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freedomfireflies · 8 months ago

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Pillow Talk*

Summary: The one where you and Harry both have insomnia, and decide to spend one very strange night together.

Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, daddy kink, mentions of drugs, angst (w/ happy ending!), not suitable for Ramadan!

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Come on. Just one time.”

“No. Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Probably. I haven’t slept in 32 hours.”

You huff as you hide yourself behind your door. You don’t even want to see him. Because you don’t want to have this conversation or entertain this idiotic idea. This is what Harry does. He plays games. He tricks and he ruins and if you open this door, you know you’ll regret it.

“Poppy, please,” he calls, and you hear his forehead land on the wood as though to brace himself. “I’ve tried everything else, okay? It always works with you. I just…I wanted to try. See if it still does.”

You frown. “You realize how wildly inappropriate this is, right? Asking if you can come in just so we can sleep together?”

“Yeah, but that’s all I want to do. Sleep,” he insists again. “Really. I’ll keep my hands to myself and I won’t even talk to you.”

You consider this. Truthfully, you haven’t slept all that well since the breakup, either. And sure, you’ve longed for the nights when the two of you would fall into such an easy, simple, and incredibly effective routine.

But he broke your heart. And now you’re both paying the price.

“Just one night,” he pleads again. “And if it doesn’t work, I swear I won’t bother you ever again.”

There’s a subtle ache in your chest. Just hearing his voice reminds you of the pain. Of the joy. Of every good moment and every bad one, all wrapped up in the same silky cadence.

You take a deep breath. Perhaps you’re curious, too. Even if you don’t want to be. Because maybe this will work. Maybe you’ll finally be able to rest and get on with your life.

Or maybe it won’t.

But at least if it doesn’t, maybe you can find some closure.

So, with that thought…you open the door.

He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. Which makes you just a touch happy if you’re being honest with yourself. His usual curls are askew and unkept. The bags under his eyes are dark and his clothes are wildly wrinkled.

And you’re surprised. He’s been up for longer than 32 hours before and handled it much better. You wonder if his age is catching up with him or if there’s something else keeping him awake.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

But you don’t fight with him. He’s not here to fight and you accept his terms as you widen the door and allow him to step inside.

He nods gratefully as he slips into your living room, but his eyes linger on your face. Almost like he doesn’t recognize you, and it makes your insides turn as you shut the door and put a few feet between you.

“What?” you huff.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, you look…different.”

“Okay…?”

“You changed your hair.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. It’s nice.”

You cross your arms. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Another pause, and the silence feels heavy.

“Well…do you wanna…?” you eventually say, and he nods.

“Right, yeah.”

“Okay.”

You turn to lead him to your room and it’s…unsettling how normal it feels. Like an old habit rearing its ugly head once again.

When you get there, his surprise returns. “You changed your room, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Why?”

Your eyes roll as you angrily toss your blankets back. “This is the one room I associated with you the most. And short of moving, I needed something you hadn’t touched or tainted. So I made the room mine again.”

He thinks about this, attention lingering on the new paint on the walls and the new furniture in each corner. “I like it.”

“I don’t care.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Great. Can you get in the bed please so we can get this over with?”

Obliging, he slips off his shoes and joins you under the duvet. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again.”

“Never thought I’d have to say it.”

“Mm. You changed your mattress.”

“Obviously.”

“And the sheets and blankets, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there anything in here you didn’t change?”

“The carpet. But only because my landlord said I couldn’t.”

“Right.” He’s smiling again. “But you did get a rug.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice.”

“Bite me.”

He laughs now and you want to smack him. “I see you still get grumpy when you’re tired.”

“No, I get grumpy when my asshole of an ex shows up to my apartment at 3 in the morning demanding to be let in so he can sleep in my bed with me like a fucking child,” you argue. And you know you’re being snippy and maybe even rude, but he deserves it. After everything he’s put you through, you deserve to be in charge of your own emotions.

You turn the lamp off and the dark room grows incredibly quiet. You’re both stiff, unable to relax when you’re this close. You don’t want to touch—not the way you used to. And you don’t want to be close or let your guard down, although you suppose you’ll have to in order to sleep.

And then he says, “I really did try, you know. To find another way to sleep.”

You look up at the ceiling and release a soft exhale. “Okay.”

“Melatonin, light therapy, cut out coffee. Even drank those…sleep mocktail things everyone talks about.” He shifts. “I don’t know, I guess my brain just wouldn’t turn off.”

“Yeah. I know.”

More quiet.

“I haven’t done any since we broke up,” he finally says. Gentle, like he’s afraid to break the silence.

Your lashes flutter. He doesn’t have to say it for you to know what he means. “Great.”

“Yeah.” Another beat. “I thought it was work, I guess. Maybe the stress or something. I’ve been sleeping fine, but these past couple weeks…”

“Right.”

“And I just figured—”

“No, I got it. It’s fine, let’s just…let’s just try to sleep,” you say and he nods.

The bedroom settles and you try, you really do. But you can’t when he’s breathing so goddamn loud and shifting every two seconds and sighing like he’s in pain.

“What?” you eventually hiss.

“Are you dating someone?” he asks.

“What?”

“Are you dating someone?” he repeats. “Josie said you were.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Kind of. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“We’re…we’ve been on a few dates. It’s not official.”

“He hasn’t asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t. I just figure you deserve someone that actually wants to date you.”

“Oh, do I?” You roll your head to look at him. “Funny, you didn’t seem to think so when you were dating me.”

“All right, touché,” he mumbles. “I could have been better, I know that. And I know I took advantage. You did a lot for me and I didn’t…I didn’t care.”

Surprised, you twist your fingers together. “Uh…yeah. Right. Thank you.”

His head rolls, too. And even with the dim-light, his eyes find yours. “I’m sorry, Poppy. You really did deserve better than me. And if you found it with this guy…I’ll be happy for you.”

You swallow before sighing to yourself. “I mean, I don’t know if I did. He’s…he’s really nice. But he’s so…he’s just…”

“Vanilla?”

Your eyes widen. “Yeah. How did you—”

“He was wearing Crocs with tube socks.”

You laugh—loud. “Oh my god, how did you know?”

“I might have looked him up,” he admits through a grin. “Wanted to make sure he was worth your time.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And he wears Crocs with tube socks. He can’t make you cum.”

Your features scrunch together as you gasp and look away. “Ew, Harry. It’s not about that—”

“It’s always about that. Come on, am I wrong?”

“You—yes. What he wears has nothing to do with what he’s like in bed—”

“So he’s not vanilla?”

“He’s…” You pause. “He…look, he really tries—”

“So, he is,” Harry finishes for you. “Well, at least you got some.”

“I…yeah. Uh-huh.”

Instantly, he turns onto his side, head resting in the palm of his hand as he studies you. “He couldn’t get it up, could he?”

“Harry,” you groan, and reach out to swat him. “Stop, it wasn’t that. We just…we were taking things slow. We did some stuff. Just not…all of it.”

“So what he’d do?”

“Harry—”

“Come on, we’re adults, just tell me.”

“Ew, no—”

“Listen, you used to get fucked good. I’m just trying to help you get back to that.”

You frown but do oblige. “I don’t know. He ate me out and I blew him. That’s it.”

“And…?”

“And…I don’t know. He was fine. He was good.”

“Sure.”

Your eyes roll. “Okay, he…he wasn’t really all that into it. He stopped after a few seconds and asked if I came. Then he said his jaw was tired and that maybe we should just switch.”

Now, Harry’s features scrunch, too. “Shit. What a fucking pussy. Ironically.”

“I guess. It could have been worse.”

“Really? Eating you out was always my favorite. What kind of asshole just stops if he doesn’t have to?”

You feel a rush of heat through your body as you look away. “I guess they can’t all be you.”

“Damn fucking right,” he scoffs. “Seriously, you still wanted to see him after that?”

“He’s cute,” you argue. “And nice. And yeah, maybe he’s not that adventurous but that’s okay. I don’t need wild sex all the time.”

He’s quiet. “How about just one time?”

You turn back. “What?”

“I—okay, I was just thinking…you know, one of the things we would do when we couldn’t sleep was…fuck, so—”

“Oh, absolutely not.” You sit up, as though to put some distance between you. “No. Forget it—”

“Poppy—”

“Don’t call me that,” you huff. “You don’t get to call me that ever again. Okay, I’m not gonna fuck you just so we can sleep—”

“It wouldn’t be just for that,” he argues, sitting up as well. “It would also help your mood, too—”

“Oh, my mood?” You glare at him. “My mood is just fine, actually. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good if I agreed to let you in my apartment in the first place—”

“You didn’t have to. I’m just saying, if sex with him is gonna be bland, might as well get in one last good fuck before you commit to a lifetime of boring—”

“Oh, my god. It’s not a lifetime and you’re a fucking asshole—”

“Yeah. We’ve established that. Doesn’t change the fact that you need it.”

You stare at him. “Is that why you’re really here? To trick me into sleeping with you?”

He leans back. “What? No. I don’t trick people into having sex, it was just a suggestion—”

“Yeah, a pretty dumb one. Did you honestly think I’d say yes?”

“Yeah,” he admits haughtily. “Yeah, because we didn’t break up over the sex. We broke up because you’re an uptight—”

“What? Say it,” you sneer. “Say it. I’m an uptight bitch because I wouldn’t let you do cocaine.”

He scoffs again and looks off into the dark of your room. The argument lulls. “I could never do anything right.”

“That wasn’t the problem and you know it.” You pull your legs to your chest. “I wanted to move forward and you kept going back. You’re almost 30 and you still act like you’re 19.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to get married and do the whole white picket fence life,” he says. “Maybe I liked things the way they were—”

“No. No, you liked parties with your friends and doing drugs that kept you up for hours and getting fired and leaving me to pay all the bills—”

“You didn’t pay all the bills and I told you I would do what I could to help—”

“Yeah. But apparently that included getting fucked up and staying out all night just to crash the next day.” You study him closely. “You were never around anymore. I never saw you. We were on two different paths and the only time we ever talked was when you asked if I wanted to fuck.”

“So, that’s it, huh? I’m just a villain in your story. You were this perfect fucking princess, and I was a monster that ruined your life?”

“No, obviously not. I wasn’t perfect. I know that.”

“Do you?” His eyes flick between yours. “You didn’t want me to move forward with you. You liked your new job and your new friends because they didn’t remind you of me. Of who we both used to be.”

“So? I’m not proud of what I used to do. And sure, maybe I wanted to make a better impression on the people paying my salary and keeping me employed. Is that such a fucking crime?”

“No. But you didn’t want me to be a part of that impression and you know it.”

“Right. Because you were shit-faced all the time.”

He opens his mouth, ready to retort. But then he closes it. He closes it and he stares at you and then…he surges forward.

Even if you were given at least two seconds to prepare, you’re not prepared for the way his hands feel on your cheeks as he kisses you. As he presses his lips to yours and steals the labored breaths in your lungs.

But you don’t fight him. You know you should. Know you should push him off and berate him. Yet you let him kiss you. And you kiss him back. And it’s far too easy to slip back into this routine as his tongue slides against yours in such a teasing way.

Your stomach flips while your hands land on his lap. You’re desperate to be closer, to feel his body against yours. His skin, and the way it melts beneath your palms like butter. You dance this devious dance and before you know it, you’re stripping each other of the few clothes you have.

He starts with your shirt. Ripping it over your head before his mouth lands on your chest. Bare and beautiful to him. His kisses are wet and sloppy and you arch yourself closer as you drag your fingers down his scalp.

The only reason he stops is to let you peel his t-shirt off, too. And then his jeans and socks. And you move so fluidly, you’re nearly naked in under a minute. The only thing left between you now his underwear and yours.

He lays you down, gentle. Surprisingly gentle, given the anger that brought you here. And he gazes at you in a soft, unspoken way that says everything you don’t exactly know how to say.

His fingers brush down your cheek as his body settles atop yours. He still fits between your legs like he was always meant to and the weight of him almost feels good.

“Are you all right?” he finally whispers, and he doesn’t sound like the same man from before. He sounds like the man you fell in love with. “Is this okay?”

You nod quickly, scared that if you think about it, you’ll ruin it. “Yeah. Go.”

He doesn’t. “We don’t have to,” he says. “You were right, it’s probably a dumb idea—”

“Yeah, but…it always works.” You shift beneath him and reach for his briefs, rolling them down his hips. “And I’m tired. Tired of fighting with you, tired of not getting any sleep…tired of pretending I hate you. You were right, our sex is good. So let’s do it. And then we can sleep. And we can finally move on.”

Not the most romantic of speeches, but it works. At least right now. He kisses you again and drags your underwear aside in order to tease you with the tip of his cock.

He feels like you remember. And maybe you find just a touch of comfort in that. There are no awkward pauses or confusion about what to do next. You don’t have to find your rhythm or anticipate the next step. You know him. And he knows you.

Your rub your clit in order to stimulate yourself. You aren’t exactly wet enough for this to be enjoyable, but you don’t expect him to do what he did before. The foreplay is up to you now and you’re more than all right with that.

However, he’s not. And he instantly swats your hand away in order to do it himself. Allowing his fingers to drag up and down your pussy until you shiver before he slips the tip of his middle finger inside.

“Shit,” he whispers. His forehead drops to yours. “Fucking missed this.”

You bite the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He starts to pump, bending your body to his salacious intentions until the unmistakable sound of wetness echoes throughout the room. “I know you missed it, too.”

“Hm. Don’t push it.”

