissed you on the mouth.

You and Harry had never, ever kissed before. You'd had sex probably more than a hundred times. You sucked him off a lot, and he liked to finger you sometimes, and lick you down on very special occasions. The last time he did it was after your honors ceremony last semester. He'd sat in the back, far away from your parents. He watched as you received your award for having one of the best averages in your class, clapping for you with a proud smile on his face. He didn't approach you the whole event. Only afterwards did he text you, "Come over, baby. You smart sexy thing. I'm so proud of you. My very favorite girl."

You remembered the day you realized you'd never kissed him, and it made you dejected. Your friends always said how lucky you were to have Harry, a handsome sugar daddy to pay for everything for you, but it also meant you had absolutely no time for a boyfriend. Ever since you'd first met Harry, you hadn't been kissed, which was now over a year. 

Your friends were right that you were lucky; you agreed. You loved spending time with Harry, and he made you feel like no one else could. But sometimes, and you hated to admit it because it was so humiliating, you laid next to him while he was sleeping, staring at his lips, remembering what it was like to be kissed, imagining what it would be like to feel one of his.

You cleared your throat, nodding. "Okay. Okay, I'll shower," you told him.

You spent a moment staring at each other, and you realized he wasn't going to say anything. Maybe it was a fluke.

You turned away from him and walked over to his master bathroom.

"Y/N," he said, and you turned around. Your name didn't sound like a punishment at all right now.

"Yes?" you responded, eerily aware of your nakedness.

"What do you like on your pizza?" he asked you.

You smiled. "I like pepperoni, but cheese is fine, too. Whatever you like, I can just pick it off. I don't mind. Thank you, Harry."

"Of course, Y/N. Run along," he instructed you, which was one of his favorite things to tell you, and you knew it. "Pizza'll be here when you're done."

You grinned, entering the bathroom then and turning on the shower. - After your long shower, the pizza had arrived, as Harry predicted. It was amazing what money could achieve. Pizza took nearly an hour to be delivered to your dorm.

You stood wrapped in your towel. "I didn't bring a change of clothes, I'm foolish," you told him.

"No, you're not," he said, shaking his head and opening his dresser drawers. He pulled out a set of sweats you'd never even seen him wear to bed. He was always dressed very sharply, donning matching silk sets to sleep.

"Thanks," you told him, dropping your towel and keenly aware of his eyes staring at you as you first took the pants from his hands and stepped into them, and then the sweatshirt, pulling it over your head.

You tugged the sleeves of the sweatshirt past your wrists to hold them as you liked to. "So. You said we should talk?" you asked him.

He opened the pizza box for you wordlessly, and you understood that he meant for you to take a slice, so you did. "Sit on the bed," he directed you.

You did as you were told, taking a bite of your pepperoni pizza. He smiled at that, but then his face grew more serious. "You say you're helping Gina pay her tuition. How much is that, exactly?" he asked you.

"She gets about the same financial aid as me, so it's like three grand a month," you told him. "You pay mine," you reminded him, and he nodded.

"That's right," he told you. "It's thirty four hundred dollars a month. I allow you four thousand dollars spending a month, which I expect you to spend on dresses and shoes and whatever your little heart desires."

You nodded, frowning. "I know, Harry, but she needed help, and--"

"--So that's hardly enough for you to do that when you're also so generously helping her. Therefore, I have decided that I will now allow you ten thousand dollars a month."

You blinked. "What?"

He nodded. "You heard me. I'm raising your allowance so you have plenty of room to support your friend. I imagine if she doesn't have money for tuition, that maybe sometimes she might need money for groceries or anything else," he said. "Does that sound like a reasonable number for you to buy yourself what you want and help her and whatever other little woodland creatures elect to follow you around?" he asked you.

You were nibbling on your crust now, smiling a bit at his princess reference. "It's more than reasonable, Harry. I'll have more than what I had before after I pay for her tuition," you said. "She's got a part-time job. It's not much, but she manages her personal expenses."

"Well, tell her that she can quit. Or buy yourself more things because it's also meant as a raise," he said. 

"Thank--"

"Do you have any idea how proud I am of you?" he asked you, and you smiled. "You're a stellar student. You are the director of philanthropy for your sorority, which is just about the most adorable thing I've ever heard. You sing in your school's choir, and you also spend time feeding the homeless and reading to children and all sorts of random little causes you dedicate yourself to. You've taken on helping your roommate. On top of all of that, you still manage to be a very good girl for me, and I know I demand a lot of you, which is why I have given you a raise," he said. "And you will not only be a lawyer, Y/N, you're going to be a very successful one. Do you hear me?" he asked you.

You nodded. "Yes, Daddy."

"All right. Here," he said, holding out the pizza box again. 

You opened the box and took another slice.

"Now for the matter of your bad grade," he said, and you tensed. He set the pizza box back down beside him on a side table. "Did you look it over? What do you make of it?" he asked you.

You sighed. "I didn't look it over yet. It just... I was so upset over it, and I have an exam to study for. I didn't want to waste time being upset, so I just thought I'd look at it tomorrow and make an appointment with my professor to have him look it over with me," you said.

"Do you think you will end up bargaining with him to change your grade?" he asked.

You frowned, dreading the idea. "Maybe. I don't know. I just... I know what the prompt was, and I know what I wrote about. I don't know for sure, but I really thought it was A work when I turned it in, Daddy."

He nodded.

"And another thing, this is the first big assignment all semester. I really didn't get a chance to learn how he grades writing. The rest of our grade is made up of quizzes right now," you told him.

