My Fic Blog

You’d flopped onto the couch hours ago after sparring, half-watching a movie you’d already forgotten the name of. Bucky had joined a little later, tucking himself into the corner of the cushions, red henley hugging the bulk of his arms, the silver glint of his metal arm catching the TV’s light like a low hum in your peripheral.

You hadn’t meant to end up in his lap. Again.

But like always, his palm was already on your waist when you slid over—grounding, warm despite the chill of the metal. His thighs were spread wide beneath you, relaxed and solid, and your legs naturally draped on either side like they belonged there. You leaned into him. He didn’t stop you. He never did.

It had been like this for weeks now. Maybe months.

Long after the dust from the whole Civil War mess had started to settle, you and Bucky had slipped into something wordless. Something sacred. You didn’t know what to call it—it didn’t feel right calling it just friends. Not when you could still feel the way he’d kissed you that first night after the team’s barbecue. The way he’d held you still while your hips rocked against his, slow and aching. Not when your heart stuttered every time he looked at you with that tired, hungry softness that made your skin burn.

The first kiss had been a dare. A stupid, tipsy game where someone dared Bucky to kiss you and no one—no one—had expected him to actually do it.

But he did.

He cupped your face with his warm hand, looked you in the eye, and kissed you like he’d been holding that breath in since 1943. And from then on… something shifted.

Now, he’d let you straddle him during quiet movie nights. His jaw would clench when your hips moved just right. You’d feel him through his jeans, thick and hard under you, and he’d groan—deep and strangled like he was holding something back. He’d mouth at your neck, hands gripping your waist, but it never went further than that. Never inside. Never under the clothes.

And you told yourself it was fine. You told yourself maybe this was just how it was going to be—this undefined, lusty thing. You told yourself it was better than nothing. Because it was Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. The man women used to whisper about back in the 40s—the charmer with the bedroom eyes and silver tongue. You’d heard the rumors. Everyone had.

And you? You were just… you.

He could have anyone. And maybe you were just the convenient body he used to push those urges away—a warm lap to grind into, a mouth to kiss when the nights got too long. You didn’t know how to ask for more. You were terrified that if you tried, he’d pull away.

Meanwhile, Bucky? Bucky thought you were his. Fully.

He thought you’d been his since the second time you kissed him—the night you’d curled into his lap after patrol and whispered “I missed you” like it meant more than just the day. And it had killed him not to touch you deeper, not to give you everything he had. But he remembered what you said at that same team barbecue, right after everyone settled down with their beers and ribs. Someone had joked about hook-ups and you, ever soft-spoken, had laughed shyly and said:

“I’m a little old school. I don’t really go all the way unless it’s someone serious… like, serious-serious.”

And Bucky? Bucky was from the actual old school. Back in the 40s, that meant one thing—you waited until you were married. And if you were the kind of woman who saved yourself for that, then goddammit, he wasn’t going to be the reason you’d break that promise.

So he held back. Every time your body writhed against his. Every time he could smell your arousal through your leggings. Every time he had to clench his jaw and bury his face in your neck just to keep from coming in his pants.

He never touched himself after. Not once.

Didn’t jerk off to the thought of you, even though he ached to.

Because he wanted all of it—all of you—the right way.

He thought the wait would be worth it.

He just didn’t know you were waiting for him to want you at all.

—

The late afternoon sun cast warm streaks of gold across the compound, tinting the walls and windows with lazy amber light. You’d just wrapped up training and were headed toward the balcony, drawn by the familiar sound of laughter—two deep voices rolling over each other in low, nostalgic waves.

Steve and Bucky.

You slowed your steps as you approached, the soft creak of your boots masked by the breeze curling in through the open doors. They hadn’t noticed you yet, and you paused just beyond the archway, hidden by the sliding glass panel, your eyes flicking over to them instinctively.

They were seated side by side on the wide balcony bench, drinks in hand—Bucky with his legs spread in that casual, careless way, grey shirt pulled tight across his chest, silver arm draped over the backrest. Steve had a glass of something dark balanced in his grip, laughing into it.

“Alright, Buck. Be honest with me,” Steve said, nudging Bucky’s boot with his own. “How’s everything with you and her?”

Bucky shifted a little, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the drink in his hand.

You froze, breath catching. Her? You?

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was soft, but sure.

“We’re doing just fine.”

Steve scoffed. “Just fine? Buck, come on. That’s not enough.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath, but there was a flicker of tension in the movement—like he was trying to ease discomfort off his shoulders. He rubbed his thumb along the curve of his glass and glanced sideways at Steve.

“I don’t think I should be talking about her when she’s not here,” he muttered. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

You blinked. Your chest tightened. He was talking about you like—

Steve laughed again, all good-natured and clueless. “God, you haven’t changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“You remember the 40s?” Steve leaned back, the bench creaking under his weight. “Every girl at the bar was looking past me, and straight at you. I couldn’t get a date to save my damn life. You? You walked in and the whole room turned to jelly.”

Bucky snorted, tipping his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, well. That was before the serum. Before your fan club started.”

Steve smirked. “Oh, how the tables have turned, huh?”

Bucky gave him a look—part fond, part annoyed—but didn’t deny it.

Then Steve added, with a smirk far too knowing:

“You know, I still remember the rumors. I wasn’t supposed to hear most of ‘em—but you know how dames talk when they’ve had one too many.” He grinned into his glass. “Word was, anyone who got lucky enough to sleep with Sergeant Barnes left with their legs shaking.”

Bucky groaned immediately. “Jesus, Stevie—”

“No, no, wait—my favorite was the one who said you had a magic mouth,” Steve continued, delighting in the way Bucky tried to sink into himself. “Swore you knew exactly what to do down there. Said it was like being—what was it—worshipped?”

Your heart skipped. What?

You stepped out, your voice too curious for your brain to catch up.

“Wait… Bucky was that good with girls?”

Both men looked up fast. Bucky flinched like he’d just been smacked with a brick.

“Shit,” he muttered, straightening up immediately, his metal fingers tightening around his glass. “How long’ve you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you said, fighting a grin as you stepped toward them, trying to sound innocent even though your pulse was sprinting. “I didn’t know you had a magic mouth, Bucky.”

Steve glanced between you and Bucky, the corner of his mouth twitching with the kind of subtle amusement only a best friend could pull off.

“Well,” he said, rising from the bench with smooth ease, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

He set his glass down on the ledge, adjusted the sleeves of his shirt with practiced calm, and gave Bucky a pointed look that only made the other man shrink deeper into his seat.

Then, with a polite nod to you, he added,

“Try not to give him too hard a time, huh?”

And with that, Steve turned and walked back inside—composed, quiet, and absolutely smirking.

The silence he left behind was scorching.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his skin already turning crimson beneath the ends of his hair. His silver fingers tapped against the railing like he couldn’t decide whether to escape over it or just melt into a puddle where he stood.

“That, uh… that wasn’t exactly how I wanted that to come up,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

You leaned next to him, arms crossed, brow arched just slightly. “You never told me you had a reputation.”

He groaned. “God. It was blown way out of proportion, I swear.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, pretending to think. “So you didn’t make girls’ legs shake?”

Bucky winced. Practically folded into himself.

“I mean—maybe a few,” he muttered. “But not like that. It wasn’t… Jesus, they made it sound like I slept with the whole borough. I didn’t. I wasn’t like that.”

You tried not to smile. “The whole borough, huh?”

His head jerked toward you, eyes wide. “Wait—are you… are you mad?”

“What? No,” you said quickly, brows lifting.

“You sure?” he asked again, more desperate now. “Because I never—look, I wasn’t just screwing around back then, okay? I didn’t sleep with that many people. And I haven’t been with anyone since and I’m not—I mean, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Your breath caught for a second. But you didn’t say anything.

Because your brain was not registering any of that.

Not the panic in his voice. Not the low, sincere way he said to you like it meant something.

All you could think about was what Steve said.

Legs shaking. Worship. Magic mouth.

You were still stuck on that phrase like a scratch on a record.

You let a beat pass. Just long enough to watch the flush creeping up his neck, the nervous dart of his eyes, the way he seemed to be running through every decision he’d ever made since 1943.

“I just didn’t know you were into that,” you said lightly, brushing invisible lint from your sleeve like you hadn’t just learned something that would haunt you tonight in your sheets.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearly spiraling. “I—I didn’t mean for that to sound like I was bragging or anything. I don’t know where Steve heard that stuff. I mean, yeah, I used to, but not—It wasn’t like I slept around. I didn’t. I swear I never—”

“Bucky,” you cut in gently, offering a little smile. “It’s really okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded once, calm and even. “No hard feelings.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, apologize again, dig his way out of a guilt hole he didn’t even need to be in. But you didn’t give him the chance.

You stepped back toward the door, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

And then you slipped inside, perfectly composed.

—

Your expression didn’t crack until you turned the corner, heat blooming across your face like a slow, wicked fire.

He used to love it.

He might still be good at it.

He thinks you’re mad about his past… and you’re just thinking about his mouth between your legs.

You pressed your hand against the wall, heart thundering.