“Why not?” He presses a kiss to your cheek. Then to your jaw. Your lips. Your nose. Your neck. Everywhere you used to love. “Are you really gonna tell me you didn’t?”

“Maybe.”

“So Crocs with Tube Socks is better, huh?”

“…not exactly.”

“Right.” He adds a second finger and your eyes roll back. “Don’t worry, Poppy, I’ll fix it.”

“Don’t…call me that,” you pant again, and he chuckles.

“Don’t know what else to call you. You were always my pretty Poppy.”

“But now I’m not,” you say. “Now you call me nothing. Because I’m not yours to call.”

He sighs but does seem to obey, at least for now. And the faster he thrusts his hand, the needier this growing feeling becomes. Stronger and louder until you finally grab onto his shoulders and say, “Just put it in already.”

He smirks. “How romantic.”

“It’s not supposed to be. Just come on.”

So, he does. He takes hold of his cock and he slips it through the gathering arousal until he can push in. And you both reel.

Truthfully, you’ve missed the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The way he groans and grits his teeth together. The way the muscles in his arms strain until you can see those beautiful veins you used to love to run your tongue over.

He’s stunning. Even now, in the soft light of the moon through your curtains. His silhouette is unholy as it hovers above you. Strong hips beginning to thrust as you both work in tandem to find release.

And it’s closer than you expected. There’s something about him that can get you there even without much effort. Something Crocs with Tube Socks could never seem to figure out.

Because he’s not Harry. And only Harry can play you like an instrument and make such symphonic music all with the flick of his finger and a thrust of his cock.

He kisses you again and you both feel anxious. Soft murmurings of praise and, “Keep going,” that have you arching from the bed and moaning into his mouth.

You’re sweating and gasping for air and clutching onto his back as you attempt to meet his rhythm with rolls of your own. You need this. You need to cum so you can find release and you need to cum so you can finally sleep and you need to cum because then you’ll finally be able to let him go. To close the door on the chapter of you and Harry and move the fuck on.

But how can you move on when you’re still under him? How can you insist that you’re fine and doing great if you’re so easily convinced to fuck him just so you can both get some sleep?

There are other remedies to insomnia that don’t involve his cock and maybe you should have tried that before you let him into your apartment.

Either way, you’re coming before you can think twice about it. Raking your nails down his back and whimpering his name as he pulls out and finishes on your thigh.

And just like that…

It’s over.

You find him in the kitchen about an hour later. You managed to sleep at least a few minutes before you felt the sadistic hand of insomnia pull you back out. But when you woke, Harry was gone. His clothes were still on the floor, so you knew he hadn’t left. But he wasn’t with you.

He’s staring out your kitchen window when you slip into the living room. You’re not sure if he hears you or not but if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he keeps himself braced against the sink, clad in nothing more than his briefs.

Curious, you call, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. Silent. Contemplative. “I used to love this window,” he eventually says. Soft, like he’s reminiscing. “The way the light looked in the morning. The way your little crystals would put rainbows on the wall and you’d get so excited. How you’d make me dance with you to some Elton John song while we were literally in the middle of cooking.”

You blink. “Um…okay.”

He turns and his eyes find yours. “I fucking loved this apartment. And this kitchen. And that couch. And your room. And even the hallway. I loved being here, all the time. I hated going back to my place because it never felt the same.”

The silence grows louder now as you look down at your feet and pull your robe just a bit tighter. “I know,” you finally whisper. “That’s why I changed it.”

“I know,” he whispers back. His expression falls. “You changed everything. This apartment, your life…us.”

“Because I had to,” you argue, glancing back up. “I had to, Harry. I couldn’t keep going in circles. I couldn’t drag you along behind me into the future when you clearly wanted to be anywhere else.”

“Because the future you always painted didn’t seem to have room for me,” he huffs. “Okay, with all these dinner parties and fancy houses and good school districts. You’d planned out the next 30 years and I didn’t see myself anywhere in your picture.”

“I didn’t fucking care about the parties or the school districts,” you nearly yell. “God, I—I didn’t want the white picket fence life. I didn’t want the 1950’s American Dream shit you keep thinking I did. I just wanted you. Yes, I wanted a good job with insurance and stability. But I wasn’t gonna trade what we had just for that—”

“But you did. You didn’t tell your parents we’d moved in together. You didn’t even tell half of our friends. You went on trips without me and you stopped telling me about your day and we never talked—”

“Because you were never around! You were either out with your friends getting drunk or high or you were in there playing video games because you’d had a ‘hard day.’ So, no. I didn’t want to talk to you when I knew you weren’t even listening in the first place.”

He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. Angry. Indignant. “You resented me. You resented the fact that we were together and you resented that I wasn’t perfect like your precious new friends—”

“Oh, that’s—” You pinch the bridge of your nose and force in a deep breath. “No. I didn’t want you to be like them. I didn’t want you to act pretentious and stuffy and talk about the stock market every goddamn second of the day. The only thing I resented…was the fact that you wouldn’t take care of yourself.”

“I was taking care of myself—”

“Bullshit. You were doing drugs—you were doing cocaine—and you weren’t eating, you weren’t sleeping, you nearly drunk yourself to death—”

“Right, but I wasn’t doing it all the time. It was just…it was occasionally, and it wasn’t a lot—”

“I don’t care. You shouldn’t have been doing it at all, Harry,” you finally shout. “You…you scared the shit out of me. Every time one of your friends would call and say you were passed out, I thought…I thought this was it. I thought I was gonna lose you. Do you know how many times I just sat on the floor and cried because I was so scared? Because you never wanted to listen when I told you to stop? Because you were so sure you were invincible?”

He seems pained by this, features wilting as he takes a tentative step forward. But he stops when you move back. “Poppy, I wasn’t trying to scare you, I…I didn’t know—”

“Yes, you did,” you scoff. “I told you, over and over that I didn’t want to lose you, but you thought I was being dramatic.”

He nods once. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.” He looks at you. “S’why I stopped after we broke up. You were right, I needed to get my shit together.”

You nod, too. “Good. I’m glad.”

His gaze dances around the kitchen. “I hate that you changed everything,” he says again, and your heart wrenches. “I hate that it doesn’t look like it used to. I hate that I hurt you so bad that you felt like you had to erase everything I ever touched.”

You step closer and wipe a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, I hate it, too. I hate that I had to. I hate that stupid mattress and I hate that my kitchen doesn’t look like a rainbow anymore and I really fucking hate that I have no one to dance with when I cook.”

His eyes soften as they find yours and in only a few seconds, he’s reaching for the belt on your robe and tugging you to him. Wrapping you in his arms as he presses you against his chest, the way he always used to when you were sad.

“No,” you argue weakly, although you do nothing to stop him. “No, you can’t…you can’t—”

“Yes, I can,” he retorts quietly. You feel his lips press to the top of your head. “You don’t get to cry over me anymore. You’re better than that now. You did what I couldn’t. You moved on. And I don’t get to ruin that for you.”

You sniffle as you run your hand down his stomach. “It wasn’t about moving on. I just needed to learn how to be strong enough for both of us.”

“Poppy,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

And deep down…you know he’s right.

“Shit, just like that…a little closer. Good girl, hold yourself open for me, baby. Yeah.”

Doing your best to oblige, you slip your fingers between your folds as Harry nudges his nose closer. Kissing his way along your thighs before allowing his tongue to lick a very generous stripe up your pussy.

Round 2 is on the couch. Harry wanted the kitchen counter—nearly insisted on it, in fact—but you knew you didn’t want to ruin your favorite breakfast spot. And you weren’t about to just for him.

So, the couch it was. He complained about it as you got settled. He hates this new couch, too. The color, the lumpy cushions, the way it feels like you’re sinking when you sit.

You told him you didn’t care. You loved it and if it annoyed him, that was a bonus.

Thankfully, he swallowed his complaints in favor of swallowing you. He tossed your robe open and pulled your thighs apart. And then he buried himself between the warmth of your pussy the way he always used to.

And you decided that maybe you don’t mind insomnia so much if this is the remedy.

“Missed this, too,” he says now as he nips at your clit. “God, you’ve always tasted so fucking good. S’fucking crazy, baby. Can’t ever get enough.”

“Sure,” you snort, head dropping back. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls—”

“No.” He shakes his head and his nose nudges the sensitive nerves as you whine. “No, there’s no other girls. Come on, did you really think there could be?”

“With a mouth like that? Yeah,” you admit. He laughs. “That’s how we met. You were such—fuck—such a player.”

“Maybe,” he concedes before mouthing at you again. “But nobody else has ever made me feel the way you do.”

You snort. “Where’d you learn that line?”

“It’s not a line. It’s the truth.”

“Harry. Come on. I know you.”

“Then you should know I don’t say shit I don’t mean.” He smooths his palms down your thighs in order to spread you just a bit further and see the way your hole flutters. “Oh, pretty girl. S’just drenched, hm? All sensitive from the last one…need Daddy to make it better?”

You scrunch your nose. “You don’t get to call yourself that anymore.”

“No?” He grins. “Why not?”

“Because I hate you and Daddy is reserved for someone I like.”

He tsks. “I don’t know, kind of seems like you still like it. Keep clenching around my tongue like you wanna hear me say it again.”

You hesitate as you weave your fingers through his curls. “Never.”

He hums and the vibration against your cunt makes your thighs twitch. “Come on, baby. Don’t be mean to Daddy.”

You want to glare. Slap at him, refuse him. But he’s right—you have missed the moniker. If only just because of how good he sounds when he says it. So, you let him tease you and taunt you as he tastes you. You let him do whatever the hell he wants because your second orgasm feels stronger than the first and you don’t imagine you’ll survive this one.

He slips a finger in as well. Beckons your pleasure closer with every curl of the large digit. It’s practiced. He sucks and licks and nips and thrusts and curls and pumps all at the same time.

Then, he pulls back and brings his palm down in a sharp smack to your pussy.

“Stop squirming,” he instructs, then shoots you an obviously pleased frown. “Don’t be a brat.”

“M’not,” you whimper. “Not a brat…just wanna cum.”

“Do you, hm?” He licks you again then adds two fingers. “Should I let you?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously?” He’s smirking now as he starts to go faster. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you do deserve it. Yeah? After being so nice as to let me in.”

You pout. “Mhm.”

He’s so happy. He’s always his happiest when he’s suffocating himself with your pussy. He does everything he knows you love. He leaves teasing kisses to the inside of your thighs. He slaps at your leg, your clit, your hip. He helps rock you against his tongue and even lifts you from the couch to find a deeper angle.

And he does all of this out of sheer enjoyment.

“Harry,” you whimper as you melt into the cushions. Your limbs feel like jello. The pleasure is everywhere, and he looks like a god. His face is covered in you, glistening about as bright as the stars.

“I know, Poppy,” he says. He kisses your pussy and then smiles at you. “I know.”

You like the way Harry’s chest feels. Warm and soft and painted in the tattoos you used to trace with your finger.

He’s gently scratching your back as you both lay in bed. The room is quiet—you haven’t spoken in minutes. Still, neither of you can seem to find sleep and you know you’ll desperately need it soon.

But this is nice. Even if it is the last time. You like getting to reminisce—pretend for even a moment that things are the way they used to be. When you were happy and safe and content to be together.

You weren’t sure you’d ever feel this kind of peace again.

“I missed you, too, you know,” he whispers after a moment.

You glance up.

“I didn’t just miss your apartment. I missed you.” He takes a breath and runs his palm along your spine. “I miss our Sunday mornings and I miss when we’d watch scary movies just so we could make out and I miss the way you used to dance around in your underwear to some stupid musical you were obsessed with.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “Har…”

“And I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I felt like…I felt like I was watching you do all these amazing things and I just couldn’t keep up. You were getting promoted and moving up and I was still at the fucking bar serving drinks. And you knew what you wanted to do. I didn’t.”

“I didn’t know,” you argue gently. “Not really. I hate my job. I hate that I don’t enjoy it the way I used to. I mean, I like that it pays the bills, but maybe that shouldn’t be enough.”

He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “You should do what makes you happy.”

“You used to make me happy.”

The soft strokes against your spine slow.

“You did, Har,” you tell him. “So happy. That’s why I hated that we started fighting all of the time. I hated that you were gone or that I was gone or the fact that I was too ashamed to tell you that I missed you. And that I was scared we were losing each other.”

“Maybe we needed to lose each other,” he says and you feel sick. “Maybe we needed to be apart to see what we really wanted.”

You think about this. The idea sounds nice. Inviting. A happy end to a rather dreadful story.

But you both know better. Five months has taught you better.

“There’s a reason we broke up,” you finally murmur. “We didn’t…we didn’t like each other anymore. We were holding each other back—”

“I liked you,” he says softly. “I loved you. Yeah, I was mad, but I didn’t just stop loving you.”

“Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier for us and we wouldn’t be…here.”

More silence. It stretches for what feels like hours.

And then, “I can’t sleep because of you.”

You suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“When Josie told me that you were seeing someone, I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And she showed me a picture she took of you guys and you were so happy. Smiling at him like you used to smile at me and I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

Another pause. You don’t know what to say.

“I put my fist through a wall,” he tells you. “And somehow, that still didn’t hurt as much as knowing you’d moved on.”

You snake your arm around his middle and snuggle closer. “Harry, you knew we both had to move on eventually.”

“Did we?”

“Harry…”

“But so soon? It’s only been five months.”

“Yeah. Five months to grieve you and cry over you and realize I did this for you.” You close your eyes. Tight. “We’re better people now.”