"Have you done well on those?"

"Almost perfect," you said.

He smiled at you. "Right. That's my girl. Well, in the event that the professor does not adjust your grade, let me know immediately so I can handle it. I imagine the paper deserves at least a B, and I'm not afraid to make a phone call," he said. "I'll read it over for you if you'd prefer, and I'll call and tell him how it should be graded. And if he argues, I'll contact the head of his department and the dean. I donate too much to that school for some idiot professor who doesn't know what he's doing to tell my gorgeous special Y/N that she's failed. I'm sure your work is exceptional as usual, and he's only doing it to be more of a prick than he already is."

You shook your head, smiling. "What if I read over the paper and find it to be inadequate?"

"Impossible. Even if it's not your best work, you should still demand a better grade. I find it highly unlikely that you've done excellent on all your assessments thus far, but you earnestly failed your first paper mere weeks before finals. He might be trying to skew the average of his class, and he's botched the wrong little girl's grade, I can tell you that much right now," he told you. "Does that sound probable to you?"

You hadn't considered that. "Yes, Daddy." You finished your second slice of pizza and looked up at him patiently.

"Would you like another?" he asked you. "I like watching you eat."

You nodded, eyes widening as he handed you the box again. "This is really good pizza, Daddy. Where did you order from?" you asked, grabbing another slice.

"The restaurant across the street from where I'm taking you to see a Broadway show this weekend," he answered you. "Can you guess which one?"

You gasped excitedly. It wasn't uncommon for Harry to take you to see shows ever since he realized you liked them. Still, this was a very welcome surprise.

"I don't want to guess incorrectly..." you trailed, pursing your lips.

"Well, which is the one you told me you'd really like to see?" he asked.

"Is it... Is it The Music Man with Hugh Jackman?" you asked hopefully, knowing you'd mentioned it to him casually last week.

"That's right. We've got seats in the center orchestra for Saturday's matinee," he informed you. "I can point out the pizza joint to you when we arrive," he added.

"Oh, I'm so excited, Daddy. Thank you so, so much. I really wanted to see it, and I know you probably went through a lot of trouble to find the tickets. Thank you a million times over, I mean it," you said.

"Of course. Of course I got them for you, baby. I know you like to see the shows," he told you. "And I know you're a very busy girl, but I was wondering if you'd also be interested in going to lunch and shopping beforehand," he said. "We've both been busy lately, no?"

"We went shopping last weekend," you reminded him, a glint in your eye at the mention of the activity.

"Yes, I remember. I only realize now that you were unable to buy yourself nice things for a while because you were helping your friend, and that's not fair. I suppose we could go on Saturday to make up for some of it. How does that sound?" he asked you. "I know you liked some of those dresses that you passed on before."

The dresses he was mentioning were very similar in design to the one you wore tonight. You decided only to buy this one because you'd liked it best.

You shook your head. "You didn't like them, though."

"No?" he asked you, confused. "The ones with the little straps? Very cute, Y/N. You look so pretty with the neckline like that. I really rather did like them."

You frowned. "Daddy," you said slowly, "I wore that same silhouette tonight. You said it was slutty and that was why the receptionist was rude to me. I don't want you to buy something for me that you don't like me to wear. If you think I look cheap--"

"Baby," he said, frowning. "I didn't really mean those things. You think I think that of you?" he asked.

"Well, why else would I be stopped any time I come to meet you in a fancy place?" you asked him.

"Because, Y/N, I've told you. You can't just walk into these places, you need a reservation. It's the receptionist's job to make sure only the right people enter the dining room," he explained.

Your face fell. "But you said--"

"I know," he interrupted you. "I know, and... When I say those things to you, I don't mean them, Y/N. I don't... You honestly thought all this time that they were mistaking you for a prostitute from the street?" he asked you.

"That's what you always tell me," you said softly. "You told me that the first time we ever went out together, that the receptionist thought I was a whore."

"I was just... I was just being dirty," he told you. "I was just making you riled up for later."

"Well, it worked," you mumbled. "Can I call you by your real name? I know we're in the bedroom, but you're calling me Y/N," you said. "It's not to punish me, is it?"

"No, not at all. I'm... I'm being serious right now, dear." He paused. "Yes, call me Harry."

"Okay. Thank you," you said back quietly.

He took a deep breath. "Y/N, I thought you knew better to not take the things I say to you in here personally."

You shrugged. "I usually don't. But sometimes you don't say them in here and I feel different about that. That first time you told me that I... That I looked like a prostitute, we were in your car and I remember being so embarrassed that the driver heard you talk that way about me. Sometimes... The way you looked at me today in the restaurant, like you were ashamed of me, and you talked about punishing me while there were people sitting near us... Sometimes I really do think you might think of me as stupid, or a slut," you said.

"Never," he contradicted. "Never, never, never. Would you rather I not call you those things anymore?"

"It's not really up to me to decide," you said.

He shook his head, kneeling down to you then, which you found odd. "No, it is. If something makes you upset, or you'd rather I not--"

"I like for you to punish me, Daddy, that's not--"

"Harry," he interrupted you. "Would you rather I no longer call you those things outside of our special time together?" he asked you.

"I think I would rather it be that way, but I know you like to be mean to me. I don't... I don't want to impose--"

"I'd rather stop doing something I like if it makes you feel bad about yourself," he said. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I thought you knew that you were my special girl, my very favorite."

You rolled your eyes at that, laughing a bit.

"No, don't laugh. What's funny about that?" he asked you. "You know I think you're smart and beautiful and kind, don't you?"