Now all you needed was the right moment.

The right excuse.

Something casual. Natural.

Just a little something to get James Buchanan Barnes on his knees.

—

You kept your distance for six days.

Six entire, aching days.

Dinner that night? You smiled. Ate. Laughed with Sam. Passed the mashed potatoes like nothing had changed. Bucky sat across from you, silent and painfully upright, like he was ready for a cross-examination that never came.

The next day? You greeted him with a nod in the hallway. Kept your tone even, your posture casual. Bucky watched you like a man waiting for the world to fall out from under him.

And the day after that? You brushed past him near the weapons locker, arm grazing his on accident—only to duck into the training room before he could open his mouth.

He kept trying. Eyes lingering, mouth parting every time he got you alone for even a second. But you never gave him the space.

Because what were you supposed to say?

Hey, Bucky. You want to eat my cunt sometime? Because I’ve been thinking about it for many nights and I’m dangerously close to humping the corner of my pillow just to cope?

Yeah, no.

So you waited. And stewed. And tried not to fantasize.

But your body had other plans.

By day six, your hormones had you spiraling. You caught yourself grinding your thighs together during debriefing. Sweating during sparring. Biting your lip when Bucky scratched his jaw and muttered something under his breath, not even directed at you.

Day seven, you cracked.

Over lunch, with the team distracted, you leaned close to him—so casual—and said,

“Come to my unit after dinner.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes steady. “Just for a bit.”

And that was all it took.

—

He showed up at your door just past nine. Dressed down in a fitted black tee and dark sweats. Hair tucked behind his ears. Smiling.

Not smirking. Not flirty. Just… happy.

You didn’t know it yet, but he thought this was a date. A real one. The first of many.

You let him in and made small talk. Let him sit on the couch like always. Let him pull you into his lap the way he always did when it was just the two of you and there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Then you kissed him.

Slow. Familiar. But deeper.

His hands came to your thighs, dragging up under the hem of your oversized shirt as your knees bracketed his hips. He groaned softly into your mouth when you rolled against him—pressing down, grinding slow and needy right into the heat of his lap.

Then he froze.

You could feel it. The shift. The exact moment he realized there was nothing between you and his pants. No shorts. No panties. Just your bare, wet cunt dragging over the thick line of his cock through cotton.

Bucky broke the kiss, his hands halting on your thighs.

His voice came out hoarse.

“Doll… are you—are you not wearing anything?”

You blushed, chest rising slowly. “No.”

His eyes widened, hand clenching against your skin. “Since when?”

“Since before you got here.”

“Jesus,” he whispered, like it physically hurt him.

You pressed your forehead against his. Voice trembling now, but not from nerves.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Ever since Steve said that thing on the balcony.”

His brows lifted. “About… my mouth?”

You nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You shifted your hips again. Let him feel the wet drag of your folds against his cock. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands locking tighter on your waist.

“Baby,” he rasped, “are you sure this is what you want? Not just—y’know, ‘cause you’re upset or… jealous or—”

That was the moment it snapped. The misunderstanding, the buried truth, the weeks and months of aching.

Your brow furrowed.

“Jealous? Bucky, I don’t have any right to be jealous. We’re not… together.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re just…” You swallowed. “I thought we were just fooling around. Friends with benefits or something.”

His face went still.

“Wait,” he said. “You thought that’s what we were?”

You nodded slowly.

“I thought we were dating,” he said quietly. “I thought we were just taking it slow. You said at the barbecue that you’re traditional. I figured that meant you were saving sex until… marriage or something.”

You stared at him, lips parting. “I—no. I just didn’t want to sleep with someone who didn’t take me seriously.”

Bucky’s mouth hung open for a second. Then he let out a short, breathless laugh—somewhere between disbelief and relief.

“We’re idiots,” you said, and started laughing too.

He buried his face in your neck and laughed along with you, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“You’ve been my boyfriend this whole time without me even knowing?” you teased.

He pulled back, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess that makes it official now.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Because now you’ve got even more reason to go down on me.”

His lips parted. You kissed him before he could speak.

—

What followed wasn’t fast.

It wasn’t wild.

It was reverent.

Bucky laid you back on the couch like you were made of silk and starlight, one hand supporting your back while the other guided your thighs open. He settled between them like it was where he was always meant to be—kneeling, breath shaky, eyes dark.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, thumbing along the inside of your knee. His voice was low. Full of awe.

You reached for him—but he kissed your thigh instead. Then again. And again. Slow, warm, deliberate. His stubble scraped lightly along your skin, the contrast enough to make you squirm, already sensitive from the slow grind you’d shared minutes before.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured. “Just wanna take my time with you. You deserve that.”

Then he ducked lower.

And when he pressed his tongue to your cunt—broad and unhurried—it felt like the world melted into heat and wet and sound. You gasped, hips twitching, fingers curling into the couch cushions.

Bucky moaned into you. Actually moaned.

“God, you taste like fucking honey,” he rasped, licking another slow, deliberate stripe between your folds. “So sweet, baby. Dripping for me.”

He dragged his tongue through your slick again, groaning like the taste alone could undo him. And then he slurped—an unashamed, filthy sound that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, voice thick and desperate. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

His tongue circled your clit—steady, patient, focused. Then he sucked. A low, wet pull that sent shockwaves down your spine. You cried out, thighs shaking already, but Bucky didn’t stop. He wrapped his lips around that swollen bud and sucked again, swirling his tongue in small, practiced motions like he’d studied every curve, every pattern of how your body trembled for him.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” he breathed. “So fucking soft. So warm. Look at this pussy, baby. Look how wet she is for me.”

You whined, head thrown back, chest heaving—and he didn’t let up.

He licked you like it was his only purpose. Like he’d spent years thinking about this. Dreaming of this. His tongue flicked quick, then slow, then down—dipping into your entrance, fucking in and out with soft, rhythmic strokes that made your back arch off the couch.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, baby. Feels like I’m high off this fucking pussy.”

You could hear how wet it was. The obscene, slick sounds of his tongue lapping, his lips sucking, the gentle stubble burn brushing your inner thighs with every move. He kept you wide, kept you steady, like he didn’t want to miss a second—like this was something sacred to him.

And when your thighs started to tremble, when your hips bucked once—twice—he held you still with a firm grip of his metal hand on your stomach.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispered, licking up your slit with one slow, heavenly stroke. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

You shattered.

Came hard. Loud. Thighs clenching around his head while he groaned and kept sucking, kept licking through it, pushing you higher until your whole body was shaking.

He didn’t stop. Not until he pulled a second orgasm from you with nothing but his mouth and your name falling from his lips like praise.

When he finally eased up—mouth slick, lips swollen, beard shining with your release—he kissed your thighs again. Tender. Adoring. Like he still wasn’t done worshipping you.

Then he climbed up your body, settling over you slowly, his hands gentle where they cradled your hips.

His forehead pressed to yours. He was smiling—dazed and soft and breathless.

You blinked at him, heart still pounding.

“So that’s what all the rumors were about.”

Bucky chuckled, voice low and hoarse.

“It is late, dear wife, why have you not rested?” he said. His steps towards her were small, careful. Perhaps she doesn’t know. That would be preferable. He had already been found out once tonight, and if he could save her from the knowledge of his shame, there was naught he would not do. 

“Aegon was here,” she responded, and it was then she finally turned to him. Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them was puffed from the tears she had evidently shed. The prickle in Aemond’s spine returned, only now it was coupled by a hammering pang in his chest. He had done this to her.

“At least he had the decency to tell me where you were, after many nights of being left in the dark by mine own husband. Though his delivery of the message was a bit cruel, I’ll admit.” 

The dark chuckle that left her lips held no sort of amusement, but a clear sputter of disbelief and betrayal. Aemond was stuck in his place, unsure of how to speak to her, unknowing of what would happen to them now that his sin was laid out in the open.

“It is not what it seemed–”

“What is it, then? When your brother catches you in a brothel with a whore, what else am I to think, Aemond?” she burst, rising to her feet to look at him. Her chest heaved as she regarded him with a look so different than what he was used to. There used to be such warmth in her gaze, reserved only for him, not the fracturing hurt she bestowed on him now. He couldn’t look at her, and so he settled his eye elsewhere. A futile attempt to escape what had already caught up to him.

“You’ve told me of what had happened to you there, what she made you do, and yet you’ve crawled back to her? After everything that’s happened?” she questioned, desperate. He could hear the break in her voice, and he could only imagine the quivering of her lips into a frown. A scoff left her lips, and Aemond could see her desperate attempt to wrap her around this, but her despair had gotten the best of her. 

“W-why… Why would you even want to go back there? What is it in her that you can’t find in me?”

Aemond couldn’t say it. His mind refused to let him say it. In truth, he couldn’t recall how his feet had led him back there, all he knew was it brought a temporary soothing to an ache that had sprouted in the days after Lucerys’ death. He wouldn’t dare speak his sin into words, to solidify his betrayal of the love for his wife. How ever could he tell her the truth of it? How ever could he admit that the only way for him to find a sense of order in his life, however misconstrued, was to return to the woman who had been a figure of his torment? 