“No, we’re tired people now,” he teases, and you smile. “And I think I’ll be losing sleep over you for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean it. I’m always gonna think about you. Think about what I did wrong. What I could have done better.”

“I fucked up, too,” you argue. “I should have told my parents. And our friends. I should have talked to you more, asked you to do more things together. You’re right, I was ashamed of you. Of this…routine we’d fallen into. And I’m sorry.”

He says nothing. After all, there’s nothing more to say.

But he kisses the crown of your head and it speaks louder than any words.

“Fuck…fuck, Poppy, please—”

You grin as you lick your lips. He’s always sounded the most beautiful when he’s begging. And his best begging always tends to happen when his cock is down your throat.

“What, Daddy?” you ask innocently. “What do you need me to do?”

His eyes roll back and he grips the sheets in his fist. “Please…”

You reposition yourself over his legs as you dip back down to have another taste. You lick and you suck and you stroke until he’s making another strained noise that sounds like sex.

You hope your neighbors can hear. You bet they missed him.

“Good boy,” you purr, squeezing his thighs as you take him even further.

He sucks in a sharp breath through gritted teeth before his hand finds your hair and he squeezes. “Easy…easy, baby. S’been a while. Don’t hurt yourself—”

You respond to his instruction by inhaling through your nose and relaxing the muscles in your throat. Allowing him to hit the back the way he always used to.

His head drops into the pillows. “Shit—Poppy, I mean it. M’not gonna fuck your throat. It’s gonna hurt and I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”

It’s an oddly thoughtful gesture but it does nothing for you now. Instead, you shake your head and pull off, a string of saliva dripping down his cock in your wake. “I’m fine, H. Trust me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He pushes up onto his elbows. “Is Crocs with Tube Socks hung or something?”

You grin. “No. But that dildo you got me last year is.”

He blinks. “You…fucking hell, you fuck your throat with that?”

“Mhm.” You swirl your tongue around his tip as he curses. “And then I fuck myself. And I pretend it’s you.”

He tightens his hold on your hair and forces your eyes back to his. “Are you serious?”

You nod, now feeling a touch shy as you wipe your mouth with your knuckles. “Yeah…I know that’s…probably weird, but…I mean, you got it for me, so I thought I’d be weirder to think about someone else—”

“No, it’s…” He stops. Struggles. “Shit, I really needed to hear that.”

“Oh, you did, huh?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to think about anyone else when you used it, either. It’s got my fucking initials on it.”

You laugh, louder than you mean to and it makes him grin. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? It was a pretty good gift, I’ll admit.”

“S’a fucking perfect gift,” he retorts. “We had a lot of fun with that dildo.”

“We did indeed.”

“But apparently not as much fun as you’re having with it.”

“Fucking myself helps me sleep,” you remind him. “So sometimes it’s necessity.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm.” You squeeze the base and he twitches. “You used to watch me. Remember?”

“I do.” His eyes get darker. “Do you fuck yourself a lot?”

“…these days, yeah. Apparently, I can’t sleep all that well, either.”

“And does it work?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” You turn your attention back to his cock in order to avoid his curiosity before you quietly admit, “Sometimes I pretend you’re here. Sleeping next to me. And…that helps, too.”

He reaches for your wrist and pulls your attention back. “Poppy—”

“No, don’t look at me like that, it’s dumb—”

“I imagine you, too.”

You blink. “You do?”

“Every night. Except the past couple weeks. Cause now I just think about you and him. And then I can’t fucking sleep.”

You turn your hand so your fingers brush through his. “Shit. We’re a mess.”

He smiles. “Yeah.”

The conversation falls away as you dip back down to resume your work. Squeezing his balls, moaning as you take him on your tongue, and milking him for every last drop.

Turns out, you missed the taste of him, too.

Morning comes before either of you find a moment of rest. But you can feel yourself growing tired. Your eyelids are beginning to droop, and your body feels incredibly spent.

Turns out, round 4 is where the magic happened. He brought out your favorite vibrator and teased your poor, swollen clit with it until you squirted. It was easy and quick and he seemed rather delighted to be bathed in you.

Until, of course, you insist on an actual bath to clean you both.

The shower felt good. The warm water washing away the sticky sweat on your skin. And the two of you fell back into a similar routine. He ran the soap down your arms and you washed his curls with your favorite shampoo. A shampoo he claimed he looked everywhere for after you broke up but could never find.

He said he missed the smell. The way it made his hair so soft. And the way it would make his pillowcase smell just like you.

You were grateful that the shower hid your tears.

You both crashed on the couch after you had dried off. The sheets still needed to be cleaned and neither of you could be bothered. But, as it turned out, the couch was growing on him. And he begrudgingly admitted it was rather comfy as the two of you curled up in your usual spot.

You know you’re both close to sleep. Finally, after all your efforts to get here. But you also know that once you wake up, Harry will leave.

And there’s a chance you won’t see him again.

You know that nothing has changed. The two of you still want different things, even if you want each other. And you hate that that’s not enough. That what you want and what you should want don’t align.

Instead, he’ll move on with his life and you’ll move on with yours.

But you don’t want to learn how to fall asleep without him.

“Make me a deal,” you whisper.

He hums. Lashes shut tight as the morning light slips in through the window. “What?”

“If I wake up, and you’re still here…we do this again. Not…as a couple. But as two broken humans that find rest with each other.”

His eyes open.

“But if you’re gone,” you continue, “then we don’t. We don’t do it again, we don’t see each other again, we don’t reach out again. We cut ties. Officially. Block and move on. For real.”

He seems saddened by this, and you hate that you’ve made him sad. But you both know it’s for the best. This won’t be sustainable in the long run. And maybe it’s a bad idea to continue at all, but maybe you want to hold on to him anyway. At least for a little while.

Even if it’s just as friends.

Exes.

Two broken humans that used to make each other whole.

His lips press together and he nods once. “Deal,” he agrees, and you can tell by the look on his face, he’s already made a decision.

You aren’t sure which way, but you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. So, you allow your eyes to fall shut and your dreams to take hold. Melting into his arms and into the sofa as you finally find sleep quicker than you have in months.

You’re not sure how long you’re out. It feels like hours. A heavy slumber that leaves you rather refreshed as your eyes eventually flutter open.

You don’t see Harry as you slowly adjust to your surroundings. And you don’t feel him, either. But you’re too afraid to really look. To sit up and realize that he’s gone. For good.

And then, just when you think you’ve lost him…you hear the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Good morning, Poppy.”

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @laelamarley @myalovesharry

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newfruits · 2 years ago

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my pain levels are so bad since i fell last week, my knee on one side and my foot on the other. i suspect the foot pain is a fracture. i made a drs appt to get xray reqs for my feet and low back to check for evidence of past or present fractures or breaks, and to pursue testing for ehlers danlos syndrome, which is my current hypothesis on what might be the cause of my mysterious complex musculoskeletal pain condition and is causing rheumatism

#glub glub #it really sucks that i have to walk at least some distance every day even if its so bad i want to crawl instead #i can take the bus to campus but i still have to walk to the bus stop and around campus #going to look at a bracing store for a new brace and buy a cane at walmart tomorrow. im in too much pain to go anywhere today #also im done with school work for the day bc i want to die rn or at least remove my legs #also with the walking its dangerous as fuck theres always freezing rain and the sidewalks arent maintained by the homeowners #and if i fall again i think that would be it for me. i worry i wouldnt even be able to force myself to limp along like i am now

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lis-likes-fics · 21 days ago

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Not Fair

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Reader Word Count: 6.1k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, Mommy kink, overstimulation, oral (f!receiving), strap-on, multiple orgasms, swearing... A/N: Writing a fic with a mommy kink was personally difficult bc I don't have one... So I tried my best, and I hope you like it. Emily Prentiss could do things to me that would make Aaron Hotchner blush. Happy Halloween!

When Emily's phone pings again, she clenches her fists. It's been going off practically all day. She's been busy with all this work on her desk, case files on case files, and she hasn't been able to focus because you keep texting her.

She received the first text as soon as she got to the BAU. She was talking to JJ when her phone went off and all she saw on her screen was “Miss you already”. When she opened her texts, she almost had a stroke.

It was a picture of you, your arms behind your head and your hip jutted out to the side. You've got your face cut off by the frame to give full attention to your body. Normally that wouldn't be so bad. She'd call you beautiful and promise to kiss you when she got home.

But it was hard to think such wholesome thoughts when you were naked on the screen.

“Everything okay?” JJ had asked.

Emily looked up, pulling herself harshly from her thoughts. She blinked blankly, nodding. “Uh, yeah. All good.”

JJ poorly pretends to believe her and lets her scramble to her desk. Hunched over her phone, Emily replied. “Not fair.” You just sent back a wink.

You sent her more and more throughout the day, each riskier than the last. One laying flat on your bed, the curve of your bare ass intoxicating. One of you straddling your pillow, cut off just beneath the eyes, enough to see your mouth fallen in bliss. One grasping your breasts and flicking the nipple. One spreading your legs for the camera to show how wet you are. One with your hand on the inside of your thigh, far too close for her liking.

It’s been driving her nuts, and she’s surrounded by profilers. It’s not a very good mix. She was counting down the minutes until she could get back to you and adjust your behavior.

As she looks hesitantly at her screen, she braces herself for what she’ll find. “New message: When will you come home to me, Mommy?” She runs a hand down her face, and then pales when she sees, “Video received”.

Emily stands from her desk, escaping quickly to find an empty room to lock herself in. As she opens her phone and goes through her messages, she grasps it tight while she presses play.

Her blood rushes when she sees you, your spread wide open with your fingers shoved inside of you. Your moans are high and breathless, the schlep! schlep! schlep! sounds of your pussy are making it hard to contain herself. “I couldn’t help myself, Mommy,” you whimper, staring at the camera with your face screwed up in pleasure. “I miss you so much. I need you so bad, Mommy. Please come home.”

Yeah… Safe to say, you're in trouble when she gets home.

When Emily steps through the front door, she makes sure to slam it a little as she closes it behind her.

“Em?” Your voice carries down the hall, followed by the soft padding of your feet. When she spots you, you're in an oversized T-shirt that you'd stolen from Derek one day. “You're home! I made dinner.”

You go in to hug her, pulling her in close with a sigh. Emily does not hug you back.

“You okay, baby?” you ask when you don't feel her arms wrap around you. You place your hand on her cheek, cupping her face with a smile.

Emily just looks at you, her face hard with frustration. “You know what you did.”

“I don't know what you mean.” You tilt your head. You're so good, she almost believes you.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

You sigh, brushing your hands down her chest. “Well, did it work?”

She stares at you. Emily has always had a very firm, very strong stare. You begin to squirm the longer she stares, and you know that you're in trouble…

“Go to bed…”

You lick your bottom lip, suppressing a grin as you dip your head. You turn on your heel, shuffling back to the room slow enough to make sure she can see your ass sticking out beneath the shirt.

Emily kicks her shoes off by the door, locking it behind her. She shrugs her jacket off on the way down the hall after you. She stops as she peers into the kitchen. You made beef stew—with it being October already, it's started to get cold outside. The smell alone is making her hungry.

When she makes it to the bedroom, you're sitting on the bed with your legs crossed. The shirt is draping off your shoulder, exposing skin to her that she wants to sink her teeth into.

Emily smiles. “You've been so alone all day, haven't you?”

You look up at her through your lashes, nodding a bit. “I missed you.”

“I could tell,” she lilts. She comes up to you, standing in front of your knees. She uses her own to knock them apart so she can stand between your thighs. You look up at her, admiring her smile and completely untrusting of it. “Missed me so much, you broke the rules.”

You knew that would get her going. You bite down on your bottom lip. “Sorry. I couldn't help it, waiting was hard.”

“No, I understand,” she nods. Her brows furrow, and she cups your cheek gently. “Waiting is hard. But I'm here, and we don't have to wait anymore. Right?”

You nod gently. “Mhm.”

Was she really not upset? She's being so sweet, and you'd expected a very different response to the pictures you sent…the video. But here she is, stroking your skin and kissing you pretty. Maybe she missed you just as much.

She bends down to your lips, and you breathe in happily when she kisses you. You keen into her touch, wrapping your arms around her waist to pull her in close. She's warm, very warm against you.

Emily doesn't break away from you as she leans in, pushing you back so you're laying against the bed. She pulls you against her, pushing you up the bed until your head is resting against the pillows. You wrap your legs around her waist, especially as she takes your wrists in her hands above your head.

“What are you doing?” you giggle, pulling you down against you.

She just shushes you, a smile on her lips as she does. You're happy to listen.

Until you hear clicking and feel the cold bite of metal against your skin. You pull away from her lips, looking up to find she's cuffed your wrist to one of the wooden poles of the bedpost.

“Em?” You reach for the cuff, tugging to no avail. “Emily, what's going on?”

She hums, standing and walking away from you. You watch as she goes to the bedside table, opening the top drawer and pulling out more cuffs. She keeps an extra pair in case of emergency (and apparently for moments like this).

She roughly grabs your other hand, still smiling, and cuffs you to the other pole. “Emily, baby, we can talk about this,” you try. She's not listening.

Emily stands, looks at you, and then leaves the room. “Emily!”

You hear her walk down the hall. When she returns, you flush at the sight of some rope in her hands. When she roughly grabs your ankle, you pull, but she's stronger than you (especially when you're in such a vulnerable position). She wraps a rope securely around your ankle, and then to another bed post. She does the same with the second rope.

Okay, yes, she's upset. You think that's safe to say by now.