"I thought you might," you said a little flirtatiously. "I just... Harry, I know you mostly like the sex. I mean, that's what we're doing here, right?" you asked. 

Sex for money. And shoes and purses and dresses and tuition.

You hated to look at it that way when what you had with Harry was so much more to you.

It killed you to humble yourself and realize that that's what he saw it as. 

Didn't he?

He cleared his throat. "It might be, but... I'd never want you to think that I regard you as anything less than... Than wonderful, Y/N. Would you like to know the truth?" he asked you.

You were confused at that. "What's that?"

"How special you are to me," he replied. "Come sit at the top of the bed. Let's chat awhile. I know you should get to bed soon. Are you full and happy?" he asked you.

"Yes," you said.

"Then you'll sleep here tonight where I can watch over you," he decided. "When is your first class tomorrow?"

"Noon," you said.

"Perfect. So you'll sleep late, we'll order breakfast, and I can pay you some attention, hm?" he asked, moving to the top of the bed and sitting there waiting for you. You joined him, putting your legs under the covers.

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" you asked him, offering him the covers as well.

He awkwardly joined you beneath them. "I haven't treated you properly in some time, apparently, so I can say I'll be coming in late and give you a little spoiling. What if Daddy gave you his credit card for the afternoon, hm? Would that be good?" he asked you.

Your eyes widened and you nodded. Instinctually, you sat on your knees and began rubbing his chest. "Daddy--"

He grabbed your wrist. "Not now, baby. I said we should talk, yes? Don't you think so?" he asked you.

You looked back at him, so serious and genuine. You resumed your former position, but couldn't help keeping your hand on his chest. "Okay."

He nodded curtly. "All right. There's something I need you to understand." He paused and you maintained eye contact with him. "When I first met you, that was a year ago now, yes? Innocent baby, weren't you?" he asked. "In that tight dress at the alumni event, those big doe eyes blinking at me..."

You were a virgin when you met him, and he'd never know that.

You nodded, remembering.

"All right, but you were just as smart. So I imagine you know that when I first began seeing you, I had other girls." His eyes flickered at that, almost in shame.

"I know, Harry. And that's fine. We never promised anything to each other, and I understood what I was doing," you said.

"Well, six months into my time with you, I let them all go and began seeing you exclusively. You haven't seen panties that aren't yours around here in quite some time, isn't that right?" he asked you.

You'd thought that his other girls had lessened in number, but you weren't positive it'd dropped to zero. And you had no idea it had been that early into seeing him.

"No. But you still go on vacation and--"

"I know," he said softly. "I know, and... I have my fun when I'm away," he said lowly, "but... Here in New York, you're my only girl. And it's because I have never in my life met anyone like you. You're adorable, Y/N. You're the best thing--" he cut himself off before he embarrassed himself. "You're very, very special, and I don't think anyone could be better for me. You've learned how to behave in bed with me, you listen very well, and you always make me proud. You're loving, and kind, and so... so endearing. And you've fulfilled every need I wanted in someone I hire, so I let everyone else in the city go." He looked at you as though that was a really big deal to him.

You didn't know how to reply. Harry didn't owe exclusivity to you. 

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So... I just want you to know that I would never just fire you, and I obviously think very highly of you. And I've... Over the course of the time we've known each other, I've come to see you as a friend, a good friend. So... So I'd never want to make you insecure or sad, or hurt you at all, okay?" he asked, his voice soft. "I really... I appreciate you, Y/N. You mean a lot to me." His face was pale with how nervous he appeared to be to say those words, as though they were top-secret.

Thinking back on how shocked you were when he apologized to you earlier, you imagined that he probably felt extremely awkward or even stupid to be telling you this.

You smiled, your heart soaring. Not only did you know how hard it must have been for him to say the words, they meant everything to you.

But you were trained not to react around him.

You nodded. "Thank you, Harry. You mean a lot to me as well. You... I don't think I could live in New York without you," you said, trying to return his gesture without crossing one of his many invisible boundaries. 

His face fell, his eyes glancing down uncomfortably. "I know it's expensive," he said solemnly.

"No," you said, shaking your head, and he looked back up at you. "No, not for that reason. I meant... You just make living here so much more exciting with all the things you take me to do, and I... I feel safe. I know that if I need help, or if a professor botches my grade or if I can't get the reservation I need for a philanthropy event, that you're a phone call away. It's comforting, you know? Not necessarily that you're powerful, but that you care for me," you said. You quickly cleared your throat and corrected yourself. "Not that you care for me--"

"No, I do. I care for you," he said quietly.

"I care for you, too," you said, only you didn't lower your voice to match his. You weren't ashamed to say it. "I hope you know it. I can't really shower you with expensive things as you do for me, but... I try to show you I care."

"And you do. You're real good for me, baby," he told you, and of course he couldn't be serious for so long. "Are you ready for bed, little one?" he asked, signaling that the time for Harry was over. 

"Yes, Daddy," you replied.

He nodded. "All right. Goodnight, then, baby." He moved away from you on the bed and faced away from you on his side.

You stared at him a second. "Goodnight, Daddy." - The next morning, you woke up to the sound of him showering. You thought perhaps you should go in and join him, but after last night, you really didn't feel much like it. 

It was funny, but not really. You always found yourself frustrated that Harry was so stoic with you. You didn't know how long you ached to have a serious conversation about the nature of your relationship with him. But now that you had, you realized it solved virtually nothing, and you felt strange. You were even more uncertain. 