“Do you want me to lie to you?” he asked. 

A fool’s answer. A true coward, he is. Many people would consider him otherwise, but in front of his wife, he was no warrior. Utter shame coupled with his ego prevented him from coming clean. How could he? He had gone too far. He expressed no remorse when he had come home to her, drenched, after Storm’s End, no, he even acted proud. In his heart of hearts, Aemond knew that the one person who could see him as he was was his wife, yet he refused to let it be. He had gone through his whole life a rigid soldier, a scholar, the image of the fearsome dragon of Valyria. He didn’t know how to dismantle the shackles that held him upright.

Yet he had seen his fault now in the face of his wife, his love, who visibly crumbled before him.

“Was I not good enough?” she asked, quietly, as a lone tear streaked down her cheek. He couldn’t bear to see her like this, to have him so far from his grasp as the ever-growing space between them turned the air cold. Aemond approached her, arms lifted open to take her into his grasp, but she flinched away. A shatter in his chest brought about a thick lump in his throat, one he couldn’t swallow. 

“My love,” he whispered, a solemn plea for her to see him. She hugged her arms to her chest, looking away as she blinked away the fat, traitorous tears that beaded down her cheeks. Aemond took hold of her elbow, his grip desperate as she fought to wiggle her way out of his grasp. He couldn’t let her, he cannot. This hellish war, this irreconcilable damage would all be futile if he lost her, he couldn’t let that happen. But she wouldn’t even spare a glance at him. 

“Can’t you even look at me?” he beseeched in despair. 

A sob was her only response. She had slapped a hand to muffle her cries, but it had broken through the barriers that kept him away from her. Aemond descended to his knees, hugging her legs to his chest. His good eye stung with something hot, something wet. He clung to her skirts like a beggar, a sinner praying for retribution.

“Please… please…” he grieved. Her robe was growing spotted with his tears, and her grip on his shoulder was punishing as she pushed and pushed to get him away from her. She slapped him, had pulled on his hair to get him to release his hold, but he never relented. “You have to understand,” he muttered. 

“I cannot even try to begin to do so, Aemond! How can I?” she wept. “How could you even think we could recover from this?”

“My love… my light… I beg of you.” It was pathetic to whoever would witness him like this. The Kinslayer, on his knees, pleading for forgiveness to the wife he had wronged. There was much he had done that was far worse, far more cruel, but to have hurt her was his greatest crime of all.

A shrill cry had pierced through the night air. Her head snapped to her babe. Their babe. With a firmer push on his shoulder, his wife freed himself from his grasp to where their son wailed for his mother. She took him into her arms, soothing the child with her gentle caress and shushes. Aemond could only watch. He watched the babe nestled into the crook of her neck, how she wiped his tears away while hers continued to fall. She pressed her nose into his scalp, the milky scent of his flesh a welcome comfort to her otherwise crumbling sanity. 

Aemond waited in agony, keeping his space lest he aggravated her any further. Every cry of their babe was another sword pierced through his heart, leaving him to bleed out while his family floated away from his grasp.

He had settled after a few minutes, descending back into slumber as his mother returned him to his cradle with a kiss on his forehead. The silence was deafening. The dying hearth was unable to break the cold that sent shivers under Aemond’s skin. He called out to her once more. Another full beat of silence passed through the room before she spoke.

“What did I do wrong, Aemond?” she whispered, turning to him. Her eyes were a painful red from how much she had been crying, but she wanted to know. “Tell me, you owe me that much.”

“I owe you everything, darling,” he responded, moving closer to her. Aemond closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her back into his chest. He pressed kisses onto her shoulder, reverent… repentant. “You have done nothing wrong,” he said into her skin, his voice low. “It is my fault and my fault alone. You have done nothing wrong.”

He turned her around to face him, and she allowed him to do so. Albeit, unwillingly, but his wife was tired. It was evident in the way her eyes had run out of tears to weep, yet she remained broken all the same.

“I have wronged you. Allow me to pay for my sin. Let me make things right. I promise you, I will make it all right,” he pleaded. Perhaps he could make her see, convince her to forgive him. It was a fool’s wish, but the prince could hardly consider himself a wise man now. A flicker of hope thumped excitingly in his chest when her fingertips caressed his jaw, but the furrowing of her brows dampened whatever fire he thought he had stoked.

“I can’t,” she responded, shaking her head. She pulled herself away from his grasp once more, leaving them both cold and alone. Aemond hung his head low in shame. He felt sick to his stomach. The full weight of his doing had dragged him straight into the mud, while the love he could only ever carry for his wife throbbed painfully in his chest. “I can’t stay here. I can’t live with this.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. You are my wife, you cannot leave me.”

She was starting to step away from his grip, but he couldn’t let her. Aemond tried to cage her in his arms, but she fought back with strong pushes against his chest. There was a desperation in the one-eyed prince no one had ever known, until now. His pleas echoed through their apartments, cut off by a resounding slap on his cheek. The sting on his flesh was warm, keeping him awake in this reality. He could’ve prevented this, had cut off the poison from its roots if only he had the will to do so, but he had not. The stubbornness in his dragonblood and his refusal to acknowledge the rot in him had let it happen. He had let it grow and fester, spoiling everything he had until it took away the one most precious to him.

She regarded him with coldness, detached like a stranger. His wife looked away, sniffling.

“You are no husband of mine.”

Aegon slept like a boar when he was drunk.

The fucker had gotten back before he did, slithering his way back to the Keep with what Aemond was sure was a maniacal look on his face to tattle to his wife what he had found out.

The king’s chambers almost resembled a pigsty. Cups scattered about, along with some phallic wooden figurines that Aemond’s mind refused to imagine what he even used them for. Their father’s model was gone. At least the twat did one thing right.

But the smell. It was almost like Viserys’ rotting stench remained, haunting them all forever. It was enough to have Aemond scrunch his nose in disgust, but it didn’t repel him completely. No, he had come for something.

His brother laid out like a starfish on his bed, pasty flesh bright against the shadows of his apartments. His snores echoed through the vast chamber. Aemond’s presence did not alert the king at all, his sense of danger dampened by liquor. 

The second son watched him, sneering, before turning around in search of something. It glinted like a beacon under the moonlight, beckoning him closer. The Conqueror’s catspaw dagger stood tall, its sharp tip pierced into the wood of Aegon’s side table. Aemond tested its weight in his hand, getting familiar with the feel of its handle. It was heavy, burdened with its importance to them and their legacy. An imbecile like Aegon had no right to wield it. It belonged to someone worthy of power, of glory. 

Putting his brother on the throne had cost Aemond too much, yet he had been rewarded so little. It cost him his control, his sanity. It cost him his wife. His own brother had played a major hand in his torment, and it was high time the second son was granted his retribution.

It was all too easy to kill him now. One plunge into his slumbering form, and this would all end. It would save everyone much trouble and with a better king on the throne. Save the realm from much horror and bloodshed, that was the power Aemond currently held. No, he wanted him to suffer. He wanted to gaze into the elder’s eyes as he pleaded for mercy. The younger longed to feel his brother’s flesh under his boot, just before he crushed him to pieces. There was no honor in killing a sleeping man, yet again, there was no honor in killing one’s own kin either. There was no honor in any of this, and the one-eyed prince found himself uncaring. The gods had already shunned him, right under the thunderous clouds of Storm’s End. Honor will not save him now, nor any of them. That is why they allowed him to lose his wife. 

Perhaps he was too harsh on the gods, they have to deal with this headache of a war as it is. This was no other’s fault but his after all.

But he is owed by his brother. For many, many things.

You were shaking your ass like there was no tomorrow. The music was thumping through the floors like a live beast. You felt it in your chest. Alcohol was coursing through your system. It gave everything a hazy, bright glow. It was too loud to think and yet all roads lead to Franklin Saint.

You had been cooped up in an empty house by yourself. What use was all the shit Franklin brought in if he wasn’t there to enjoy it with you? He would leave early in the morning and not return until long after you’d gone to sleep. Your initial reaction was that he was cheating, but you knew that wasn’t the case.

You’d see Franklin dead before he cheated on you. And he’d see hell freeze over before the thought crossed his mind. You knew he loved you. He wasn’t the greatest at showing it and dammit, it hurt. 

Did that mean that you had to suffer? No. No, it did not. You called up your girl and went to her place to get dressed. The hardest part about dating Franklin was all the secrets. All the lies. They sometimes got twisted in the careful web you weaved. Over time, it became easier to not leave the house at all. 

Franklin was turning you into a hermit and you wanted to hate him for it. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a cell in your body that could hate that man. So you took your anger out on him in other ways. It was an insidious need gnawing in the back of your mind.

Sometimes he’d walk in with that tired grin. Too tired to give you a proper hug and a kiss. Like you weren’t worth the effort it took to check in and ask about your day. You knew that he was in the middle of important business dealings. But lately, you were feeling neglected.

Not today.

At your girl’s house, she told you she missed you and your wild days at wild parties, living it up, gone off of the weed, and having real fun. She reminded you that you were still young and you were one of the lucky ones. You didn’t have a baby to look after. 