Your legs are spread wide, your arms are unavailable at the moment. She's got you in the most vulnerable position you could be in. You try to close your legs, just get your thighs to touch, but there's nothing you can do. You're trapped.

Emily feasts on the sight of you. Her fingertips brush your skin as she slowly drags your shirt up just to reveal the softness of your belly to her. She presses her hand there, adoring the way the slightest gasp lifts from your chest.

She loves seeing you like this: your bare pussy glistening with arousal, your peaked nipples showing through the fabric of your shirt, the smooth skin of your thighs and belly and arms and neck and cheeks exposed to her and her only.

She gently scraped her nails beneath your chin, patting your cheek lightly. Then she turns and ventures toward the opposite end of the room.

“Okay, Emily, I'm sorry.” You're not new to being tied up, but it's not a frequent habit of Emily's to tie you up. And all the other times you've done it, she just cuffed your wrists together and bent you over with her strap. This is relatively new territory.

She doesn't respond. Emily crosses her arms over her chest, one leg over the other, and leans against the wall, looking over you with an unreadable expression.

“Why did you do it?”

You lick your bottom lip. “I missed you, and-and I was horny. I just wanted attention. I'm sorry about the pictures.”

She scoffs. “I don't care about the pictures.” She tilts her head. “You know the rules. You're only allowed to touch your little pussy with my permission. Did you ask my permission?”

“No,” you whisper. “No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched myself without you. I didn't cum! I swear, I didn't cum. I couldn't, not without you.” You pull at the restraints again. It's making you hot and it's making you wet, but the feeling of not being able to move is unnerving. “Please, I'm sorry, Emily. I won't do it again, I promise. Just please let me go, and I'll fix it.”

She doesn't say anything for a moment, though you can see the tiny smirk playing on her lips. You're rambling. She's only tied you up, and you're already letting apologies pour like wine.

“Please, I'm sorry.”

She hums. “That's very nice, that you're sorry…but you've been a bad girl. Do you know what happens to bad girls, princess?”

You don't respond this time, nervous about what she has planned.

She raises a brow, inquiring further. “Hm?”

“They get punished,” you whisper, so soft that you know she can't quite hear you.

“What was that?” she questions.

You speak a little louder this time. “They get punished.”

“That’s right,” she smiles, uncrossing her arms and standing straight again. She comes near the bed, stopping at the edge. “They get punished. How should you be punished, hm?”

You don't know how to answer that. You don't want to answer that. Your throat is dry, and you tug at your wrists.

“Make me wait,” you mutter. It seems like a decent option, the best out of the available ones that you can think of. Maybe she'll keep you laying there, tied down, for a little while and then let you go. You hadn't waited, so she'll make you wait for her to touch you even longer in response. It's a good option. A safe option.

“Make you wait?” she asks, the answer seemingly absurd to her. “After all the attention you wanted, the attention you obviously needed if you were touching yourself with me. No, no, no, I don't think you should wait. You've waited enough.”

She sighs. You watch her brush some hair behind her ear before she turns to the closet. “No, I think you deserve to cum,” she announces from inside. When she comes back, she's holding two black boxes. You've seen one before, long and slender, but the other is foreign to you. Has she bought a new toy?

“In fact,” she sends you a big smile, one that disarms you in both a beautiful and frightening way, “I think you should get to cum as much as you want.”

She opens the first box, taking the pink wand in her hand. You want to rub your thighs together, but for obvious reasons…

“Emily, please…”

“Hush, princess.” She comes back to the bed, setting the wand down in the space between your legs and placing the second box on the bed. She pulls it open, but you can't really see what's inside until she pulls it out.

They're straps. Three ordinary straps. Your brows furrow as you look at them and try to figure out what is so special about them.

And then you realize it when she unbuckles the clasp and begins to wrap them around your inner thigh.

You start saying her name again, repeating it over and over again as you try to squirm away from her. You rant and ramble more apologies, more reasons why she shouldn't do this, how you can make it up to her.

Emily looks firmly at you when you squirm too much.

“If you keep moving, I'll only make it worse.”

You stop, shutting your mouth and keeping still. Her smile returns, and she continues to buckle the straps to your leg. When they're tight and in place, you whine. She picks up the wand, the one that plugs in and goes on for however long she wants it to.

Emily plugs it into the extension cord she's pulled out, slipping the vibrator into the slots in the straps, right against your clit.

“You're going to lay there, and you're going to behave. If it turns out that you're not going to be a good girl, then I've got other ways to ensure that you do. Do you understand me?” Her tone is firm. She leaves no room for debate.

“Yes,” you squeak out.

“Yes, what?”

Her voice sends shivers down your spine. “Yes, Mommy.”

She smiles once more, rounding to your side. She sets a hand on the top of your head, then bends down to kiss your forehead gently. “Good girl,” she smiles. “I knew you could be a good girl for me.” You sigh. “Now let's get this going, shall we?”

You swallow thickly, even worse when she reaches for the wand. You brace for when she turns it on, your leg jerking and doing nothing to stop the strong vibrations shooting through your body. It starts out intense already, and it's obviously worse when she still raises it a couple notches.

You gasp lightly, closing your eyes as a shudder rushes down your spine. She pets you gently, admiring the way you look when you're desperate like this. She hikes your shirt up, brushing her fingers over your peaked nipples and teasing it with the pad of her thumb.

You turn your face toward her to take in her smell. She smells like expensive perfume. It's not a strong smell, but it's a nice one that makes your head pleasantly fuzzy.

“Does that feel good?” she asks gently.

Reluctantly, you nod. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Good,” she hums. “You can come whenever you want, as many times as you want. And I'll be back to check on you.”

You pause, your brain clouded with the buzzing at your clit, but ultimately taken aback by her words. “Huh?”

“Well, I'm not going to let dinner go to waste. It smells delicious, and I'm starving.” She's already walking to the door. You squirm, but the wand never lets up. She's secured it so well that there's no way for you to twist and make it let up. “Maybe I'll have a glass of wine, read a chapter or two.”

Your brows knit together, and you beg. “No, please. I'll be so good, I promise. Please don't leave me. Mommy, please.”

She just smiles. “Make sure to count for me, or I'll have to add more time.”

She closes the door as she leaves the room. “Emily!”

Emily hears a loud whimper down the hall as she's portioning your helping and washing the dishes. You haven't eaten yet—you were waiting on her. She smirks, putting the food away and placing your bowl in the microwave for later.

Pouring herself a glass of wine, she makes her way back to the bedroom. She pushes the door opening.

“Hey, baby. How’re you doing?”

Your eyes are squeezed shut. There are tears running down the side of your face as your chest heaves uncontrollably. Your legs are trembling, and you squirm as the wand continues to vibrate against your sensitive clit.

“P-please,” you mutter, opening your dazed eyes. “Please, ‘m sorry. I'll be g-good, I swear.”

Emily hums. She walks further into the room, sipping her wine as she does. “What number are you at?”

It takes you a moment to respond. She watches your face scrunch, the searing overstimulation shifting back into a sensitive pleasure. Your mouth goes to form the word, but it's hard to get out as you finally mutter, “Five.”

She’d been gone a half hour, had taken her sweet time in eating. “Five,” she echoes, her brows raised. “Very good.”

She places a hand on your cheek, brushing her thumb over your skin with a smile. “Dinner was amazing, princess. Thank you for cooking.”

You'd respond if you weren't struggling to focus. She watches your back arch off the bed as you tug at your restraints—not even to get out at this point, but to move. “Please, Mommy.” Your words are sticky, like forming them is a chore on its own.

“Shh,” she pets your head gently. “I'm gonna go read. You'll be good for me, won't you?”

Another tear slips down your face, and you reluctantly nod your response. “Yes, Mommy.”

She smiles. “Good girl.”

Emily picks her book from the nightstand, taking it in her hand as she begins to leave. “Oh, almost forgot,” she pauses. She comes back to you, kissing your forehead before she's turning the intensity up even more. “There we go. I'll be back.”

You curse, turning your head into your shoulder. “Please don't l-leave me here again.” Emily pets you once more and does just that.

It's exceedingly difficult to focus on words on a page when all Emily can hear is the sound of your heavy breaths and whining moans down the hall. Every time you cum, it's with her name on your tongue.

She imagines sweaty skin, glazed eyes, your back arched up with the rise of pleasure. She imagines her tongue flicking over the soft skin of your neck, her teeth nipping your throat. She imagines her fingers shoving into the delicate, velvety warmth between your folds. She imagines bending you over her knee and smacking your ass in rough, punishing claps of her palm. She imagines slipping her glistening fingers into her mouth, lapping her tongue over the slick she'd gathered from you and relishing her fluttering lashes at the sweetness.

Then she remembers that that isn't the plot of the book, and she's supposed to be focused on other things. She checks her watch for maybe the eleventh time in the past ten minutes and wonders if it's been enough time for her to return. When she decides it hasn't, she takes a gulp of wine and restarts the page she's been staring at for the past twenty-five minutes. She's surprised she's lasted this long…

Enough is enough when she eventually hears you being literally reduced to tears. She decides she wants to see that for herself as she listens to the hefty sobs passing your lips, heaving in your chest. When she pushes the bedroom door open, she isn't disappointed at what she finds.

She doesn't think you've noticed her yet. You lay across the bed, your limbs trembling, your mouth agape like you've got something stuck in it. Her back arches as you fight the oversensitivity of a fresh orgasm. You've tugged so hard on your restraints, your wrists and ankles are rubbed raw.

Emily's eyes are hooded as she watches you. “Oh, baby,” she coos, coming up to you and placing a gentle hand on your thigh. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

You look at her, then up at the ceiling, then back over to her. You look entirely dazed, like you're not even in the room. You huff and whimper as you try to catch your breath. Your face is painted in tears, and more squeeze out every time you blink.

“How do you feel, princess?” she purrs as she sits at the edge of the bed. Her hand strokes your skin when she reaches across your belly, letting her thumb stroke over your belly button and then rubbing gently over the soft plush of your tummy.

Your words are slow and choppy as you struggle to speak, the pleasure too much not to drag you down and force you to stumble. “‘m sorry about…ah-bout s-sending you p-pictures at work and—mmph!—’nd f’r touching myself without p—aah, permission.” A sob erupting from your throat brings a new haste to your apology. “I sh-should’ve been your good girl while you were g-gone, but I wasn't. Fuck, Mommy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. I–”

She cuts you off with her lips on yours, silencing your apology and letting you whimper into her mouth. Her palm cups your cheek, her thumb brushes over your bottom lip. You lean into the kiss like you've been starved of her—because you have—drinking her down as soil drinks water.

“Shh,” she smiles. “Good girl. That's a good girl. It's okay.” She shushes you gently once more as she strokes her knuckles against your cheek. “I know that was hard. Was that hard? Staying in here and cumming without me? Hm? Was it hard cumming without my hands on your skin, princess?”

You nod, still not quite focused with the way the wand ravaged you. “Yes, was hard, Mommy. I missed you.”

“Yeah?” she sighs. “It was hard for me, too… Not being in here while you came over and over again. I wanted to be here so I could watch you fall apart, so I could know that it was me who did it. You're mine, baby, and I deserve to be there when my things feel good. Right?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, yes. Yes, I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” She shushes. “All I want you to do is promise me something.”

“Anything,” you gasp. “Anything, please.”

“Promise me you'll never touch your pretty pussy without my permission ever again.”

You nod. “I promise.”

“Say it.” Her voice is so low, it's nearly a growl in your ear. “Say it, baby.”

“I'll never t-touch my p-pretty pussy without your permission—mm—ever again. I promise!”

She strokes inside our cheeks some more, and you turn your face into her arms as she does. “Good girl. Good girl,” she smiles. “Just cum one more time for me, and I'll let you go, okay?”

The look you give her is devastating. More tears make their way down your cheeks, and she thinks briefly that you're in pain.

“Please,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Please, I can't.”

She nods gently. “Sure you can. What are you at right now?”

You look like you're trying to remember. Your brain is fogged up with pleasure and overstimulation and the feeling of Emily's nails lightly scratching the back of your neck. You speak in the middle of a moan. “Nine.” Your hips are bucking like you're already nearing another.

She applauds your efforts in not passing out. “Nine,” she repeats with a chuckle. “Make it ten, babygirl, and I'll let you go. Can you do that for me? Can you make it ten?”

Your head whirls as you give a slanted nod. “Yes, Mommy.”

She smiles. “Good girl. Such a good girl you are.” She bends down to kiss you. “Just keep lookin’ at me, princess. Look at me and scream my name when you cum, okay? Can you do that?”

Again you nod. “Yes, Mommy.”

She hums, slipping her hand beneath your shirt. Her fingers graze your skin before swiping over your nipple. You're a goner from the start, forcing your eyes to stay open as you watch her, relishing the feeling of the pad of her thumb rubbing feather-light circles over it. “My perfect girl, look at you,” she coos. “God, you're so beautiful. So pretty when you cry and pretty when you cum.”

Her praise is spurring you on, encouraging the desperate buck of your hips as you feel the—now very—familiar spark of an orgasm creeping up on you. It tingles in your thighs and in your belly. It curls your fingers and makes it impossible to stay still.

“You wanna cum for me, babygirl? Hm?” she purrs, kissing your forehead. You nod, and she excuses your lack of words this one time because she knows you're too distracted. “Then cum for me, princess. Cum for Mommy, and tell her how good it feels. C’mon, baby, you can do it.”