More than anything, you still felt you were walking on eggshells, confused on what to say and what not to. He set all of the boundaries between you two, and got very upset if they were crossed. He didn't communicate or specify any of those boundaries to you, though, and that was the issue. 

He shut the water off and you contemplated pretending to still be asleep. Would he be upset with you for not joining him in the shower and initiating such an obvious sexy surprise?

You didn't have time to wonder. He opened the bathroom door with a towel wrapped around his waist and found you sitting up in bed. 

"Oh, baby, you're up," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you. The shower usually doesn't."

"It's okay. Good morning, Daddy," you replied.

He smiled at you. "You know, perhaps we should have you wear Daddy's clothes more often. You look quite cute, just how I like you to." He joined you on the bed and stroked your hair. 

"Don't think I forgot my promise yesterday. How do you want it, princess?"

"Aren't we meant to have breakfast?" you mumbled.

He frowned. "I thought I could have some of you first. How's that sound?" 

You hadn't realized he wanted to lick you down. Still, you realized, you didn't want it. You weren't in the mood for sex.

"What's wrong, baby girl?" he asked when you didn't reply. "Hm? Tell Daddy what you want, then."

Your faces were so close, and you were staring at his lips. You thought he might know what you were thinking. You should just say it.

"A kiss."

He froze.

Timid yet bold, you leaned forward and put your lips on his for just a second. "Like that, Daddy. See? We can just... Let's just kiss a moment. I promise it can be sexy," you drawled. You knew that you needed to use your baby voice to pull this off. 

You kissed him again and this time he received it much better, kissing you back. "Mm, Daddy," you moaned, unaware how much you were craving this until it happened. You pushed your tongue into his mouth and that's when he pulled away.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, his eyes angry, scorned.

"Kissing you," you said softly. "When you did it last night--"

He stood up from the bed. "That was a mistake. Congratulations, now neither of us are in the mood."

You scoffed. "What, it's only a problem when you don't want sex?" you asked. That wasn't what he seemed to think last night.

"If you want your check, yes," he snapped.

Tears flooded your eyes as you sat there motionless. You couldn't move. You were in shock.

"Perhaps we should go out for breakfast. I wouldn't mind a blowjob in a bathroom stall."

He didn't mean that. He always made idiotic threats when he was angry, but the statement still insulted you.

He dropped his towel and opened his closet, picking out a suit and taking it off the hanger. Watching him get dressed, the anger inside you ignited and spread.

"I can tell you want to make a stupid objection, so make it," he said, buttoning his dress shirt.

"You mark me up with big purple bruises all down my neck. What is the difference if I would like to kiss you?" you fired off.

"The difference?" he questioned, raising his voice, and you looked down at the comforter in fear. "The difference is ten grand a month, Y/N. I do with you what I please, and I don't have any interest wasting my time with kisses for your sentiments. And don't think I don't mean it about the bathroom stall. You'll gag until you puke, do you hear me?" he screamed.

"I'm not going to breakfast," you gravely announced. 

When did you begin to cry? You blinked tears away, but it was no use.

"Yes you are because you've been awfully bad and it's your punishment. I want everyone in the restaurant to see your hair all matted at the back of your head after I force myself down your throat. You're going to take all of me from start to finish. Only then will you get your money for your friend."

Gina. She needed you.

You finally looked up at him, tears flowing down your face now. "Fine. I'll get ready." - Your car ride to the restaurant was dreadfully silent. You wished you were anywhere else, that the date was over, that the blowjob was over at the very least.

You were wearing a negligee with his dress jacket over it, a pair of stockings, and four-inch heels. Harry only kept especially scandalous clothes for you at his penthouse. Almost always, when you needed clothes for the next morning, it was because he fucked you the night before. And the next day, he liked for you to embarrass yourself over him; wear lingerie and hang on his arm in public.

You went inside the restaurant and you saw him immediately clock the bathroom in the far back. His hand rested at the small of your back as the waitress showed you your table, letting you know he meant what he said in the bedroom.

When you sat down, the waitress told you the breakfast specials and disappeared. As she walked away, you couldn't believe it. Your con law professor from last semester was sitting across the floor from you. You hoped to God she had the sense not to approach you when you were wearing a nightie sitting across from a man ten years your elder.

"Something wrong, baby?" he asked as he flipped through his menu.

"Nothing."

"What's my name?" 

You reddened. What if she heard you? Or maybe not this time, but one of the undoubted hundred times he was going to expect you to say it while you sat here?

He looked up at you. "Tell me. Now."

"Please. Please not here," you said softly. "We can... We can go back into the bathroom right now, whatever you want. Just not here." You chewed at the skin on your lip trying to force tears to stay in your eyes.

He looked back at you for a second before he cleared his throat, straightening his posture and sitting back in his chair. "Last night, you mentioned that you're doing research this semester. How's that going?" he asked you.

You blinked.

"Y/N, did you hear me?"

Y/N.

"Yes, I did. It's going okay," you said, confused but thankful. "I only wish we had more time. My research advisor goes on sabbatical next semester."

"That's a shame. I'm sure you'll do great, though," he said. He took a sip of water that was at your table when you arrived. "Are you presenting your findings? I'd love to come see."

"I am, actually. It's some time next month, I'll let you know," you said.

He shook his head. "They never give you proper time to study for your finals, damned school," he said. "You poor thing, you work yourself far too thin, babe."

"I'll manage," you said softly.

He looked up at you. "No, I know you will. You always do. Just... I hate for you to be overworked, my poor baby," he moped.