“You mu’fuckin’ right,” you said. You nodded your head, the idea taking shape the longer you sat with it. Thirty minutes later, you were both dressed like you didn’t have a man. You wore a very short skirt and off the shoulder top. Your coarse hair was pulled into a high ponytail. Your makeup was flawless.

It was practically gone now. Still you danced. Still you partied like there was no tomorrow. You left your pager at home. You didn’t care what Franklin had to say. So you shook and danced and waved off try-too-hard niggas with grabby hands. 

You clasped your friend’s hand and pulled her away from yet another man in your business. Damn, couldn’t you just go out and dance? Let loose?

“I see you havin’ real fun,” you heard above you.

You gasped and straightened out. You hadn’t seen him. Felt him. Or heard as he approached. One minute, your eyes were closed dancing to Flashlight. The next minute, Franklin was staring down at you with his nose slightly flared.

“How’d you find me?” You asked.

You looked around him and noticed Leon standing by the door looking sullen. “I can get to you any time I want,” he said. 

You folded your arms. The night’s festivities were catching up with you. Sweat pasted your shirt to your body. Little frizzes of hair escaped your ponytail. Your feet ached from spending hours on the makeshift dance floor. You were out of breath, staring at Franklin and wondering where his state of mind was at.

“I’m here trying to handle bidness and this is how you act?” 

You sucked your teeth and rolled your eyes. “The hell was I supposed to do?” You had to yell to be heard over the funk music. “Sit at home and wait for yo Black ass to come around?” 

Franklin rolled his neck. He was stressed out. You took a step forward. You longed to wrap your arms around him to hug and kiss him. To make it all better. But fuck that. Your anger was a familiar coat you threw on. 

“Let’s go,” he said. He dismissed your comments altogether. He turned and you faced the wide expanse of his broad back. His black polo shirt highlighted the slope of his shoulders, his sexy walk. The length of his legs were their own turn on. 

You didn’t follow him. He moved behind a dancing couple. He half turned and inclined his head. You turned around yourself. Two can play that game. You headed towards the back of the party. 

You were gaining attention. Those who weren’t smoking weed, were looking at you over the tops of cups. Others were smokin’ that stupid ass crack pipe. Franklin grabbed your hand and stopped you in your tracks. 

“Don’t fuckin’ embarass me. Let’s go,” he said, his whispered baritone fanning across your ear. You took a deep breath to steady yourself. Your body always reacted to him. Right now, your clit was throbbing thinking of what he was planning on doing to you. He hadn’t touched you in a week and it was driving you insane. 

“You can’t tell me what to do, Franklin,” you said.

Franklin stopped looking around and fixed you with a glare so severe, it’d hurt less if he slapped you. “The fuck you just say to me?” 

“You can’t tell me what to fuckin’ do, Franklin.” You emphasized his name, drawing out the syllables. 

“Man, get yo ass in the car,” he said. 

“Fuck you, nigga!” The rage that you cloaked yourself in was comforting in its heat. Spurned on by the alcohol, you poked at his chest. “Fuck you! Fuck you!” You slapped at his chest. 

“I’m only going to say this one more time, get in the fuckin’ car,” he said. He leaned in close to you, that calm demeanor slipping back behind his eyes. He kissed you on the cheek. A quick, dispassionate kiss that only served to piss you off even more. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but Franklin gripped your upper arm. He pushed you forward, around dancing people giving you the stink eye, past Leon with a little smirk on his face, and outside. The brutal LA night was cold and unforgiving against your damp skin. 

“Get off me, nigga!” You yanked your arm out of his grip. He talked about you embarrassing him. But he was the one who dragged you out of the party like some baby. 

Leon snickered. “Damn, you let her talk to you like that?” 

Franklin took a deep breath, looking towards the sky. “For one fuckin’ day, can any of ya’ll act right? I’m sick of this shit.” 

“I know you ain’t talkin’, Leon,” you said. Alcohol emboldened you. You felt invincible. Like you could hang onto a star and fly through the universe. You were ready with a scathing remark. 

Franklin stood in front of you, blocking your view of Leon who had squared up, ready to pop off. Franklin’s nose flared, his mouth stuck in a grimace. “Car, now,” he said.

Oh shit. Maybe you went a little too far. “Sure thing, Franklin,” you said with a sweet smile. 

You heard Franklin blow out a deep breath. “You got a way to get home?” You heard Franklin ask Leon as you walked away. You folded your arms and trudged the short distance to the curb. 

You reached the car, sliding in and putting your head against the headrest. You glared at Franklin as he said goodbye to Leon. Leon was smirking. You bet they were laughing it up at your expense. At your feelings. 

It paled in comparison to the lust you felt for Franklin. He walked towards the car. He was so different after he got out of jail. Tougher. Harder. There were moments where you would catch the Franklin you first fell in love with. The optimistic boy you would follow anywhere. 

Franklin was a man after jail. He picked up an edginess. A shorter temper. You couldn’t tell him what to do and that made him sexier to you. He was never a weak man. But now, he was strength personified. 

He climbed into the car in silence. He turned the car on and peeled out of the projects. “Not gon’ say shit?” You asked. 

Franklin didn’t look at you. He kept his eyes on the road, obeying all of the traffic lights. There was no reason to give LAPD an excuse to pull you over. Not that they always needed one. Driving while Black was practically an invitation to the cops to fuck with you. 

Franklin turned into his garage. You watched and listened as he closed the garage door behind you. He turned the car off and hopped out of the car. He came around to your side and opened the door. 

You hated the silent treatment. It was like he had ice water in his veins. You got out of the car and stood in the open door. Arms folded. Staring across a chasm at Franklin that you couldn’t cross. Couldn’t access. You weren’t welcome.

“Sick of this shit,” you muttered. 

“Get yo ass in the room and I’ll deal with you in a minute,” he said. 

“No, fuck you,” you said. 

That vindictive streak in you wanted to push him. To push him past the point of breaking him. 

“I don’t need this fuckin’ shit! I got enough shit to deal with than hearin’ my girl shakin’ her ass for anyone to see!” His voice rose from a deadly calm to outright yelling. 

“I was just dancin’,” you said with a shrug. 

“Yo ass don’t listen too good, huh?” Franklin grinned cruelly and laughed. He grabbed you by the arm and tugged you inside the house. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree, as if he’d searched every room for you.

You didn’t have a chance to appreciate the sentiment as he tugged you through the house, towards your room. He pushed you onto the bed and watched you flop. 

You pushed up onto your elbows but Franklin grabbed your hips and yanked your body down the bed to the edge. Your ass hung off of it. He used his leg to push yours further apart. 

“Franklin?” You asked. Your voice wobbled but not with fear. You were so turned on, you didn’t trust your voice. 

A sharp slap rung throughout the room. You cried out and clutched at the bed spread. Heat blossomed on your nearly exposed ass. One sharp jerk later, and it was over your hips, pushed up.  

“This what you wanted right? Why yo ass was actin’ up?” He asked. 

He rubbed the area that he slapped and you hissed. You were at an awkward angle. Half hanging off of the bed like you were, your heels were the only thing sort of keeping you upright. You stood on your tiptoes to brace yourself. Franklin standing in between your legs threw your balance off slightly. 

Franklin ran his hands down the crack of your ass, down towards your pussy. He moved your skimpy panties aside and pressed his thumb into your entrance. You cooed and collapsed onto the bed. 

“This pussy right there? Mine,” he said. He slapped your ass with his free hand and you gasped. The dichotomy of him slipping his fingers inside of you and the heat of the slap was too much already. 

“Baby…”

“Naw, don’t baby me. It was Franklin earlier, wasn’t it?” He asked. He removed his thumb and quickly replaced it with his index finger. He grunted and pushed a second finger in. 

“Oh, baby,” you moaned. He widened his fingers, preparing you for him. 

“What happened to all that shit you was talkin’?” He asked. He leaned over over, driving his fingers in deeper. You moaned and clutched the bedspread past the point of your fingers cramping. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. You moved your ass in a circle, in tune with how Franklin pumped his fingers in and out of you. As long as he kept doing that, you’d give him any answer he was looking for. 

“I don’t believe you,” he whispered against your ear. He leaned back and added a third finger. 

“Oh, fuck!” You moaned. Your body jerked and twitched as if you ate a live wire. Your orgasm ripped through you. Each wave hit you harder and faster, dragging you under its sweet release. 

Franklin withdrew his fingers and you heard him licking each one. You huffed. This man was going to be the death of you. 

Franklin massaged your ass, bringing attention back to the lingering pain. “I just missed you, baby,” you said. 

“Mhmm,” he said. He took a few deep breaths. His hands grabbed a handful of your ass. He made quick work of his pants, shedding it in nearly one fell swoop. He rubbed his thick, hardening dick along your slick slit. 

You bit your lip and moaned. “Pleasepleaseplease,” you said and wiggled your ass against him. 

He grabbed your left wrist and pulled it behind your back. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable either. You twisted your wrist but Franklin didn’t give you much room. He learned forward, his polo shirt rustling against your shirt. 