You swear you go blind for a moment. You lose your vision staring at Emily, arching your back off the bed as your stomach tenses, and then your legs, and then everything else in your body. Your brain is fuzzy, and you don't even realize it when her name flies off your tongue.

Emily makes you ride out the orgasm, petting you and shushing you and praising you as you struggle to keep up. Your brain feels numb, and you're confident that you'll start drooling if you turn your head.

Emily switches off the wand, unwrapping it from your leg and earning a tiny gasp. She unties the rope, she uncuffs your wrists. She frees you bit by bit until you're laying limply on the bed because it's all you can do.

Emily rubs her hands along your thighs, speaking gently as she comes to the side of the bed. “Such a good girl for me. You did so well, princess,” she coos. “My perfect little girl.”

You don't respond. She'd expected a hum, a moan, any kind of acknowledgment. “Baby?”

She brushes her fingertips along your hairline and finds that you've fallen asleep. Your eyes are closed, your body is entirely limp, and the only reason she knows you're not dead is because your chest is gently rising and falling with each breath that passes through you.

Emily thinks you're the most beautiful woman she's ever seen. And she loves you.

Emily nudges her nose against yours and kisses your lips gently. She stands to her feet and rounds to the foot of the bed. The bed dips under the weight of her knee, then again as she leans on her elbows, taking your thighs in her grasp.

You stir when she kisses your inner thigh, then again when her lips find the softness of your aching clit.

“Mm,” you mumble. “Emily?”

She smiles against your folds, pressing forward to kiss your pussy, tasting the arousal that has gathered there in plentiful amounts. “You're soaking, baby.”

She hears you mutter “Jesus fucking Christ” under your breath, but your attention to the holy spirit is squandered when she licks you, lapping her tongue through your folds and suckling on your abused clit.

“Please, I can't take anymore,” you whine, twitching away from her as your limbs ache. Though she can feel the way you buck weakly into her when she finds the right spot.

“Relax,” she chuckles. “I'm just getting a taste of you.” She grips you roughly when you whimper. “You taste fucking amazing, princess.”

When she kisses your thigh, your leg jerks a little. “God, you're so sensitive.”

You let out a deep breath. “I just came ten times in a row, baby. Of course, I'm sensitive.”

She lightly smacks your side. She sits up, placing herself between your legs. “I'm about to make it a whole lot worse by making you feel a whole lot better.”

You whine, especially when she grabs your knee and turns you over onto your stomach. She pulls you into the position she wants, on your knees with your face in the pillows. “Did you take a little blue pill or–”

Your question is interrupted when she shoves her fingers inside of you, curling them and loving the way you groan. “Don't be a little brat.” She smacks your ass, smoothing it with her palm after.

You nod into the pillow. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Good,” she smiles. “Stay.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Emily moves off the bed. You hear her slacks drop to the floor, her shirt follows. You look over your shoulder just to watch her strip, her bra and her underwear falling to the floor and revealing her strap. She loves wearing it, you're just surprised she can keep it as well-hidden as she does.

The bed dips once more when she retakes her position behind you. “You ready?”

You nod, and then speak when you know that nodding won't work. “Yes, Mommy.”

She strokes her hand along your back, lining herself up with you before pushing herself between your slick folds. It's easy to do, you're dripping. She laughs when this deep moan slips out of you.

“Fuck, Mommy,” you sigh, gripping the sheets. “Fuck me, please.”

Emily's had a lot of practice in denying you the chance to cum, in making you cum over and over again, in punishing and praising you for every little thing you do right or wrong.

But she's never been able to deny you when you ask so sweetly, begging for her the way you do like you're just desperate for her to use you.

She grabs your hips tight, pulling out of you slowly before shoving back into you so roughly that your body is pushed back into the bed. You moan out loud, gasping as you bury your face in the pillows. She does it again, and again, and again. The head of her cock punches against a deep part inside of you that makes you shout.

Emily takes a lot of pleasure in fucking you. It feels nice to feel you fall apart beneath her, mumbling and gasping and moaning whenever she thrusts into you, crying out when her hand smacks down on your ass just because she wants it to.

“You're so perfect for me, princess,” she coos, a rough groan coming out of her when she pulls you roughly back onto her. “You like when I fuck you like this?”

You nod. “Yes. Yes, Mommy, I love it so much.”

“I know you do,” she hums. “My little girl loves it when I fuck her nice and rough. She loves being used by Mommy.”

Her thrusts bring waves of pleasure that make it impossible to stay quiet. You squeeze your eyes shut, clench around her with each drag of her cock. Her pace is quick and rough, and your head is swirling with all the feelings rushing through you. You didn't think you'd crave it so much, but you feel the need to cum, the desire to to gush and cry as you let go for her.

The sound of skin on skin, hips to ass, slick against slick, it drives you mad. Your mind whirls, and you revel in it.

“Please, Mommy, can I cum? I needa cum so bad,” you babble, gripping the sheets in a tight fist. “Needa cum for you.”

“You want to cum?” she smiles, mild shock on her face. “I make you feel so good that you want to cum again? All for me?”

You nod. “Yes, fuck. Please, can I? I've been good. I apologized, I did what you asked. Please.”

Her hips snap into you as she considers. “I don't know…”

A slight sob falls from your mouth. “I promise I'll be so good for you, Mommy. I'll do whatever you want. Please, just let me cum for you.”

God, where would she be without you? Maybe getting work done.

“Okay, baby,” she says. “You can cum. I'll make you cum.”

You hear the sound of the wand coming to life again, and your hips buck. “Ah, ah, ah. You said you wanted to cum. You're gonna cum how I want you to cum.”

You don't know what you expected, but you're going to listen because you love Emily and Emily knows best. Also, she holds all the power on whether or not you actually get what you want, so there's also that.

She presses the wand to your clit, and a startled moan erupts from your chest. “F-fuck,” you whine.

“That’s it. Let it out, baby. Cum for me,” she rasps in your ear. You have no choice but to obey as she thrusts into you with all the enthusiasm in the world, holding the wand steady and making you weak with the tremors it sends through your body.

It's like a band snaps in your belly, and it takes you completely by surprise when it happens. “Mommy!” you shout, burying your face in the pillow as you gasp, clenching down around her as she continues to fuck you with all the roughness she has.

Somewhere along the way of sparks and flashes and curling guts, you sob. It feels nice to do it, a release that joins your orgasm and shivers through the whole of your body. “Fuck, Mommy, yes. Thank you s’much.”

Emily's mouth presses to the back of your neck, loving on you with kisses and gentle grazes of her teeth. “Good girl,” she coos. “Such a good girl for me. Always a good girl.”

You preen under her praise, gasping when she pulls the wand away and then out of you. You let your body fall on your side, relaxing into the sheets with the heavy weight of relief.

Emily strokes a hand along your skin, slowly and deeply to massage your muscles. You almost fall asleep again as she does it before she collapses beside you with a huff. She undoes the ties of her strap and sets it aside before she pulls you into her.

“You're amazing,” you slur into her skin.

She snorts. “You're amazing.”

You slide a hand down her side, dipping between her legs to push them apart. “What’re you doing?”

You sit up, spreading her legs as you settle yourself between them. “Making you feel good.”

Again, Emily chuckles. “Well, who am I to refuse that?”

You roll your eyes, dipping down to lick at her folds, now wet with the pleasure of your pleasure. She lays back, relishing in the feeling of you and your tongue and the gentle graze of your teeth on her folds.

But you're enthusiastic, and you don't let her enjoy soft pleasures. You bury your head between her thighs and lap at her pussy like it drips precious honey. You suckle on her clit and wiggle it between your lips.

“Oh, fuck,” she curses, reaching down to grab your hair, to hold it as you attempt to give her the pleasure she'd given you. “Just like that, baby. So good.” You moan, letting the gentle vibration rock through her. You wrap your arms tightly around her thighs, keeping her locked in place and sighing when she bucks against you.

Her hips become more jerky as they move against you. You can feel her clenching around your tongue when you plunge it inside, and you hum into her as you anticipate her coming release. Her breath swells as it builds and builds.

She pulls you roughly in, caging you in with her thighs around your head when she cums. You whine into her, sucking on her clit and lapping at her folds as she cums, her moans deep and breathy with the call of your name.

The pleasure floats in her head and makes her feel light. She has to pull you away herself once it sours into overstimulation and becomes too much. The irony curls your lip.

“Fuck, baby,” she huffs, leaning back into the pillows as you find your way up the length of her body. You lick your lips clean, enjoying the taste of her as you bend down to kiss her lips.

“You taste good,” you mutter. She smiles and kisses you again.

“Thanks.” She pulls her arms around you, holding you tight as you lay on her chest, her nose nuzzled into her neck. “How do you feel?”

You sigh heavily, nuzzling closer. “Tired.”

“I bet,” she lilts. She kisses your hairline. “Hey.”

“Mm?”

“I wouldn't mind more of those pictures. But if you touch yourself without me again, we make it twelve.”

“Oh, God,” you whine, pushing off of her to bury your face in the pillow. She laughs, lugging your body back into her arms as she presses her front to your back. She kisses the spot below your ear and closes her eyes to enjoy the feeling of your warmth.

“I'm gonna need about three business days to recover.”

She snorts. “I'll give you one.”

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#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x reader smut #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanficiton #reader insert #female reader

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cressidagrey · 5 months ago

Text

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 1

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings:

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Magical Orthodontry...

(I should probably mention that my thoughts about plastic surgery/any kind of cosmetic enhancement are pretty much that as long as the person who has it done likes the result, it does not matter if anybody else thinks they needed it.

It’s their body, their choice and if they think they look prettier with a new nose/straighter teeth/fuller lips, good for them.

For myself, I love what braces did for my teeth and what one of those heatless curler things currently does for my hair lol)

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

It was bad.

Eira shouldn’t have expected any differently.

Maybe it had been the promise of mail-order catalogues that had made her think that maybe this time she wasn’t going to want to die halfway through her biannual week of torture…

But there was nothing the shadows could do, short of giving her pain potions that rendered her unconscious and plying her with soup.

She let them.

She was too weak to protest, in too much pain…feeling like a baby bird that needed them to slowly spoon broth in her mouth so that she only needed to swallow.

But at least they were there. They didn’t leave her alone. Regardless of when she woke up…at what time of day or night…they were there.

Ready with pain potions and armed with soup, and when she just needed something to get her mind off the pain, they told her stories.

Little fables of Illyria and Prythian…children’s stories.

Maybe one day she could tell the same stories to Nyx.

It took 4 days… halfway through that week, when there was a knock at her door.

Elain, the shadows whispered into her ear and she held back a groan.

She didn’t want to deal with her sister.

“Come in!” she called nonetheless and only then realised that she still had the key in the lock. The shadows swarmed out to turn it and then disappeared, scurrying underneath her desk.

She forced herself to sit up, wondering how much of a mess she looked…probably like death warmed over twice, but to be completely honest…she wasn’t pretty on a good day, so what did it matter?

Becoming Fae had somehow perfected the faces of her sisters. They still looked like themselves, but the cauldron had seemingly made them much more symmetrical, their limbs longer, their ears pointed…and for Elain, the cauldron…it had turned her from beautiful into otherworldly gorgeousness.

For Eira…it had made her ears pointy.

No, wait that wasn’t true…Her hair was seemingly even more unmanageable than it ever had been as a human…and her teeth…the less was said about that was better.

She had already been self-conscious about them as a human. As a fae, surrounded by ridiculously attractive people every day, it was…something else entirely.

“Good Morning,” Eira said quietly. Elain stared at her, surprise etched on her face.

“Have you really spent the few days moping in your bed?” she asked, judgment clear in her voice. Eira wanted to bristle. Hadn’t Elain done the exact same thing when she had first been made? And Elain hadn’t had the excuse of a cycle for it.

“Yes, Elain,” she said back quietly. “It’s….It’s that time of the year,” she mumbled, looking at everything but her sister. If Elain couldn’t even smell the thick cloying scent of blood that was clinging to Eira, she couldn’t help her.

Elain just harrumphed. “Look, I do realise that I may have been needlessly harsh,” she said, crossing her arms. Somehow managing to sound gracious even now.“But you do need to realise, Eira, that that is never going to go anywhere.”

Eira blinked. Twice.

Somebody put her heart into a vice and crushed it.

Of all the things she had expected Elain to say…this wasn’t it.

“Azriel is completely disinterested,” Elain continued. “And it would be better for you if you finally realised that.”

“What does it matter to you?” Eira finally managed to bring out, her voice thankfully not shaking…And still….she sounded…weak. That’s what she sounded like.

“I want you to be happy. And thirsting after a male that will never return your affections you won’t do that,” Elain said with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not going to change his mind, Eira.”

Eira flinched at Elain’s words. She couldn’t help it.

Even when she knew…she knew her sister was right. She knew that…

“You should just stop your pathetic attempts of flirting with him. All you manage is to make him uncomfortable,” Elain continued with a roll of her eyes.

Pathetic attempts of flirting? What did Elain even mean? Her nervous ramblings? Her stolen glances? The way her heart skipped a beat when she got to see him?

She had never asked him out…on a date or anything else…she had never even mentioned courting in his near vicinity. She had done nothing, said nothing to Azriel that made her feelings obvious to him.

It was all just…

“There are plenty of fish in the sea…” Elain said with a sigh. “You’ll find somebody else one day,” Elain told her, sounding some mixture between pitying and bored, as she turned to go. “Do you want me to ask Feyre to send Madja?”

“No, thank you. I have pain potions,” Eira whispered, and Elain turned on her heel, marching back out of her room.