You sighed. His mood swings were exhausting, disorienting even.

"What?"

"What do you want me to say to that? And can we just go back now? The longer we wait, I'm not going to be able to eat anything when they bring it out," you said, frustrated.

His face fell, shame written all over him. "We aren't going back, Y/N. It's fine."

You rolled your eyes. 

"What? You didn't want to, did y--"

"No, I didn't want to, Harry, but I really wish you wouldn't have been such a prat this morning, then," you asserted. "Do you ever think before you speak to me, or is that a luxury I just don't get between us? Along with knowing where the fuck your head is at?"

His features turned to stone under the weight of your words. You couldn't believe it; you'd finally snapped.

You thought he might yell at you in front of this entire restaurant, your professor included, but you couldn't really bring yourself to care. At least you finally stood up for yourself. Instead, he reached into his suit pocket, and you furrowed your brow as he got out his wallet and set his credit card on the table.

"I promised you this. Return it when I see you next. Spend whatever you like, I don't care," he said, standing from the table.

You blinked, utterly dumbfounded. You had a million questions, and you asked precisely the wrong one.

"Will you send me the money for Gina?" 

"Yes. Goodbye," he said curtly, walking out of the restaurant, leaving you both dateless and clueless. - "Back from time with Daddy?" Gina asked when you came into your dorm clad in the classic baby girl ensemble.

"Yes, and he's sending me money for you, so I shouldn't hear it," you replied, a sour taste in your mouth after your lonely breakfast.

Gina didn't answer, going back to writing her notes.

You sighed. "I'm sorry," you said. "I'm sorry, I'm glad to be helping you. He was just difficult today. He left me alone at breakfast."

Gina frowned. "That's unusual. Did he give a reason why?" she asked.

"No," you said, taking off his suit jacket and draping it on your chair. "Well... We had an argument," you elaborated.

"An argument? Between a sugar daddy and a sugar baby? What's that even like?" 

You looked at the jacket a second more before you realized you couldn't anymore and hung it up in your closet so you could shut the door on it. You planned to do the same with your whole outfit. 

"I wish I could tell you," you said. "I'm so confused, I... He needs to figure out what he wants from me; that's what it is." You shook your head in disapproval.

"Seems complicated," Gina said softly, and you didn't want her to worry about you. Her circumstance was out of her control, and she had no obligation to stress over your situation with Harry.

So you pulled his credit card out of his jacket pocket. "Whatever. What really matters is that he gave me this." You twisted the card in your hand so that it sparkled in the sunlight from the window. "Black card."

Gina's eyes widened. "Holy shit. That's like--"

"I know. Let's ditch lecture. Where are we going?" - You waited for Gina as she tried on a skirt in a dressing room in Saks. 

"Are you sure I can buy this?" she asked.

"Yes, he won't know the difference, I promise," you told her. Money meant literally nothing to Harry. One skirt for Gina wasn't going to matter. You had three dresses and a pair of shoes on hold at the register.

Gina emerged from the dressing room and twirled. "What do you think? Date party?" she asked. "Dylan from Phi Gam is taking me, and he's rich, so this could work."

You nodded. "Sure. What with it?" you asked.

She frowned, looking down at the skirt. "Ah, I don't know. I have that black tank top--"

"That one would not work," you told her. "It won't look right with that skirt."

"I know," she said, sighing. 

"There's that black tank top at the front of the store. That would look nice," you told her. "Get that and I'll lend you my Choos and you'll be set for rich Dylan."

She looked at you, nearly scandalized. "That's like another three hundred dollars!"

You shook your head. "He won't care. I promise, Gina, really," you said. "He let me have the card for a reason."

She looked at you in the mirror. "Fine. I get the tank top, and you finally give David from Delt a chance."

You rolled your eyes. "Nev--"

"Y/N, he is cute! And he likes you," she said. "Doesn't it get boring coming to date parties all alone?"

"I don't have time for him," you said. You really felt it unfair to entertain boys from school when Harry essentially fulfilled the role of boyfriend in your life.

"You don't have time to bring him to the party? You'll be there anyways," she insisted.

After your fight with Harry today, the idea of spending an evening with another man sounded somewhat enjoyable for the first time in a year. You sighed. "Fine. Fine, I'll do it. I'll text him and ask," you said.

She smiled. "At long last." - Harry called you the next day while you were studying in the library.

"Hello?" you answered.

"Y/N," he said.

"That's me," you replied, marking a figure in your textbook with a post-it. 

He cleared his throat. He did it when he was nervous. "What are you doing Friday night?"

"Friday night? I have a date party for my sorority."

"You've bailed on them before for me," he replied instantly, which was true.

But you had a date to keep with David now.

"I have a date this time," you said softly. Why did this feel wrong?

"A date?" he asked.

"Yes. A date to a date party," you said firmly then. "He's from a fraternity on campus."

"Y/N, I've told you that the fraternities at that school do not--"

"Harry, you don't want me dating anyone, but that's not really in your control, is it?" you asked. 

He paused. "It's not that I don't want you dating anyone--"

"Well, I've heard you trash just about every male organization I bring up to you, from the sports teams to the social clubs, so I don't know," you said. This was new for you. You never spoke to him so candidly or with such attitude until yesterday. Your breakfast breakthrough apparently gave you a lot more confidence with him.

"Fine. You can't make it Friday?" he asked.

"No, I can't. That's tomorrow night, isn't it? The week is going by quickly," you said.

"Yes, it is," he said. "When am I meant to get my credit card back then?"