He brought his lips down to your ear. He licked the shell of it. Placed kisses behind your ear, into that sensitive spot. You shivered. Your desperate pussy clenched around nothing. He wrapped your hair around his fingers and pulled your head to the side for better access. 

You ached. You were so empty, you could cry. Literally, tears gathered behind your closed eyelids. You needed to be filled up by him. Consumed by him. You wanted to end where he began and begin where he ended. 

“The next time you need some dick, you come fuckin’ find me,” he said. He pushed into you slowly, stopping every so often so that you could get acclimated to him. 

“Oh, yes, Daddy,” you whined as he fulfilled your silent request. “Pleaseplease,” you muttered over and over. 

“Do you know my heart stopped comin’ here, callin’ for you like a mu’fuckin’ idiot? I called your pager. Shit was beepin’ by our bed. Anythin’ could’ve happened to you!” 

He seemed to forget his plan because he started to increase his thrusts. Whatever he gave, you took. You bounced back on him, matching his rhythm. He fucked you into the bed, pushing down on your arm behind your back. 

You were shoved ever more onto your tiptoes. Your right hand searched for purchase on the bed. Anything to brace you against his savage thrusts. It felt like he was pouring all of his frustration out into you. You gripped the bed spread and chewed on a piece of it.

There was a low, delicious burn inching up your legs. You shook violently, crying out as he hit that spot that only he could reach. Only he could touch. Only him. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you choked out. He pushed the very air from your lungs. Each thrust knocked a little more loose. You panted against him. 

“Oh fuck, right there,” you whined. Your ass clapped against his hips and the wet slap surprised another orgasm out of you. You stuttered over his name as you came, your pussy contracting and flooding his dick. 

“Look at you, can’t even hold on to that fucked up attitude,” he said. He licked your neck and nibbled at a sensitive bit. You shuddered and tried to curl in on yourself. 

“Naw,” he breathed. 

He slipped out of you and you cried in earnest. Tears slid down your cheeks. You groaned. Words weren’t working right for you. 

Franklin manhandled you. He flipped you onto your back and pulled you by your arms. You sat up and flopped against his body. He gripped your chin and made you look at him. 

“Talk a big game, no follow through, huh?” He asked. Bastard. But you got what you wanted. 

“I’ll do better, Daddy,” you said. You gave him puppy dog eyes.

Franklin grinned and pecked your lips. “I know you will,” he whispered. 

He tugged your shirt off, revealing your bra. Franklin sucked your nipple through the lacy material and you bucked off of the bed. “Shit!” 

The sensation was both there and wasn’t there. You registered a barrier between his mouth and your nipple but you didn’t really feel it. 

Franklin thrusted into you, hard. You gasped, your mouth hanging open. He climbed onto the bed, getting into a better position. He tore off his polo shirt and tossed it onto the floor.

He laid over you, crushing your body to the bed. He used one hand to spread you completely open for him. The other hand, grabbed your right hand and held it above you. Your fingers intertwined with his. He ground his hips into you, his dick disappearing inside of you.

His strokes were deep, brutal, and punishing. He wasn’t done being pissed at you. The thought should scare you. It should drive you right out of his bed. But no one else fucked you so completely. Made you feel so wanted and adored and like he needed to fuck you like a person needed air. 

Every stroke hit that deep spot inside of you. Your knees closed around his hips. Your left hand scratched his back. 

“That attitude shit stops,” he said as he made out with your titties. He pulled your cups down until they were under your breasts, pushing them up and into his eager mouth.

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned. 

You felt the muscles in his back working as he pushed in and out of you. His dick stretched you right to the edge of pain. That fine line was delicate and he walked it well. Your hand traveled the length of his back, feeling all of the additional muscles and the dip of his back. The top of his ass that you couldn’t reach. 

You closed your eyes as he rolled a nipple around his mouth. 

“The last thing I need to fuckin’ worry about is you,” he said.

“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry,” your breath was failing you. Hell, you didn’t even know what he was saying at this point. You’d agree to just about anything at the moment. As long as he kept his strokes nice and deep like that. 

You felt him in your chest. He pushed up and you couldn’t barely breathe. He was stuffing you full of him, feeding you his dick. 

“You think this shit is cute and it ain’t! How the fuck it look that I can’t control my girl?”

You contracted against him. Another orgasm was building. His voice was so deep and raspy. And when he yelled, it was like unlocking a switch inside of you. You began to twitch again. Tears streamed down your face.

“I’m sorry! I hate being here without you,” you managed to croak out.

Fuck, you were so damn close. “Please Daddy, I’m so sorry. I’ll do better,” you said. 

Franklin lifted his head from your titty. He stared into your eyes. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ know how much I love you? Why do I have to prove it to you?” He asked, softly. So at odds with his pounding dick. 

“You don’t!” You yelled. Your orgasm was just out of reach. So, so, sososososo close. 

“Then why you like makin’ me mad?” He asked, his voice raised. Your jaw went slack as the orgasm finally tore through you like a tidal wave. You flopped and twitched, unable to hear or see anything as stars danced behind your eyelids. 

Your convulsing pussy triggered Franklin’s orgasm. He pushed into you further, his cum splashing inside of you. You felt his dick twitch and pulse. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned. “You feel what you do to me?” He asked. He placed his head into the crook of your neck and panted.

“Yes, oh fuck yes,” you murmured. 

“You do that to me,” he said. He kissed your jaw, your cheek. Your lips lazily found his and you kissed him with the last remaining breath in you. You felt light headed. You wanted to curl up like a cat at his feet. He rubbed your arms and kissed you as you floated back to your body. 

As he softened, he pulled out of you. His thick cum eased out of you. Franklin rolled over onto his back with a contented sigh. He placed one hand behind his head. You rolled and tucked your body into his. He rubbed your back. You spread your right arm across his chest. A possessiveness taking over you. 

He kissed your temple and looked at you. “Don’t you ever call me by my first name again,” he said. He turned to stare at the ceiling. His fingers never gave up their glide and and down your back. 

You giggled sleepily. “Keep fuckin’ me like that and I won’t have to,” you said. 

Franklin grabbed your right hand and brought it to his lips. “I gotta fuck you to keep you in line, is that it?” He asked.

“Somethin’ like that,” you said with a small giggle. 

You were dragged kicking and screaming to sleep. You wanted to stay up and talk to him. Anything to keep hearing that sexy voice. Anything to keep him here with you longer. You were beyond worried that the moment you opened your eyes, he’d be gone again. Like a puff of smoke you couldn’t hold on to. He’d just slip through your fingers. 

You were so blessedly fucked out, that your head emptied. You fell asleep to the thump of his heart. And you prayed. Prayed that he’d be there when you woke up.

You’re not entirely sure how it happens. Seriously. Yes, you’re super ultra mega attracted to Benny, but you never expected this to happen, especially as suddenly as it did. 

You’re a planner, extremely detail oriented, and you’re almost never taken by surprise. Impulsivity isn’t you, it’s Benny. So what made you throw caution into the wind and do this? 

You’re not even together; you didn’t even kiss. 

Suffice to say, you’re freaking the fuck out. 

***

You and Benny are chilling together, watching a movie on his bed. It’s rare for you two to be alone, but Ethan had to help his parents with whatever, Rory was doing whatever Rory does, and Sarah and Erica were having fun in town. They invited you, but with the supernatural craziness of the last few days, you just wanted a quiet night in for once. 

Years of familiarity resulted in you and Benny being pretty comfortable with each other, so you were cuddled together, you mostly on top of Benny while you both made fun of the movie and stuffed your faces with popcorn. 

You think it happens because you got thirsty. 

One second you’re reaching across Benny to grab your drink, then another has Benny hissing through his teeth and grabbing you. He held you still, and you glanced up. 

His eyes were squeezed shut, and a peculiar red flush adorned his face. His breathing was quickened, and he was practically shaking. 

Startled by his behavior, you sat up, still half on his lap and completely oblivious. 

“Benny, what’s wrong?” You place the back of your hand on his cheek, thinking he might have a temperature. Hot, but not feverish. You scoot forward a little to reach his forehead, and Benny gasps. 

“Please,” he strains, “stop moving.” 

Your eyebrows knit together. He was making no sense. “What…”

Then, you feel it. 

Your leg was brushing against his very prominent, very hard, erection. 

“Oh,” you gulp.

Benny’s eyes spring open, his mouth starts to move, but he can’t seem to say anything. You know he’d try to shrug this off, tell you it’ll go away, and apologize to lessen the sheer awkwardness of the moment. 

You don’t want him to. 

His lips are parted, panting quietly, face blushing the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, skin sheening with sweat, and his eyes? One part horrified and the other completely and utterly aroused. 

You really don’t want to waste this moment. 

Without thinking, you place a hand on his upper thigh. Firm enough to not get lost in translation but gentle so he could brush you away if he didn’t want this after all.

Your eyes meet, confusion and hope and desperation swimming in his. Slowly, you slide your hand upward, waiting for him to swat you away. 

He doesn’t. 

When you reach his front, you apply pressure and palm him through his pants. 