Eira listened to her sister leave…she buried her face in her pillows.

“Would you lock the door, please?” She whispered.

Nobody else. Just her.

Why shouldn’t Elain once again stab her in the same wound…why not? Why…

And then…somehow it was like somebody flipped a switch.

She turned angry. Angry at Elain, at her twin sister. Who hid behind this veil of sisterly worry and only used it to hurt Eira?

She was so…she was so…She was so angry.

She never was angry. But right now it was swelling beneath her skin and she wanted…she wanted… Not revenge. Not really.

She made Azriel uncomfortable with what? With nervous ramblings and stolen glances?

Fine. She would stop that. She would stop all of that.

She wouldn’t even talk to him again, so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable. She would ignore him. She would be icily polite and that was that.

And she would find herself a husband and have all the babies she wanted and that would be that. She would find herself…somebody else. Somebody who wanted her. Somebody for whom she wasn’t annoying…who she didn’t make uncomfortable.

Somebody for herself.

Something for herself.

She would fill her room with stupid trinkets she bought herself because nobody else would do it for her. She would buy pretty dresses that tried to mask that she wasn’t as pretty as her sisters. She would do all of that.

And what her sisters thought about any of that…well, she didn’t fucking care. Not anymore.

She wasn’t the only one angry. The shadows were hissing, spitting, swirling menacingly, nearly filling the whole room…and she wasn’t scared. That didn’t even cross her mind.

How dares she? The shadows hissed. She owed you an apology, not…not this.

Maybe for the first time in her life, Eira Archeron wanted to be utterly and completely selfish.

Nobody was going to put her first. Not if she didn’t do it herself.

“I’ll be buying myself something horribly expensive,” she finally said, her voice shaking.

Do it, the shadows said, amusement bleeding into their voice, still angrily swirling, coming to wrap around her wrists. Buy whatever you want.

They dropped a catalogue next to her hands, and Eira reached out to take it with shaky hands.

Whatever she wanted.

The problem was only, she had no idea what she wanted.

Maybe a new dress? Maybe some jewellery…like a necklace? Or a bracelet?

A ring?

Like the rings her sisters had? Given to them by their mates, who loved them?

Feyre’s Sapphire? The Ruby that encircled Nesta’s finger since her mating ceremony?

Or maybe Elain’s ring…gold and diamond, looking like the rays of the sun, so fitting for the future wife of the heir to the Day Court.

No. No jewellery.

These godforsaken pearl earrings had been enough.

Something Eira wanted. Something Eira needed.

Eira could use a new pair of shoes. She already had brought her old ones to the cobbler thrice. Maybe…that wasn’t a ridiculous request after all…

She opened the catalogue, paging through it until she found the shoe section. She stared at the little pictures accompanying them. Humans hadn’t yet figured out how to do print in full colour, but the drawings on this page were brightly colourful. Clearly not a problem here in Prythian.

She quickly slipped over the pages that had silk slippers and pretty heels on them. That wasn’t practical to run after Nyx with, right? Then she found a page with practical leather shoes… decisively female, a small heel…they weren’t that dissimilar to human fashion.

She examined them closer. “Laces or Buckle? What do you think?” she asked the shadows. The ones with shoelaces were cheaper…but if she bought one with the buckles, she could also change them out, buy extra buckles…swap them with a crystal-embellished buckle or silver for gold…

All of that was possible.

The ones with the buckles! The shadows said quickly.

“They are pretty, aren’t they?” Eira commented and marked the page by folding down one corner as she turned the page.

Definitely one contender.

She couldn’t remember ever having done anything similar before.

When she had still been human, as a child her mother had reigned over her wardrobe with an iron fist. They had never been allowed to pick out anything.

And then later…after they had lost their fortune…well, picking out anything involved turning around every clipped copper coin.

She had never been able to just…leisurely look at things and find the pretty and think about buying them…without even really looking at the price tag attached to them.

Eira flipped back to the shoes, the tip of her finger tracing the writing…she had always been atrocious at reading. The letter tended to change their position, and it hadn’t changed as a Fae either. and she could never tell that to anybody, because the one time she had, her finger had been violently rapped by a wooden ruler and that had been that.

If she just took her time…carefully…it worked. Just took her longer. She found the price attached to the shoes, knowing that even without the shadows, she could afford them.

She had stashed away money in the chest at the foot of her bed after all. Not a lot but…enough for the shoes.

Eira paged through more of the catalogue…oohing and awwing over dresses, where the shadows tried to talk her into buying herself a ballgown much to her amusement, though in the end, they agreed on a pretty blue-grey dress with billowing sleeves cuffed at her wrist…

Eira would never feel comfortable in the Night Court fashion of cropped tops and pants…she would much rather be covered up completely. But that dress…that looked quite pretty.

She turned to the next page, and the next after that, trawling her way through skirts and cardigans and shirt waists…

And then Eira found the fabric section, biting her lip. Any time she had gone to a fabric shop in Velaris, it had been to buy fabric for a gift for her sisters. Never for herself. She didn’t need anything.

That’s pretty, the shadows whispered in her ear, seemingly solidifying to point out a specific cotton print on that page.

She wondered how they even saw anything. They didn’t have eyes. But then magic seemed to be the answer to nearly everything in Prythian.

It was pretty. A ditsy little floral print…white ground, green leaves…It was pretty. So was a white cotton gauze with little dots…that was the one that she considered seriously. The price was good…she could use a new dress for her birthday…

She marked that page as well, flipping over to the next…and there it was.

It was an advertisement that caught her eye, and she was nearly flicking to the next page as she caught the word teeth.

“Faes can fix teeth?“ she asked weakly, as she read that advertisement, a promise about cosmetic procedures…like full lashes and eyebrows and…perfect teeth.

Perfect teeth.

“Could they fix mine?” she asked, desperation bleeding into her voice.

Her teeth were…well, her greatest insecurity on a good day. They were…fine. It wasn’t painful at least. It was just that her two front teeth were too big for her face…which made her look like…

What’s wrong with your teeth? Do they hurt you? You’ll need a healer for that, the shadows said immediately, worriedly.

“They are too big. Just the two front teeth. I look like a rabbit,” she admitted in a whisper. Or a mole rat. Her mother had preferred the latter.

Everything else could be fixed one way or another…but nothing could be fixed for her teeth.

When she had been a child she had still hoped that she would grow into them, but that had never happened.

And not even the cauldron had thought it would be prudent to fix them. Leaving her with them…still standing out starkly.

They were the reason why she never smiled widely, why she made sure to talk with her lips pulled over them…why she didn’t wear bright lipstick.

A few dozen things that she didn’t do because of them.

You do not look like a rabbit, the shadows disagreed with a snort…and then after a moment: Do they bother you?

They asked that like it was a near foreign thing…like…

“My mother used to…She used to tell me that…” She tried to bring the words over her lips but she choked on them. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t…

Once you feel better, you can go and have them changed to however you want to look, the shadows told her softly. Do they truly bother you that much?

“I know that I won’t ever be the beautiful one. But…if…If I could just feel…just feel pretty…just once,” she whispered, staring at that advertisement.

If they could just fix her teeth…

As soon as you feel better, the shadows promised her. But that’s not ridiculously expensive. Neither is one single pair of shoes, that dress….or a few yards of that fabric. Nearly teasing.

But it was nice teasing. Sweet teasing. Teasing that did nothing but make a small smile appear on her face.

“I could always buy more fabric,” she gave back, biting her lip and the shadows tugged at her fingers in response.

But if magic could fix her teeth…maybe it could also fix her hair.

A light brown mess on her head that never did what she wanted it to do…

“Is there something for my hair as well?” she asked hesitantly, and the shadows flipped through her catalogue until it brought her to a page with hair care supplies.

There are potions you can use…enchanted brushes too, they told her. You’ll want something for naturally curly hair.

They didn’t need to tell Eira that twice.

The morning she stopped bleeding she was out on the streets of Velaris as soon as the sun rose…dropping off the dresses she had hemmed, and picking up her newest commissions and then walking to that shop that promised her perfect teeth.

It was a woman, a female, her age who looked up from the magazine she was reading, took one look at her, asked for a handful of gold coins…gave her a mirror in her hand and then drily said: “Just say stop when they have the size you want.”

And that was that.

Eira could have wept with her gratitude.

Her teeth looked perfect. Just like she had so often hoped they would look.

The same could be said about her hair after one bath with her new potions and a run-through with her enchanted brush.

Unmanageable frizzy hair that never looked like she wanted it to look?

With magic no more. Thick, perfect, glossy curls fell over her shoulders in fat ringlets.

To say that she was in a good mood after that…It was the understatement of a dozen centuries at least.

Eira was ecstatic.

She loved it. She felt…she felt so pretty. For once.

“Good Morning!” she chirped as she entered the dining room. Not even the sight of Elain pouring over her wedding binders could put a dent in her happiness that morning.

“Good Morning,” Elain responded, staring at her like she had gone mad but Eira didn’t care, as she poured herself a cup of tea, took a slice of toast, smeared jam all over it...

“It’s a beautiful day outside, isn’t it?” she asked brightly, as she took a bite, chewed, swallowed…

Elain stared at her.

“Eira…what did you do with your teeth?” her sister asked her, staring at her.

“I got them fixed! Isn’t that great? Magic can do that!” she enthused. They were perfect! They looked just like she wanted them to look!

It was like thunder pulled over Elain’s expression. “You can’t be serious!” she snapped. “What were you thinking?!”

“That I got my teeth fixed?” Eira gave back questioningly. What did it even matter to Elain? Couldn’t she just be happy? Eira was so fucking happy about her choice.

“This doesn’t change things, Eira!” Elain said harshly. “It’s still never going to go anywhere!”

She opened her mouth to respond, but she was beaten to it.

“What is never going to go anywhere?” Feyre’s voice came from the doorway as she entered, Nyx on her hips, staring around the room…waving chubby little arms in Eira’s direction that made her smile at him brightly.

“Eira’s little crush on Azriel,” Elain said evenly. “He’s completely disinterested. and she has gone and gotten her teeth fixed in some hare-brained attempt to…”

“What does it matter to you?” Eira interrupted her. This had nothing to do with…him. This had been for her. Because she was the one her teeth bothered, long before she had ever even met him. “They aren’t your teeth.”

Feyre stared at her and Eira smiled brightly, showing all her teeth…something she would have never done before. But now she did.

“Your teeth were fine before,” Feyre told her, staring at her like she couldn’t quite believe that Eira had gone and done this.

“My teeth were too big for my mouth,” Eira disagreed. And really, she didn’t understand why she even needed to defend herself on this. “The last time I checked I was allowed to do with my body whatever I wanted,” she murmured under her breath.

And this…this was harmless. This was just fixing her teeth. It didn’t hurt anybody. Not her, not anybody else…

Feyre didn’t seem convinced. “How much money did you spend on this?” her sister asked her, a sharpness sinking into her voice and Eira crossed her arms.

“Not a single coin that belongs to you or your mate,” she gave back, her voice cold. “I spend my money, money I earned, on something that I wanted.”

She was allowed to want things. Whatever she wanted, the shadows had promised her and they had kept that promise.

“Did you do this because of Azriel?” Feyre asked, softening slightly. “Eira, that’s not going to work.”

She knew that.

“My whole life does not revolve around other people,” Eira said calmly, meeting her sister's gaze. “I wanted it.”

“He’s still not going to be interested in you,” Elain snorted.

Once again. Hitting that one weak spot her sister had sussed out.

People always thought that Elain was oh-so-sweet. What they forgot was that even the most beautiful, most fragrant rose had its thorns.

She said nothing. Didn’t flinch away. Didn’t say anything.

“It’s true,” Feyre said with a sigh, actually agreeing with Elain. “I have wanted to talk to you about that, Eira…” her sister said, visibly uncomfortable. “Could you at least try to get over him? It’s…it would be better for…this court.”

Of course, it would be. This court.

Because that’s what mattered, right? That’s what mattered to the High Lady.

That the court was functional. That the spymaster wasn’t uncomfortable…that her sister wasn’t having a ridiculous puppy crush on another member of this court.

And what was Eira supposed to say to this?

What was she supposed to say to that?

Eira’s feelings didn’t really matter anyway. They were nothing but an inconvenience.

“I am sorry,” she said, her voice quiet, staring at her hands so that she didn’t need to look at two of her sisters…so they wouldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes. “I’ll make sure that my feelings won’t inconvenience anybody else ever again.”

“That’s not…” Feyre started, but Eira shook her head.

“I understand,” she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth, all her appetite gone, as she stood to go back to her room.

#lightning in a bottle #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #my writing

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bitchesgetriches · 8 months ago

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{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Repairing Our Busted-Ass World

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Starting from nothing

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Bitchtastic Book Review: Hand to Mouth by Linda Tirado

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Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights

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The Latte Factor, Poor Shaming, and Economic Compassion

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On Pulling Weeds and Fighting Back: How (and Why) to Protect Abortion Rights

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Blood Money: Menstrual Products for Surviving Your Period While Poor

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1 Easy Way All Allies Can Help Close the Gender and Racial Pay Gap

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Bitchtastic Book Review: The Feminist Financial Handbook by Brynne Conroy

Sexual Harassment: How to Identify and Fight It in the Workplace

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Leaving Home before 18: A Practical Guide for Cast-Offs, Runaways, and Everybody in Between

Racial justice

The Financial Advantages of Being White

Woke at Work: How to Inject Your Values into Your Boring, Lame-Ass Job

The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander: A Bitchtastic Book Review

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Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 2: Racial and Gender Inequality

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What We Talk About When We Talk About Student Loans

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Identifying and combatting abuse

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On mental health:

Understanding mental health issues

How Mental Health Affects Your Finances

Stop Recommending Therapy Like It’s a Magic Bean That’ll Grow Me a Beanstalk to Neurotypicaltown

Bitchtastic Book Review: Kurt Vonnegut’s Galapagos and Your Big Brain

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Coping with mental health issues

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On saving the planet:

Changing the system

Don’t Boo, Vote: If You Don’t Vote, No One Can Hear You Scream

Ethical Consumption: How to Pollute the Planet and Exploit Labor Slightly Less

The Anti-Consumerist Gift Guide: I Have No Gift to Bring, Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum

Season 1, Episode 4: “Capitalism Is Working for Me. So How Could I Hate It?”