"Aren't we going to the show Saturday?" 

"Yes, only I was hoping to see you before then," he said. "I think we need to have another conversation."

You felt your textbook's pages over and over. "We do," you said, "and we can on Saturday. I promise. How's that?"

He didn't reply a second, uncomfortable yielding to your suggestion when usually it went the other way around between you both. "Fine. We'll talk on Saturday."

"Sounds good."

There was silence on both of your lines until you spoke up. "Anything else?"

"No, goodbye," he said and hung up.

You stared at your phone. What was going on with him? - Gina gave you a pitying look before leaving your dorm with Dylan. David was supposed to meet you half an hour before Dylan was coming to get her.

She shut the door behind her and you screwed your eyes shut. This was so humiliating. You finally gave this boy a chance, and he was blowing it.

That was his issue, he was a boy. 

Harry was never late. He expected you to be on time as well. He was a man, a real man.

You went on Snapchat, bored, only to find that David posted a video of him playing pong against a girl in a tube top in a rainbow-lit room.

Motherfucker.

You growled, throwing yourself on the bed. You couldn't go to the date party now. Everyone would only ask where David was when they could just look at his Snapchat and see him bailing on you.

To think you gave up a night with Harry for this.

Thirty-three minutes into feeling bad for yourself, your phone rang. 

Harry Styles.

You answered it, sitting up on the bed. "Hello?"

"Y/N, can you come downstairs?"

"What?"

He sighed. "I'm... I'm in the lobby of your dorm, and the security is giving me a hard time."

You couldn't help but smile. This had to be so embarrassing for him. He always nagged you about how gross it was to live in a dorm, how he could put you up in an apartment if you wanted. 

But he came here for you.

"I'll come right down," you told him.

"Ah, fuck. I'm not interfering with your date, am I? Are you getting ready?"

You shut your eyes a second. "No, um... It's canceled, actually."

He paused. "Did you ever have a date?" he asked you.

"Yes, Harry, I had one," you snapped.

"All right, sorry. I'll... I'll see you in a minute?"

"Yeah, I'm coming. Bye." You hung up the phone and put your feet in your dorm slippers before heading downstairs. - In the lobby, Harry was standing at the front desk, his hands in his pockets. He looked relieved to see you.

"Hi, I'm Y/N Y/L/N, I live here on the eighth floor," you greeted the campus security as you took your place next to him. "This is Harry Styles. He's... He's my friend," you said, glancing over at him and smiling to prove your familiarity. "Can he come up?"

The security guard looked the two of you up and down for a second before he relented. "Sign in, and sign out when you leave."

It was funny to watch Harry initial the sign-in sheet of your dorm, knowing he signed important documents all day.

You silently retreated over to the elevator.

Harry spoke up once you were inside and the doors had shut. "No date?" he asked. "How come? Are you tired?"

"No."

"Then--"

"He stood me up, Harry. Christ."

You saw his face fall in the steely reflection of the elevator door. It took him a few seconds to respond. "Y/N... I'm sorry, hon."

"You're not." You could definitely tell he was. You were just embarrassed.

"No, I--"

"Just leave it alone, okay?" you asked. You turned to face him then. "Why are you here?" 

He took a deep breath, and the elevator doors opened.

You exited the elevator, him following behind you. 

It was like going up to his penthouse, you realized. Only this was a New York City dormitory.

You opened your door and let yourselves in. You turned around to face him again, liking the look of him in your room. You supposed you'd like the look of him anywhere, but still.

"We should talk," he said. "I... I didn't want to wait until Saturday. I thought your date would be later, but I wasn't... I don't know what I was thinking."

"It doesn't matter anyway," you said. You lamely nodded over to your dorm desk. "You can sit if you'd like."

He looked at the chestnut standardized desk as though he wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. "No thanks," he said politely. He took off his suit jacket and draped it on the chair.

You felt silly not having a place for him to sit.

"My bed, maybe," you said.

He shrugged.

So you hoisted yourself onto your bed and watched as he followed behind you, concealing your smile as you watched one of the city's richest men climb onto a twin XL.

You sat staring across the bed at each other until he spoke up.

"I'm so sorry," he told you. "How I acted on Wednesday... It was unacceptable."

"It's fine."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, it's not. I should have let you leave when you said you didn't want to go to breakfast. And I..." he swallowed, his features softening, "I threatened you, made you think I'd... I'd hurt you when--"

"Not hurt me--"

"Yes, hurt you. I'm sorry. I would never make you do something... I've... Have I ever made you do something you didn't want to?" he asked you. "I know I was upset Wednesday, and I was harsh, but... I hope you know I'd never make you do anything," he said. His eyes adjusted nervously. "Have I ever?"

"No," you said. "Never. We... We took it slow in the beginning, and I feel fine," you said.

He shut his eyes. "And that shit I said... That comment that I made about ten grand being--"

"You always say things you don't mea--"

"I just shouldn't fucking say them," he cut you off. "I should never say that to you. That was out of line, and so far from how... How I feel," he said.

You nodded. "I know. You keep me safe. I didn't... It's not that I didn't feel comfortable... Doing that in the bathroom, it's just that I didn't want to. I was upset."

"I know. And if you don't want to, we shouldn't," he told you. "Have you ever felt that way before?" he asked you again.

You shook your head. "No. No... Tuesday and Wednesday were... I was just... I was upset over my paper, and then our date didn't go well, and then we fought on Wednesday and I just... I've never felt that way with you before then, no," you said.

"Promise?"