Benny groans delectably, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

You can feel yourself get wet at his reaction, the burn between your legs throbbing as the seconds pass. The fact that one little touch from you elicits a response like this makes your veins rush with power. 

Then, he moans your name. 

You’re done playing. You unzip his jeans and push them down. Benny, who has all but collapsed on his pillows, eagerly helps you slip the rest of it off. 

You climb on him again, fully this time, and take him into your hands. You pump him a few times, having to wet your hands with your spit. He’s shaking under you, making these small pathetic noises that have you grinding on his thigh. 

He’s lasting for a lot longer than you expect a teenage boy to, especially a virgin. 

Benny surprises you yet again by sitting up abruptly, and you let him go. He takes his shirt off, and when it’s discarded somewhere on his messy floor, he presses your foreheads together, mouths breathing into each other but not quite touching. 

His hands play with the hem of your shirt.

“Benny,” you moan, when his fingers disappear under the fabric and press against your hot skin. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks, throat raspy and deep. You nod at him, and your top joins his on the floor before you can blink.

Your hands roam each other’s bodies, just feeling and squeezing. Benny nuzzles your neck and collarbones, pressing kisses and leaving nips here and there. You grip his hair and pull, feeling the whine of pleasure Benny lets out against your skin.

After a few moments of this, you realize Benny is nearly naked, and you still have your pants on. You pull away from him and sit up higher on your knees. When Benny realizes your next course of action, he wastes no time in helping you rid yourself from your pants, and when they’re gone, he grabs a handful of your ass and blinks up at you, wide and ready. 

You reach behind your back and unhook your bra, peeling it off slowly, almost painfully so, for Benny. You toss it aside, and all he can do is stare. 

You reach for his hands and place them on your breasts. When he starts to feel you up and squeeze, you throw your head back and keen at the sensation. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. You look down at Benny, and he’s peering up at you through his dark lashes with nothing but want behind his eyes. Instinctively, you pull his head to your chest, and your pleasure multiplies when Benny immediately starts licking and sucking and kissing you all over. 

Your legs are delightfully weak at this point, so you push Benny back down on the sheets and fall on top of him. You’re still touching each other and it feels like he’s become a second skin. You hardly register his hand going further down until it rests on your lower abdomen, toying with your panty line.

“Can I touch you?” he all but pleads, and who were you to deny him? 

You’re nearly sobbing when he slips his fingers into your folds, feeling the wetness he caused. You can tell he’s trying to finger your clit, so you decide to be a good partner and guide him to its location. You shudder when he finally finds it on his own and begins to rub, the friction nearly too much for you. 

You’re kissing and biting his skin, one hand gripping his sheets and the other skimming along his chest, your nails scratching and digging into him. You grind back on his hand, so he picks up the pace and you know right then you’re about to cum. 

“Benny,” you warn. “Benny, don’t stop.” 

He doesn’t, and you cry into his neck when you orgasm on his fingers. 

You both lay there panting, but you have no time to bask in the afterglow when you remember he hasn’t came yet. 

You get on your hands and knees above Benny, and you lower your face to his, still not touching except your hair brushing his. 

“Do you want me?” you ask. You want him. You want him so bad you don’t know what you’d do if he said no. 

He nods, and your heart flutters. 

“No,” you whisper. “I need to hear you say it.”

He nods again. “Yes. Yes I do. Please,” he begs. He starts to babble his affirmation and continues to do so when you get your underwear and his boxers off. You grip him and slick his head up with your juices, and when you finally sink down, Benny shuts up and you both sigh as you seat him fully inside you. 

You start to rock, fucking yourself with his cock and feeling so, so good. Benny’s hands find your hips and together, you find a pace as you ride him. Your hands are on his chest as you slide up and down on him. He begins to feel you again, your torso, your breasts, shoulders, and hair. You don’t want him to stop exactly, because it makes the pleasure increase tenfold, but you’re in control, and it's so hot when Benny does what you want. 

You grab his wrist and pin them on either side of his head, and the flash of lust in his eyes as you do so makes you smirk. 

You keep holding him down as you pump in and out of him, as you rock against him, but after a while your legs begin to ache. Benny, feeling you slow down, takes the reins. 

You let him go, and he wraps an arm around your body, pulling you down flush against him. The other hand weaves through your hair, angling your head once more into the crook of his neck. Holding you tight, he fucks up into you, and you feel something you never have before. 

For a virgin, he’s a natural at this. Your bodies know what they want and how to get it, the carnal desire guiding you the whole way. You can feel him pulse inside you, and you know you’re both about to cum when his thrusts grow quicker. 

“Benny,” you moan into his ear, and that’s all it takes. His motions get sloppier as he climaxes, but you don’t care because you’re in the middle of coming yourself. 

You’re laying there, trying to catch your breath and clinging together tightly. He’s practically hugging you, and you're running your fingers through his hair. 

You know you can’t stay like this forever, so you pull off of him, both of you wincing as you do so. You want to find your clothes and dash, but your legs wobble and you fall back down on him. 

You expected Benny to crack a joke like he always does, but when you turn around, he has an arm thrown over his eyes. His chest rises and falls quickly, and you wonder if you should risk it and leave after all. 

But then, Benny wraps an arm around you, much gentler this time. “Good night,” he says softly, and he’s out. 

You’re actually grateful Benny doesn’t seem to be aware of aftercare, because you have no idea what to do, and would have even less of an idea if he stayed awake and wanted to talk about what just happened. 

You’re contemplating whether to stay or go, and when you finally decide, your eyes slip shut, and you cuddle into Benny’s warmth. 

The next morning, you have a proper freak out. 

You need to talk to him, you need to not talk to him. You need caffeine and a pregnancy test and a change of clothes. You need an ice pack and a salt bath because holy fuck you’re sore, Jesus Christ Benny. 

You need Sarah and Erica. 

Luck is on your side today, because as you make your way into school, there’s no sign of Benny. You find who you need chatting at Sarah’s locker, and when Erica sees you, she immediately asks what’s wrong. 

“Oh my god, I don’t even know where to start,” you choke. They blink at you and you start to ramble. “I did something so stupid last night, But it also wasn’t stupid except for the parts that were but ohmygod I need to tell you something. It cannot wait and I am freaking out.” You pause to take a breath. “I think my heart is about to give out.” 

“Okay, okay relax,” Sarah calms you down. “We have 20 minutes before first period. What’s up?” 

“Hold that thought, Sarah, I think she needs to sit down.” You nod, so the girls take you to a more private area, which turns out to be an empty classroom, and as soon as you get there you crumple onto the nearest chair.

“So… what's up?” 

You sit up, your whole body jittering with nerves. You wanna tell them so bad but you don't know how. This is a kind of confession that needs a strong lead to get there, but you’re totally blanking. 

“Well?” 

It burst out of you, “Benny and I slept together!” 

Neither girl moved. They stood there, gaping like fish. You knew they believed you, this isn't something you'd lie or joke about. Oh how you wish you were. 

“How?” Erica finally spoke.

You grimace. “Well, it was kind of an accident at first. We were just watching a movie, then we got really horny at the same time, and it just went from there.”

Sarah’s face twisted at your words. “Were you at least safe?” 

You pinched your lips together and avoided their gaze. 

Sarah groaned and Erica exclaimed, “Are you serious? That was so stupid!”

“I told you I did something stupid! I wasn’t really thinking about protection in the heat of the moment and I seriously doubt Benny had a condom laying around.” You stop then. “Oh my god. I took Benny’s virginity.”

At your words, Sarah and Erica looked at each other. “Ewww!”

“You did what?” a voice shouted from the previously closed door. 

Rory. 

Son of a bitch. 

Erica pulled him into the room and slammed the door shut. You’ve never been more thankful for her as she began to threaten Rory within an inch of his undead life. You expected him to wet himself, but Rory’s face was calm, and not the kind of blankness you’re accustomed to seeing on his expression.

He huffed. “No wonder Benny was being so weird this morning. I thought losing your virginity was supposed to change a guy in a good way. His face looked exactly like the time I accidentally dropped him in a dumpster.”

That… did not do anything good for your ego. 

“He hates me,” you pout. 

“I don't know about that,” Rory shrugs. “He asked if I saw you and told me to tell him if I did. Oh, well now that I’ve seen you, I should probably go tell him.” Rory started to walk away, but the three of you shouted after him and dragged him back. 

“Okay, jeez. I don’t get what the big deal is.”

Erica facepalmed and Sarah scoffed. “The big deal is that two close friends slept with each other. That’s not a thing friends do! It’s probably awkward for them!”

You sigh. “Guys, it’s more than awkward. We didn’t even talk about it. I left before he woke up.”

Erica gasps, “You did not.” Sarah and Rory both wince, and again, this did not make you feel better. 

“What was I supposed to say! It happened so suddenly—we didn’t even kiss!” 

The three of them pause and gawk at you. You threw your hands up in surrender. 

“It just didn’t happen. We were kinda focused on other things.” You were pulled back to the memory, his lips and hands everywhere, his whiny little mewls and pants hot and breathy in your ear… 

“Oh my god. She’s thinking about him right now, ewww!” Erica squealed.