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights

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#poverty #economics #income inequality #wealth inequality #capitalism #working class #labor rights #workers rights #frugal #personal finance #financial literacy #consumerism #environmentalism

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pathologicalreid · 11 months ago

Note

Could you write a platonic Spencer X reader? Like she’s the new, youngest member on the team, he remembers how it feels like and kinda takes you under his wing.

neophyte | S.R.

in which dr. reid gives advice to help you cope with the requirements of your new job

who? spencer reid x fem!platonic!BAU!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: details from 1x6 "L.D.S.K.", mentions of killing an unsub, guns and general cm related violence. post prison reid.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: hi!! thank you! i had such a great time writing this! i love a good platonic reader fic <3. (side note i am currently working on making my way through all of my requests :-))

Your brows were furrowed in the dark, abandoned office that you darted into at the very first opportunity. Try as you might, you couldn’t forget the way your last case ended.

Some agents wore their first takedown like a badge of honor, but you had no interest in looking at this like an accomplishment.

You rubbed at your eyes, he was a killer, he had a knife to a teenager's throat, and yet, you felt bad that you had killed him. Emily had assured you that it was a clean shoot and you were right to kill him, but you didn’t care that it was a clean shoot. You cared that someone was dead, and you were the one who pulled the trigger. Shouldn’t it matter to you that by taking one life, you likely saved several others in the process?

Glancing over your shoulder to see if anyone could see you, you turned sharply into the empty office. It had been left abandoned years ago by Agent Morgan, and now you were grateful for the empty space. If you were going to cry, at least you could do it in peace.

The events kept playing in your head, the UnSub held the knife to the kid’s throat, and you asked him to let the kid go, but he knew he was going to jail anyway. The temptation of another kill was too good for him to turn down. You saw the flex of his wrist as he prepared himself to kill, and you pulled the trigger.

You struck him right between his eyes. You promptly walked the teenager to reunite with his parents before you snuck around the side of the building and hurled before returning to the rest of the team like all was well and good.

“Y/N?” A voice whispered into the office, and you braced yourself for someone to tell you that you shouldn’t be in there, you looked up and saw Reid, he had his token leather satchel over his shoulder like he was ready to leave. “Are you alright?”

Haphazardly, you wiped at the tears on your face and smiled weakly, “Yeah, I’m good.” You lied through your teeth, “Just uh…” you desperately tried to find a reason for being in the empty office, “enjoying the scenery.” You cringed inwardly, a five-year-old wouldn’t believe you, let alone a seasoned profiler.

Like you had done earlier, Spencer looked behind him before entering the office, he set his bag on the floor and slid his back down the wall, so he was sitting next to you on the floor. “So, how are you enjoying the blank walls?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, “I am enjoying myself immensely, thank you very much.”

“So, what’s wrong?” He asked, nudging your arm gently.

Hesitantly, you turned to face Spencer. Kind, non-judgmental Spencer who had once lent you a book on the jet because you were bored. “I killed him,” you whispered. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”

You watched as realization dawned on him, “Did Emily say it was a clean shoot?” He straightened his legs out in front of him.

Nodding, you went back to staring straight ahead. “Yeah, she said I gave him ample opportunity to cede and that I performed as necessary.” You took a deep breath and fiddled with the hem of your jacket, “but I didn’t… I’ve never…” How could you explain this to Spencer without sounding like a kid?

“You’ve never killed anyone before,” he finished for you. “Even though he was a serial killer and he would’ve killed that teenager, you still killed him.”

You sighed despondently, “Profilers.”

Reid leaned back against the wall. In your peripheral vision, you could see the light from the hallway as it fed into the office. “I had the same problem after I killed someone for the first time,” he admitted to you.

Your head snapped to face him. Quite frankly, you had a hard time believing him, Spencer was a BAU veteran at this point. “You did?” You whispered.

He nodded, “Philip Dowd,” he said, making a face like the name felt foreign to him now. “He would’ve killed me, our old unit chief, and an emergency room full of hostages had I not done it, but I still couldn’t convince myself it was justified.” He shrugged, “I didn’t sleep well for weeks afterward.”

Turning to face him, you tilted your head in curiosity, “How did you figure it out? How did you manage?”

“I had someone who could give me advice,” he told you pointedly. “I put pictures of his victims up in my room, so I had something to remind me why I’m doing this,” he answered. “I won’t lie to you, it’s never going to be something enjoyable about this job. Taking someone’s life is…. Brutal, but saving lives makes it tolerable.”

Silent tears streamed down your face, “I wish he had just put the knife down. It doesn’t feel like justice.”

Spencer nodded understandingly, “Sometimes it doesn’t, but that family that you reunited today? They’ll never forget you.” He reassured you, and you remembered the tears from that mother as she hugged you and thanked you for saving her son's life.

“For the good of the many, right?” You asked bitterly.

He hummed, “If that’s how you have to look at it, yeah, but if you don’t know how you have to look at it to feel normal yet, that’s okay too.” He swept a strand of hair from his face, “The point I’m trying to make is that I had someone to help me navigate all of this, and I think you could use that too.”

Your eyebrows raised, “Like a guru?” You asked, a light smile on your face.

“I was thinking more like a mentor, but sure. I could be your BAU guru,” he said, the grin plain in his voice.

Then the moment left as quickly as it came, you still couldn’t get the way the blood drained from his body out of your mind. You wiped a tear from under your eyes, “I can do this, Reid,” you assured him.

He reached over your head to a tissue box on top of a table, handing you the box, he answered, “I know you can. Emily wouldn’t have handpicked you from the academy if you didn’t have what it takes. You’re just what the BAU needs, and if you decide to stay, you’ll be perfect here.”

Unable to help it, you scoffed, “How do you just know that?”

“I’ve seen a lot of people come and go from the BAU, but no one who reminds me so much of myself. And I’ve been here for long enough that I hope you take those words for what they’re worth,” he answered you, not even bothered by your indignation. He stood first, reaching a hand out to help you to your feet, “You have my phone number, right?”

You furrowed your brows as you stood, “uh, yeah.” Garcia had programmed them herself on your very first day.

Spencer nodded, “Good. If you ever need help processing the job, or anything else, you can call. Or text. I’m usually better with calls. Any time, okay, Y/N?”

You cocked your head at him, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he answered simply as if it was obvious.

And just like that, he grabbed his bag and turned around. Heading into the elevator, he waved as the doors shut and you watched, feeling like a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x platonic!reader

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purplecoffee13 · 4 months ago

Text

Nemesis with Benefits - Part 4*

Keep me awake, buy me a coffee

Summary: “You go on a horrible date, and there’s only one address that pops in your mind when you think about blowing off some steam…”

Wc: 4.3k

Tropes: enemies to lovers

Warnings: SMUT, degradation kink (kinda), use of sex toy(🤭), bit of bondage, tiny bit of jealousy/possessiveness

A/N: I passed my exam and in celebration I have written for you this new part of Nemesis with Benefits chapter! Hope y’all like it😋

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

"And so, he said he couldn't get it, so I had to get my brother's car and drive an hour to get the keg!"

You fake a laugh, noticing that the sentence is supposed to be some sort of a punchline. Oscar's eyes twinkle with amusement at the sound of your fake giggles, and you have to do your best not to shiver at his prideful nod.

It has been three weeks since Tyler's party, and since... the events that occurred in Tyler's bedroom. Afterwards, you had picked up your life as usual, convinced that the itch was scratched and you could go back to more important things.

However, the memories of that night resurfaced your mind every single fucking day, like clockwork. Some nights you'd give in, bringing yourself to an orgasm with the help of your vibrator, but most nights you pushed the sinful thoughts down as far as possible. It made you less fun to be around, though. A bit snappy, huffing and puffing about every little thing that didn't work like you wanted it to.

So, when Benjamin suggested to set you up with this guy he knew, you couldn't agree quicker. You didn't quite care if you would get a love match out of it, you were mainly hoping for a good fuck.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to be on the program tonight. The guy, Oscar, was the biggest fucking bore you had ever met.

Okay, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration. He has his interests... or better said interest: drinking beer. Every story he has told so far this evening is about drinking in some kind of way. He doesn't tell any jokes, he just says the ends of his sentences a bit louder and waits for you to laugh on cue. After about three stories, you caught on.

So far, you're on story number six, and he has not yet asked one thing about you. This date is a bust, you're going to have to admit defeat.

"Excuse me for just a minute, I'm gonna go to the bathroom." You say with a polite smile, sneakily grabbing your phone as you stand up and walk away to the toilets.

Once you're out of Oscar's sight, you hurry to the bathroom and quickly get into a stall. Unlocking your phone, your fingers work fast to get to Rebecca's name and click on 'call'. You put the phone to your ear, waiting for her to answer. She is quite quick, answering you in just a few seconds.

"'Sup girl, how's the date?" She asks casually.

"Unfortunately, he's got the personality of a wet sock. I'm gonna need you to fake an emergency, please?"

"Oh my god, is it that bad?"

"I can't listen to one more second of this guy's stories. All he talks about is beer! I mean, I like myself a beer, but you can't possibly fill up an hour and a half of stories about beer!" You exclaim, making Rebecca giggle.

"I'll call you in five minutes."

With a bit more hope, you walk back to the table, and brace yourself to be bored with another beer story. You almost laugh to yourself when Oscar, like you predicted, brings up another story of the time where he drank almost half of the keg and puked in the bushes. With your jaw clenched, you lay down your fork, having lost your appetite entirely. This is the worst fucking date ever.

You count down the seconds until the phone rings, and your heartbeat rises in excitement when it does. You fake a frown, telling Oscar that you need to pick up really quick. The second you answer the call, a string of screaming and crying sounds from the other side of the line.

You should have known that Rebecca would go all out, she's a theatre major after all, but it still throws you off a bit. Holding in your laugh, you put a bit of your own acting skills to use.

"Rebecca?! What— what's up?" You hold the phone closer to your ear again. She cries out something along the lines of 'He cheated on me!'. You glance at Oscar, who is positively terrified. Mission accomplished, you think.

"Stay where you are, okay? I'm on my way!" You say as you get up from your seat, grabbing your purse. Rebecca says something else about wanting to die, and after that you hang up.

"I'm so sorry, I've got to go. This was fun, text me." You spit out before speed walking towards the exit. You hear Oscar shout out how he doesn't have your number, but you act like you don't hear him.

The second you are outside, you dial Rebecca again. Like before, she immediately picks up.

"Did it work?"

"Yes, you're a genius, thank you!" You smile, looking around to see if maybe there's a taxi near. "Now I just need to get out of here before he catches up with me or something."

"I already called an Uber for you."

You let out a dreamy sigh. "Are you an angel sent from heaven?"

"Actually, yes, I am." Rebecca jokes, and the two of you chuckle. "No but seriously, it's not big deal. It should be there now I think. It's a black Volvo."

And as if on cue, a car matching the description pulls up in front of you. You put your hand up, signaling that the driver is here for you, and walk towards the door.

"Thank you so much babe."

"No problem. Debrief tomorrow?" She asks as you slide into the car and silently greet the driver.

"Yes, over lunch?"

"Sounds good, I'll text you tomorrow. Love you."

"Okay, love you, bye." You say before hanging up the phone. The driver turns around, asking where you want to go. You give him your address, and he begins driving. It is quite a drive from your place and from campus, this restaurant.

You look out the window, reeling the ridiculously bad date. You're a bit disappointed; you were really hoping to have a fun night tonight. Sighing, you look at your phone screen, allowing a forbidden thought to crawl to the front of your mind.

After fiddling with you hands for about five minutes, going back and forth with your stance on your own idea, you make a decision. Swallowing, you unlock your phone and go to your message app.

You

Where r u?

The realization kicks in your mind the second you send the message. What the fuck are you doing? You go back to the chat, holding your finger on the message to delete it, but then you see three dots.

+1-334-555-0383

Home, why?

You

Text me ur address

+1-334-555-0383

Why?

You stare at the word he sent you for a couple of seconds. You scoff. As if he doesn't know why you are texting him right now. You think for a bit, deciding on what to send him.

You

I want my panties back

*****************************************

It doesn't take long after you've banged on Harry's door that he opens it. He wears a smirk on his face, his signature look it seems. He likes this, the fact that you're going to give in. Technically, you already have, but you aren't going to admit that.

He doesn't say anything, merely stepping aside to let you in. You stride into his apartment, letting your eyes fly over the apartment. It is not what you expected at all. The boring beige and grey colors you had imagined would dominate the color palette of his living room is instead a navy blue. There is nothing grey about this place at all.

Nevertheless, you ignore all the things you want to say about his apartment, and turn around, hands on your hips.