"Promise, Harry." You nodded. "I've never been scared. I just thought... At the restaurant, I just wanted to get it over with, is all. I knew that if I really couldn't do it, you wouldn't make me."

"You know you can tell me no?" he asked.

"Mhm."

He pulled you close to him then, your head nuzzled into his shirt. "All right, then, baby. That's good. I'm sorry, princess. I've been so unfair to you, haven't I?"

You sighed, shutting your eyes.

"But I know what might help make it better," he murmured, his lips against your hair.

Your heart fluttered. Almost a kiss. Almost a kiss on your head.

Could he...?

"Look at me, little one."

You eagerly yet nervously untucked your head from his and faced him.

He smiled, leaning into you and kissing you.

Instantly, you moaned into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Daddy--"

"Lay back. Need your taste," he told you between kisses.

You didn't, though. You stayed sitting upright, feeling his kiss. You embraced each one knowing it could be your last.

"Sh, sh, calm--" he began.

"Harry--"

"I'm right here," he told you. He kissed you again, and you squeezed his shoulders. "Sh, gonna keep kissing you. Don't worry."

You frowned. "Even after ton--"

He chuckled. "Yes, all the time. Lay back," he said, smiling. "Lay back, and I mean it," he followed up solemnly then, making you know he wouldn't refrain from punishing you if that's what you deserved.

You laid back onto your bed and he instantly followed you down, resuming your makeout session. "Daddy, I love your kisses," you mumbled between them. You still couldn't believe what you were experiencing, his lips on yours, so passionate and dare you say, loving. "Mm--"

"Sh, sh," he hushed you, beginning to grope your breasts then and moving to mark your neck. "I like to kiss you just like this," he said as he suckled. It didn't take him long to remove your skirt and throw it off your bed, your bare legs hitching at his waist.

He returned to your face and kissed you once more. "I know someplace," he pecked you again, "you really like my kiss. Hm? Hm, little g--"

"Please just give it to me," you cut him off, making him widen his eyes in surprise.

"Babe--"

"No," you said. "No, we can... Just... Fuck me, Harry. Don't hold back, I want it rough. Just fuck me and kiss me."

He smirked. "Am I that good for you, baby?"

"You know you are," you said quietly. 

He brought his hand to stroke your face. You smiled, basking in his gaze, his touch, his admiration. "You want me to kiss you while we...?" he clarified.

You nodded. "More than anything." He looked at you a second longer before he nodded and kissed you on the forehead, making you hum in contentment and rub his clothed chest. At that noise, he kissed your entire face in random spots while he undid his suit pants, and you were glowing. You couldn't imagine ever growing tired of kissing him.

"Birth control?" he whispered in between kisses as he pulled down his boxers.

You nodded. "Took it at lunch." You always took your pill at lunch now because Harry took you to dinner so often. He usually never asked you if you took it, but you also usually were never intimate like this.

"Are you hard?" you asked, reaching down to feel him and pump him a few times, but he stopped you by grabbing your hand.

"'m fine," he mumbled against your lips, ripping your panties down and pushing into you without warning.

You gasped, your head being pushed further into the pillow beneath it. He laughed under his breath before thrusting into you, again without any preparation.

You cried out along with the consistent creaking of your dormitory bed. Somehow, you didn't think they were made to withstand this kind of sex.

"Said not to hold back," he said. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. His lips still brushed yours.

"Kiss," you cried. 

"What's my name?" Thrust. Thrust. Your hips slowly adjusted to his ruthlessness and began to meet his.

"Daddy, kiss--" He merged your lips then, and though it may have slowed his pace, you didn't mind. In fact, you were thrilled. You couldn't decide where to focus, on your nearly bruised lips or the pulse of pleasure between your legs. He was feeding it all to you each time, your legs flailing at his back, your fingers digging into his shirt.

You hoped to Christ your hall was already out partying. You were moaning maybe louder than you ever had, perhaps muffled by Harry's lips, but still.

This was a sound from deep in your subconscious, the animalistic reaction to indulging in the one secret desire you'd lusted after for almost a year now.

You both were moving together now, in synch and hitting your G spot every once in awhile.

"Daddy--"

"Y/N, baby--"

Your heart skipped a beat. Y/N. 

"Fuck, Y/N," he said.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," you chanted. "Harry, Harry, I'm almost--"

He bit your bottom lip between his teeth. It wasn't too painful, but just enough.

You were gone and he went with you.

He pulled out of you and buried his head in the pillow alongside yours.

Your hand came to caress his curls. "Harry," you said after a minute.

"Hm?"

"Look at me," you said softly. "Please, will you--"

He obliged, meeting your face with his and displaying pensive, sweet eyes. 

You smiled. "Can I..." you asked, shy.

"Hm? Anything you want, baby, after that."

You giggled a bit. "Kiss your face?" you completed your question. "Only like you did to me."

He nodded. "Go ahead."

You beamed, taking his face in your hands and kissing each handsome part of it. You were probably a minute into your diligent work when Harry interrupted you.

"You know," he said, "I'm not your boyfriend."

You quirked your brow at him. "I know," you said. "You're my Daddy."

He smirked at that and you returned to kissing him some more.

Your phone buzzed from your window ledge behind you.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Dunno," you replied, now simply staring at him.

He grumbled, grabbing the phone from behind you and handing it to you. "There."

You unlocked your phone and gaped.

"I came by your dorm to bring you to the party but you sounded busy" David messaged.

"What?" Harry asked.

You laughed because you didn't know how else to react, and it was funny. You turned the phone around and showed Harry the screen.