“Wait, was Benny actually good?” Sarah asked in disbelief. 

You sigh dreamily, “Let's just say, if he wasn't already a spellcaster, he'd still have magic in his fingers.”

“EWWW!” Three voices cried in unison. Rory gagged and Erica covered her ears. Sarah closed her eyes, her worn expression letting you know she very much regretted asking at all. All three looked rather like a steak to the heart would be a perfect end to this conversation. 

The end, however, came in the form of the warning bell. Before leaving you swore all of them to secrecy, with an emphasis on Rory’s discretion. He gave you a thumbs up and said “You can count on me!” You were not confident in his ability to keep his mouth shut. 

Classes went on, but you were on edge in fourth period, the first class of three you and Benny shared, not including lunch. You got there early, as usual, and Benny came in second before the bell, also as usual. You didn’t dare look up at him when he walked by you, knowing it was him by his clumsy footsteps and the scent of his cologne. He sat behind you, and you felt the weight of his stare on you the entire class period. When the bell finally rang you were first out the door. 

Your whole group usually sits together at lunch, unless the dorks had a mathlete meeting or Erica decided to sit with her boytoy of the week, which happens more often than not. She promised to sit with you and Sarah today just in case a buffer (or a badass vampire) was needed. 

Rory is the first of the boys to sit down and starts yammering about his day. Apparently the stray cat he feeds in the junkyard went missing and it’s been days since he saw it and he’s getting worried. He was in the middle of the “epic” tale of their friendship and why they don’t try to eat each other anymore when Benny sits down. Right in front of you. Where he always does. Very normal, but you can’t ignore the shaking feeling that no, everything is decidedly not normal. 

Unfortunately for all of you, Rory trails off. 

The table is silent for a long, long while.

You want to say something so bad, you hate this awkward tension between the two of you, but you can’t speak. It’s like your voice was stolen by teenage embarrassment. 

You have enough strength of mind to meet Benny’s eyes, only you’re unable to read him. Is he disgusted? Regretful? If so, of what specifically? Is your friendship completely over? He just looks and looks. 

Just as a headache began to form between your eyes, Ethan barrelled into his seat in an anxious flurry. You’ve never been happier to hear the words: “Guys, I think we have a problem.” 

Your focus is 100% on Ethan now, you don’t even notice the pinch of Benny’s brows at his best friend's words, or the way his fingers twitch for his spellbook, or the way he licks his lips like he always does when he concentrates. 

It’s Benny, of course you can’t help but notice. 

Except, something Ethan just said actually pulled your focus. “Wait, you said you saw strange markings in your vision. Was there anything concrete? It sounds like whoever drew them and left the animal hearts and talismans were attempting a ritual.”

Ethan nods. “There were pentagrams all over my vision, and there was a flash of goat hooves and a clock.”

“A clock?” Benny asks. 

“Yes,” he confirms. “The hands were set to midnight.” 

“The witching hour,” you and Benny speak in unison. You snuck a peek at him, almost startling when you see he did the same. You dart your eyes away, and a sinking feeling hits you as you realize what Ethan’s vision most likely meant.

“Rory,“ you start slowly, “what color is your junkyard cat?”

Your friends tense as you say this, also connecting the dots. Rory, bless him, remains oblivious. 

“He has black fur! That's why I named him Shadow Ninja! I hope the little guy is okay…” Rory digs into his sandwich, and you don’t know if he’s being willfully ignorant to spare his own feelings, or if he genuinely knows nothing about superstitions. The group glances at each other, all silently agreeing to keep Rory in the dark. 

“We need to find out who’s behind these rituals. It’s one thing if they’re idiotic humans, but another if they’re witches,” Sarah comments. 

“What do they even want?” Erica asks. “What are the rituals for?”

“Well, if Ethan’s visions and the ritual’s remnants are anything to go by,” you muse darkly, “I’d guess they’re trying to summon the Devil.”

Benny hums. “Making a deal with the Devil is not good, Grandma says that all time. We need to find out for sure where the rituals took place.”

He begins to flip through his spellbook when Ethan asks why the location matters. 

Then, it hits you. “Ley lines.”

“Exactly,” Benny confirms, but he doesn’t look at you. “If they’re doing the rituals on the ley line, it’ll be easier to find out where they’ll go next.”

Sarah puts a hand on your arm. “Hold on, what are ley lines?”

“They’re invisible, mystical energy lines that run underneath the earth. They connect various historical sites, prominent landmarks, and sacred spaces to conduct the energy. They’re said to amplify the supernatural, so it makes sense if there’s one running through Whitechapel.”

“There is,” Benny says. He flips the book around and shows everyone the page he found. It details the line running through your province of Canada, but there isn’t anything you recognize. The map isn’t updated for the 21st Century, apparently. 

You make plans after school to go ley line hunting, deciding to split into three pairs to cover more ground, one vampire and one human in each. Out of everyone, you have the most success at keeping Rory on task, so you’re partnered with him. His protective side comes out most often with you, being the only fully fledged human of the group, no vamp, seer, or spellcaster powers in sight. 

You can fend for yourself of course, though you find fighting magic with magic more often than not solves the problem. It’s no bother to you when you have brains. You help Ethan make the plans and connect the dots, you don’t need to execute them. 

Admittedly, the idea of summoning the Devil scares the shit out of you, it also helps take your mind off of the Benny issue you’re facing. 

You and Rory have been searching for an hour and a half (with you only needing to pull Rory back on task three times) when you realize the section of the map took you to a familiar house in the rich part of town. 

“Rory,” you get his attention. “Isn’t this Jesse’s mansion?” He, briefly serving time in Jesse’s cult, frequented this house more often than that one time you paid an unwanted visit, would know for sure. 

“Oh hey. Yeah, it is.”

The mansion looks different than the last time you saw it. After Jesse’s imprisonment in the cubile animus, the place remained abandoned; and no one, not even the HOA, dared to mess with what he left behind. 

The lawn was overgrown, leaves and vines creeping up and curling around the corners and windows. The siding was darkened with dirt and grime, and some of the shillings had fallen off, leaving a gaping spot where it once lay. 

“Does the magic line go through the house?” Rory questions.

According to the map, it did, but you had a feeling it wasn’t this easy. 

“We need to get in and check it out. Something doesn’t feel right.” 

Rory walks up to the gate and pushes it open, the hinges squeaking and built up rust grinding as it opens. The two of you approach the former vampire den cautiously, the brick driveway filled with green in its cracks and all kinds of foliage strewn over the walkway left by wind and storms. 

Once inside the house, you shudder. It might've been abandoned, but the air felt dark and tainted still. 

“Hey,” Rory called from where he ventured further in, “I’m not sure this place is as abandoned as we think.” 

He’s right. In the corner of the living room, messy sleeping bags and junk food wrappers littered the entire space. There were school bags tossed haphazardly on a table, and books on every available space possible. 

You made your way to the kitchen area, where there was more discarded food, spilled liquid, and even more books. On the dining table, dried blood, a variety of talismans, melted candles, and ashes lay within a pentagram.

You made your way to the island, which was clear of everything except one book in the center.

Rory came up next to you and pointed. “I know this book. It has Jesse’s prophecy in it.”

You skimmed the book, and Rory stopped you on the page about the prophecy. You scanned the page, and when you saw a familiar line, you read it aloud: “The dead take root, the barren orchard bears the devil's fruit.’” You pause. “Rory, check the map. I think the ley line runs under Ethan’s house, specifically the tree in his backyard. They tried the ritual here, and it didn’t work. The other failed rituals happened at the church, the cemetery, and the stump of Whitechapel’s oldest tree. If they found this book, it won’t take them long to figure out their next spot, and I think it might actually work this time around. I mean, symbolically, it seems like the place to catch the Devil's attention.”

Rory’s eyes widened. “Woah. This is getting kinda scary.”

“I agree, we should get out of here before they get back.”

You start toward the door, but Rory stops you. His face twists regretfully as he responds, “Too late. I can hear them outside.”

His words make your blood run cold, and you hear the creak of the front door opening. 

As quickly and quietly as you can, you and Rory squeeze inside the empty walk-in pantry. You’re easing the door shut as the kitchen door slams open. 

“I’m telling you, that geek is onto us. He’s a seer, right? I bumped into him before lunch and I swear he saw something,” a husky, feminine voice said. Through the panes on the door, you can make out a silhouette of her, but nothing too clear. 

A hand slaps the counter. “Why does it matter?” Deep, male, and insanely grating. You can see his hulking frame lean on the island. “He might be shacking up with vampires, but they’re not invincible. They can’t stop us no matter what they know.”

Behind you, Rory murmurs, “I know them from somewhere.”

The first one sighs, apparently not hearing a peep even from a few feet away. “I guess, but his friends are vampires. The small one, Sarah, babysits him on Friday’s right?”

“Yup. But, with some garlic and a sharp wooden steak, it shouldn’t be too hard to negotiate for that virgin’s blood. And he doesn’t even need to die!”