"So?" You shrug, insinuating for him to give you your panties back. You both know it's not what you're here for, and Harry raises his eyebrows, as if having accepted the challenge to see whoever can hold up this act the longest.

"It's probably somewhere in the panty drawer."

"You have a panty drawer?" You frown, disgusted with him even having such a concept.

"Women always seem to leave them here." He says, casually strolling towards his bedroom. You follow him with a sigh. Entering his bedroom, you try your best not to look so surprised over how beautiful it is. The deeper shade of dark blue that coats the walls looks very pretty in comparison to the light bedding, curtains and other furniture.

When you turn around, you see your panties in Harry's hand. He holds it out for you to grab, but pulls away just when you try to do so. You give him a pointed look, but he doesn't seem to care. The second attempt to snatch the panties from his grip fails as well, and you find yourself groaning in frustration.

"Stop being a fucking dick." You bark at him.

"Fine." He shrugs. You reach for the panties again, but Harry catches your worst with his free hand. His eyes search yours. "Tell me why you really came here, and I'll give you your panties back."

"I came here to get my panties." You say through gritted teeth, blood rising to your cheeks. The touch of Harry's fingers on your wrist heats your skin up even more than his infuriating actions do.

"Try again." He grins, dimples showing and everything.

"I came here to get my panties." You repeat, glaring at him with nothing but fury behind your eyes. He throws the panties behind him, and they land back on his drawer.

"See, I think you're lying." Harry says, stepping a bit closer to you. You lose your breath at the proximity, and you feel like you might start sweating. Harry notices, and smirks, pressing his thumb into your wrist. "I can feel your heartbeat, you know."

You huff, not sure you're able to keep this up any longer. Harry lets go of your wrist and sneaks his hand around your neck instead. You feel the blood pumping through your veins as he leads you backwards towards his bed.

"I think you're a little bit frustrated. You couldn't get me out of your system, so now you're here to beg for my cock." His low voice vibrates through the room before he pushes you onto the bed, standing over you. "Did I guess that right?"

When you don't answer, Harry scoffs.

"Fine, you won't mind if I find out for myself, will you?" He asks, pushing your legs apart. You obey him silently, shaking your head. You refuse to admit defeat, but you're afraid that the second his fingers touch your pussy, it'll be game over.

Harry's fingers slowly trail up your leg, taking his time with his victory. You hold your breath, the pounding of your heart making it feel like it might jump out of your chest, as you stubbornly hold his stare. His fingers wrap around your panties and gently pull them down, the smirk on his face only growing the further the panties are pulled down your legs.

The cool air that hits your cunt nearly makes you shiver, but you resist the urge, and focus on maintaining the last shred of dignity you have by holding up that poker face of yours.

You watch Harry observe your pussy, as if it is the first time he's ever seen it. Despite knowing that he is dragging this out to tease you, you can't help but ball your fists in anticipation of what he's going to do or say. When Harry's eyes flick up to yours again, you let out a hint of a sigh.

"Well, well, look who's turning out to be a liar." He says cockily, tongue running against his cheek. Your face remains stoic, and you refuse to say anything. "What am I going to do with this, hmm?"

He looks at you for a few seconds, a thought running through his mind. Then, he suddenly walks away from you and to his closet. You lean on your elbow to sit up a bit, trying to see what the hell he is doing. When he turns around, he is holding a small box. Your eyes widen when you see the picture on the box.

"Are you open to trying out this toy?" He asks, nearing you again.

"I'm not going to put a vibrating egg inside of me that has already been inside of like seventeen other people." You argue, shaking your head in disagreement. Harry quirk up an eyebrow, the right corner of his mouth tugging up.

"Seventeen is an oddly specific number." He notes, and you roll your eyes. Of course that is what he pays attention to.

"It's the first number that came to mind." You reply, unimpressed by his attempt to seem funny. He laughs softly, putting the box down beside you.

"It's new, I just bought it. It's not even out of the plastic wrapping yet." He tells you as you scan the box. The shiny plastic coat around the box makes you believe he is indeed telling the truth. You think it over for a second, still not entirely sure.

"Why'd you buy it?"

Harry shrugs. "Well, technically I didn't buy it. The website had this deal about getting an extra secret toy, or something. I honestly don't really remember, truth be told I was kind of high when I ordered it."

You sigh, your lips cracking into an unavoidable smile. Of course he orders sex toys while he's high, the bloody idiot.

"Okay, yes. I've always wanted to try it."

Harry looks pleased with your answer, and he is quick to return to business. "Alright then, get further onto the bed and lean your head against the headboard."

Your stomach bubbling with excitement, you crawl towards the headboard and wait until Harry comes walking over with a belt. When he signals for you to give him your wrists, you don't hesitate to do so, biting your lip impatiently as he ties your wrists above your head.

You wait for him to put the batteries in the toy and test it out on his hands—which seems like it takes forever—before he finally saunters back to you. He sits down on the side of the bed, and brings his hand down to your cunt, inspecting it with his own digits.

You gasped out at the sudden contact, not having expected it to be so much and out of practically nowhere. Without a word, he pushes a finger inside of you. You try to catch up with your breathing but it is hard with Harry pumping his finger in and out of you, especially when he decides to add another one.

The frown that paints your face and expresses the emotion that your shut eyes can't portray, have Harry picking up his pace a bit. The squelching sound of your wetness only increases with every time he sticks his fingers inside your hole, but you manage to keep quiet despite the immense pleasure that makes you want to scream out.

It is only when Harry removes his finger that a slight whimper falls from your lips, and Harry feels the immediate results of it: tighter pants. Figuring you are wet enough now, he grabs the toy from his lap and brings it to your pussy.

"'M gonna put it in now, okay?" He announces. You squeak out an 'okay' and watch as Harry lets the toy disappear inside of you, filling you up ever so slightly. He softly restrains your legs from closing, watching in awe at how your chest rises and falls at the hand of your breathing.

"You okay?" He asks when he's put the toy all the way in. Your heavy eyes fight to stay open as you answer him with a soft 'yes'. He nods, looks down at the remote in his hands, and gets up from the bed. Your eyes trace his every movement, heart pounding at the thought of what his next step could possibly be.

He walks over to his dresser, and grabs the panties which you came to retreat in the first place. He turns around and stalks back to you, standing in front of you now on the end of the bed. One hand in his pocket, the other one holding your panties.

"You wanted these, right?" He asks. You nod, and open your mouth to respond, but the feel sudden vibrations cause you to let out nothing but a string of moans.

"I asked you a question." Harry taunts you, walking over to you. "Did you want these?"

The chance at an answer is interrupted once again by the increasing speed of the toy, and you shriek out at the intense feeling of it. Your body squirms, and you feel yourself getting fed up by these stupid games Harry is playing.

"Alright then, let me ask you a different question. Why did you come here? Honest answers this time." He warns, sitting down next to you again. He strokes your shaking leg. You take a deep breath.

"I was on a date." You confess. As soon as the sentence has left your mouth, the rhythm changes. Your hips buck at the sudden switch. Harry, with his jaw clenched, nods at your honest answer.

"Doesn't explain why you're here." He replies nonchalantly. You sigh in frustration.

"I— I needed... I was frustrated, and I thought he could help me, but he couldn't." You say, hoping he's catching onto what you're saying. From the look on Harry's face, it seems that he does.

"So you came to me to relieve that frustration? How sweet..." He concludes arrogantly. You can't put him in his place, though, because that's exactly why you came here.

You don't expect him to add his thumb to your clit for extra stimulation, but he does. You cry out his name along with a few profanities at the increased pleasure, especially now that he's changed the speed to its maximum.

"Hmm, just this once, that's what you said, right?" He taunts, pressing his thumb down a bit harder, leaving you nothing but a whimpering mess under him. You lower your arms unconsciously, but Harry pushes them back.

"Wish you could see yourself, tied up and crying for me like the desperate slut you truly are. Knew you'd come running back, begging for my cock. Knew one time wouldn't be enough for you." The filthy words fall from his lips so easily, as if second nature to him. It sounds so good with the combination of his voice and accent. The degrading words bring you to the edge, and his fingers push you right over it.

"Ah, shit! Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" You whimper, eyes shut as your entire body moving along with the aftershocks of your orgasm. While still coming down from your orgasm, you hear the faint sound a belt unbuckling, but you only open your eyes when you feel the bed dip.

You watch in awe as Harry leans over you, and hiss when he takes out the egg. He puts it on the nightstand along with the remote before aligning his hard, bare cock with your wet hole. And just like that, he pushes himself into you.

You wince at the change of size, breathing deeply as he enters himself entirely. It is easy to slide in considering how drenched you are, but you still have to get used to his girth again. Harry sighs at how tight your pussy feels around his cock, uttering out some curse words as he lets you adjust to him. And then, he begins to move.

"Shit, you’re so big… it feels so good." You pant, your eyes fluttering shut. Your senses are entirely focused on the way Harry is building up his pace inside of you and his lingering touch on the rest of your body. He is everywhere; he massages your tits, grazes his fingers over your thigh, and grips at your waist.

"I know baby, just the way you needed, hmm? Worth breaking the one-time rule, isn't it?"

"F-fuck... yes Harry."

"Glad you came to your senses and called me, sweetheart. Not like that guy could've satisfied you the way you needed." He cockily remarks, and it almost feels like the comment is more for himself than to you.

"Maybe he can." You decide to stir the pot. Your core flutters at the low chuckle that leaves Harry's mouth. He pulls himself almost all the way out of you, before he thrusts into you with way more force. You moan loudly at the feeling of him reaching your g-spot.

"No he can't, sweetheart. Otherwise you wouldn't have texted me after your shitty little date, begging to be fucked dumb by me." He says, resuming to deeply thrust into you. You have lost nearly any ability to truly form coherent sentences, only borderline pornographic moans managing to escape you. Your face is curled up, and you clench your fists together.

"Fuck you—" is all you manage to croak out.

"I am fucking you, baby. And you love it so much, I can tell you’re close. Are you gonna do it, baby? You gonna soak the cock of the guy you hate most?" Harry teases you with his words, but his fingers are back on your clit. It doesn't take long after his touch reaches your most sensitive nub before you begin to spasm under him. A long string of high pitched whines accompany to euphoric orgasm that overcomes you.

Instead of slowing down, Harry begins to chase his own orgasm, driven by the way you are clenching around him, and picks up his pace. The sound of your bodies clashing against each other and your panted moans are like music forming a symphony and you can't quite fathom how good the two of you sound together. During sex, that is, not in any other situation.

"You fuck me so good, Harry. I hate it." You confess, still woozy from your orgasm and how deeply Harry is driving into you right now. Not even a few seconds later, Harry's hips still, and he lets out the sexiest groan you have ever heard in your life. He falls over you, catching himself with his hands. He keeps himself and his seed buried inside of you as he tries to steady his breathing and looks at you, curls hanging in front of your face. A smile creeps on both your lips.

"So... can I have my panties back?" You joke, and Harry laughs accordingly. A silence follows soon after, one in which Harry pulls himself out of you, unties your wrists, and carries you to the bathroom to clean you up.

Afterwards, you walk back to the bedroom together, where Harry puts you back on the bed and tells you to wait there while he grabs you some water. You obey, but your eyes fall shut by accident.

When Harry returns, he sees you, lying on your side with your eyes closed, breathing deeply. For a second he thinks about walking you up, but it quickly dawns on him that he doesn't really feel the need to do that. He has tired you out quite a bit, and he's already seen you naked, so what does a few hours of sleeping next to each other really matter?

*****************************************

*The next morning*

It was quite the shock to open your eyes and realize you weren't lying in your own bed. It had come back to you swiftly, the events of last night, and you were quite disturbed with the fact that a smile was the first bodily reaction you had to the memory.

You didn't want any unnecessary drama or awkward conversations, so you decided to sneak out.

Now, on your way home with the bus, that same smile paints your face again, that is until you are interrupted by the ringing of your phone. You immediately pick up when you see Rebecca's name.

"Hey, how are you?" She asks once you've greeted her.

"Good. Better, knowing that I am never ever going to date again." You exaggerate, mainly for fun.

"Don't say that! You'll be fine." She urges, her voice letting her gentleness shine through like it always does. "Anyways, I wanted to ask, where are we having lunch?"

"Uhm, how about that new place across your street?" You suggest, and Rebecca contests in an agreeing hum.

"Sounds good!”

You smile. “Okay, then I’ll meet you there at… twelve?”

“Perfect, and then you can tell me why you didn’t go home last night.” She says, and you can tell she’s holding back her laugh, but your face pales entirely. When you don’t respond, she’s quick to continue. “I saw that the Uber ride ended on some street near campus, so you definitely didn’t spend the night home right?”

You take a deep breath, a thousand possible lies running through your brain as you think of a response.

“I’ll tell you over lunch.” You finally say, and distance your ear from the microphone at the sound of a high pitched squeal coming from the other line. You giggle at your friends’ enthusiasm, but your stomach is heavy with the weight of this blown up lie.

After that night at the party, you thought, that would be that. You’d never hook up with Harry Styles ever again, and the event would be erased from your memory. Although, it didn’t exactly, as you thought about it every night, but you didn’t expect yourself to do this kind of shit. And the worst thing is, it feels too good to stop. You don’t want this to be the last time.

So, you better think of some elaborate lie to tell Rebecca.

Your head shoots back to your phone screen when it lights up and the familiar ping of a text sounds through the bus. You lower your volume and unlock your phone to see who texted you this early in the morning.

+1-334-555-0383

You forgot your panties again

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