"Dick," he muttered. "He's never heard a woman that aroused, let me assure you of--"

You cut him off with a kiss, something you knew you were going to be doing a lot. "Think he heard me call you Daddy?" 

"I think the whole dorm did," he mumbled, moving to suck on your earlobe before you could be embarrassed. "Tell me," he began, "did he think he was going to take you out after arriving so late?"

"I suppose."

"How late was he?"

You checked the time on your phone again, squirming beneath his attentions. "Nearly two hours. And he posted another girl like an hour ago."

"I'll teach him a lesson."

You laughed. "No, you won't. It's stupid anyway, Harry. This is why I spend my time with you."

He faced you and kissed your nose. "You ought to stop saying things like that."

"Things like what?"

"Things that confuse what we are," he said.

You nodded solemnly.

He kissed your cheek. "What do you want to be?" he asked you then, shocking you.

But you couldn't answer truthfully. What were you supposed to do, tell him about your childish fantasies of marrying him à la Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Big?

So you thought on it before you realized the perfect reply. "Your favorite girl," you said. He called you it occasionally. It was definitely amongst your favorite of his nicknames, so sentimental in your mind.

He smiled at you, a twinkle in his eye that you especially liked. "You're already there."

[howly]

headcanon: the boring perfect self control vampire bella thinks she has is a LIE and at one point she caught human scent mid-hunt and snapped. it made her so wild she had to be restrained to the point where things got ugly

i know edward would never dare to do it and meyer would never dare write it and in canon newborn vamp bella would be far stronger than him...

actually. you know who would be stronger than one young vampire? two old vampires. and who would act practical in a critical situation? emmett

imagine edward and bella heading out for a hunt and emmett being like "do you guys mind if i tag along? i feel like snacking". bella's a little mad at the prospect of suddenly having a third wheel (homegirl wasn't planning on just. hunting) but alice gets a weird hunch and goes "no, no, em should go with you" ok nostradamus. he's going.

fast forward they're in the mountain. bella finds having emmett third-wheeling is not half bad. in emmett's head, lowkey it's bella who's the third wheel after so many decades of him hunting together with edward. but nevertheless, it's so fun with her around. all is good until they catch the scent of an entire group of friends hiking just a couple of miles from here, away from all civilization. emmett and edward stop in their tracks, ready to turn around. bella, her guard down, loses it and stars running towards the group, so they have no choice but to charge at her. while strugging to keep her in place, they try to talk her down but she doesn't listen. she doesn't care, she's strong enough to fight them off, and she fights and claws and hisses and breaks bones of whoever gets in her way because there are so many pulses just a few minutes' run away from her and their scent is so sweet and burning and calling, calling, calling to her

while struggling to restrain her, emmett grunts "we have to disarm her". edward catches the image in his head and shouts "no! you can't literally disarm bella!". well, how the hell do you expect us to stop her from massacring all those hikers? we'll just put her back together afterwards. duh!, emmett thinks, and knows he has to act fast so he goes in while bella's busy yanking away from edward's grip and tears off a limb. or two. all 3 of them may or may not be screaming.

a few moments later edward's pinning bella to the ground, holding her face between his palms, forcing her to look at him. her thrashing is not so effective with limited body parts. part of him wants to yell at emmett but that's kind of low priority. he's holding on to the last of his composure while he looks down at bella's feral expression and chants 'baby. i'm so sorry but i'll give you your leg back after you calm down a bit. i won't be able to outrun you if you go chasing after those people now. please calm down. i love you. hold your breath'

just then she listens, stops breathing and her vision refocuses. for the first time she realizes she was on her way to slaughter a bunch of strangers and she broke the arm of the man she loves at least three times when he tried to stop her. she wants to open her mouth and apologize but that will require her to breathe and possibly go crazy with thirst again. so she stares back at edward's panicked eyes and nods at him, her own red eyes just as full of terror.

then she looks over his shoulder and sees emmett waving her severed leg in the air like it's a baseball bat. "hey, did you know that rose wears the same shoe size?"

[thursdayinspace]

if one person's way of coping is to push people away, become cynical, and reject every outstretched hand, that doesn't make them a bad person and they are still deserving of that outstretched hand and of people taking care of them. if another person's way of coping is to not say what they need, swallow down their anger and hurt feelings, especially in front of the person who keeps pushing them away, they still deserve to be seen and be told their pain is just as valid even if they'd rather break themselves than acknowledge it. but those two people will not be having a healthy relationship. it doesn't matter how unintentionally hurt feelings are caused. it doesn't matter how hard it is to see someone's suffering if they're hiding it. it doesn't make it anybody's fault. but it does trap them in a pattern where one person feels misunderstood and the other person feels neglected. and that is just not going to work long-term.

[one-winged-dreams]

SCREAMS INTO MY HANDS

[bookshelf-in-progress]

To prove that I am trying to write a retelling, here's a failed opening paragraph to a "King Thrushbeard" retelling that I'm never going to write.

Our first year of marriage, my husband and I lived in a hovel. It was a tiny, damp, dim little room, with a dirt floor, a straw roof, and a chimney that always smoked. It sat a mile from the nearest village, abandoned by a farmer who had failed. It sat on the banks of a tiny creek, and at sunrise I would leave the dim confines of the house to wade in the shallows and watch the water ripple over stones, watch the sun flash on the water, watch the birds dive for bugs and sing their praises to the living God who'd given them another day. Sometimes I dream of returning there—the creek would be the same, I think, even so many years later. Of course, at the time, I was miserable.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various images of things