“That we know of. The instructions say the blood of a virgin, who’s to say that doesn’t mean the life of one? The 17th century assholes who wrote it down weren’t very specific with the recipe.”

“And the awful fucking poetry. I could’ve done without that,” the guy scoffs. 

“Whatever,” the girl snaps. “We will do it tomorrow night after his parents leave. We get what we want and hey, maybe once the Devil himself turns us into vampires, we’ll kill the virgin anyway. I hear they taste the best.”

The two cackle, and their voices dim as they clomp away. 

You and Rory tip toe out of the pantry, keeping an eye on the door as you walk. The thing is, you’re not completely aware of your surroundings. In a stroke of bad luck, you trip on a stack of books, and they clutter noisily to the ground. 

You meet Rory’s eyes, horrified. 

“Who’s there?” the guy shouts. You hear the stomp of their boots getting closer, and Rory tugs you away to the other door and up the stairs. You follow him like you’re on autopilot, everything you heard and what’s happened catching up to you at the wrong time. 

You’re being pulled up another set of stairs and Rory kicks the bedroom door open. 

“This one has a balcony. Gord pushed me off it when I was learning how to fly.”

“What a dick,” you mutter and suddenly you’re gasping in the cool outside air. 

Rory grabs onto you right as the door flies open, the two satanists rushing forward. Not a second too soon, Rory takes off. 

A few minutes and half a heart attack later, you land on the designated meeting point, which was, of course, Ethan’s front porch. Everyone was there already, and you felt comfortable enough to have a panic attack. 

You’re still gasping and your legs give out on you. You’re caught by familiar arms, and Benny lowers you down to the porch chair.

“We—we found—the book. The lines—the tree, it just. They’re going to attack you! Take your, your blood. They wanna turn. They need him to turn.”

You’re not making a lick of sense to anyone, and Sarah starts to rub your back. 

“Breathe,” she says softly. She doesn't have the compulsion ability mastered, but you want to listen to her, so you do. 

“You found something? What happened?” Ethan asks. 

“Dude,” Benny chastises. “Maybe wait til she stops freaking out? Rory, what’s going on?”

Rory explains your findings as best he can, and you use the lilt of his voice to calm down. “The guy and the girl look so familiar. I can’t place it, though.”

With a huff, Erica reminds him, “They go to our school, genius, obviously they’ll be familiar.”

Rory starts to protest, “Yeah but, that’s not where I recognize them from.”

“Vampires,” you finally say. Everyone stops and stares at you. “The deal they want to make with the Devil is to become vampires. Why would they go to all this trouble when this town is crawling with them? I think it’s because they literally can’t. Vampires won’t turn them.” You twist your body to face Sarah and Erica. “Does the Council have some kind of banned humans list? Like, “Do not turn these people under the penalty of death” list?”

Sarah hums and furrows her brows together in thought. “I’m sure they do, I’ll go check,” and she vamp speeds away. 

“It’s the only reason I can think of. Anyone else have a theory?”

You look up from your place on the chair, and everyone (again) is staring. 

“That,” Benny declares, “was incredible.”

You meet his gaze, and for the first time since last night, it doesn’t feel weird. It feels… normal. Right. 

You smile at him shyly, and think yeah, you’ll be alright. 

A nudge to your side has your attention on Erica. Apparently she caught that little exchange. She quirks a playful eyebrow at you and you shrug your shoulders innocently. 

After that, it doesn't take too long for Sarah to return in a whoosh of air. “They do have a list! And it comes with pictures. Here,” she hands everyone a stack. Thankfully, it’s not too big. It only takes a few seconds before Rory spots them. 

Ethan nods. “Yup. I ran into her this morning and that’s when I got the vision. She didn’t seem too pleased with me.”

Now that you have all the pieces, you plan. 

A pizza is ordered and you all gather around Ethan’s dining table.

“These people know way too much about us, so what if we give them more?” Ethan suggests. 

You hum in agreement. You reach for a slice, and your hand brushes Benny’s. You lock eyes over the table, and he’s flushing that sweet red again. He retracts his hand, and you grin to yourself as you take the slice. 

“Like what?” Erica asks. 

“They think the ball is in their corner, right?” you explain. “So what if we change it up? Make them comfortable, make it even more easy for their plan to unfold, but what they don’t know is that we’re doing the same thing, only better.”

“Okay,” Rory remarks, voice laced with confusion. “What do we do?”

You and Ethan share a near manic smirk. 

“We’re gonna set a trap. Tomorrow, I will very loudly say in front of them that I’m Jane’s babysitter tonight instead of Sarah. That gets rid of one vampire, they think ambushing us will be a walk in the park if it’s me.” 

“Tomorrow night, you three,” Ethan informs Sarah, Erica, and Rory, “will be waiting in the shadows, ready to attack when necessary.” 

You take a deep breath. “Benny, you need to be with us.” 

Ethan startles. “What, why?”

You ignore him. 

“Benny, do you trust me?”

Instantly, he says yes. 

“Good,” you breathe. “You need to be the sacrifice.” 

Ethan protests immediately, and the others look at you like you’ve grown a second head. 

“Um, they need a virgin for the ritual, right?” Erica speaks up, deliberately slow as if you somehow forgot you were the one to change Benny’s virginal status. 

“Yes,” you confirm, and as subtly as you can, you explain. “They need a virgin to complete the ritual.”

You can see the moment it clicks for Sarah and Erica; unfortunately, Rory is more vocal with his understanding. 

“Ohhh, is it because Benny—YEOUCH!” He yells as Erica elbows him particularly hard in the side. 

Ethan’s eyes dart between all of you. “Uh, okay. Whatever. As long as it isn’t Jane, I don’t care who gives up their blood.”

The next day at school, you get the wannabe vampires hook, line, and sinker when you bring up your status as tonight's babysitter right in front of them. Unbeknownst to them, Jane is going to be safe next door with Benny’s grandma the second their parents leave for date night.

It takes a few hours for the “ambush” to happen, just minutes before midnight. You have fun pretending to act scared and whine when they tie you up, though you could’ve gone without the grass stains as the burly guy tossed you next to the tree. 

They make quick work of setting up the ritual, and hey, there's Shadow Ninja! Anger flares in you at the sight of Rory's friend tied up and muzzled like that.

When it’s all set up, they mix together what looks like the world’s most disgusting cocktail in a gold chalice. 

“Now,” the girl announces as the two stalk up to you, Benny, and Ethan. “Who will it be?” 

“We were gonna do mega geek over there,” the guy said, nodding toward Ethan, but then he points to you. “But what about her?” he asks his friend. 

The girl, the absolute bitch, throws her head back and laughs. “Her? Are you kidding? She’s a slut, no way am I drinking her blood. We need a virgin, not some high school whore, remember?” 

Your mouth drops open, “Well fuck you too! At least I got hot while I was still in high school. You wanna be eternally 17? I feel sorry you need a do-over when some of us got it the first time around.” That might not have been the best response, you think as she backhands you across the face, but it felt damn good to say. 

“Leave her alone,” Benny growls, eyes flaring, and wow, that’s hot. “Do not talk about her like that, I swear to god.”

The guy taunts Benny. “Oooh I think lover boy here just offered himself up! Gimme your arm, nerd.”

They aren’t gentle as they take Benny’s blood. You send them death glares every time he winces and hope this ridiculous ordeal is over soon.

You watch as they mix the blood into the chalice. They chant in terrible latin, and finally, they drink, draining the cup dry.

The air is still as you wait for a long moment.

Suddenly, they’re both doubled over in pain, clutching all over their bodies and heads, screaming so forcefully the veins in their forehead pop out. 

“We’re sorry!” the girl shrieks. “We don’t know what happened!”

The guy falls to his knees. “We didn’t mean to insult you—we did everything right, we promise!” 

“What do you mean,” the girl wails, and she spits up black. You realized then that someone must be talking to them in their heads. Him, possibly? 

The guy is shaking on the ground; he has the same black liquid spilling out of his mouth, and you know then that it’s blood. His eyes lock on Benny, and he began to crawl toward him.

“You!” is all he can gurgle out before he disappears in an ashy poof. The girl gives an ear shattering shrill, and a second later, she’s gone too. 

Sarah, Erica, and Rory emerge from their hiding place, instantly moving to free the rest of you from your bonds. 

“What just happened?” Ethan sputters. He didn’t expect that. What the fuck. 

“They messed up the ritual,” you smile. 

Ethan frowns. “Really? I don't see how.” 

Rory laughs and puts an arm around Ethan’s shoulder. 

“It’s because Benny took a trip to Bonetown,” he snickers, and you punch him in the shoulder as hard as you can. 

Rory makes an offended face at you. “Ouch! What was that for? I was just answering Ethan’s question.”

“Rory,”  You speak calmly, eyes closed. “Shut. Up.”

“What! We should all be thanking you! I mean, if it wasn’t for you, they totally would’ve summoned the Devil. Unless they chose Ethan instead but—”

“Rory, look! There's Shadow Ninja!”

The blond vampire squeals and tears off toward the tree, freeing his very much alive, but incredibly pissed off, feline friend. 

Only, the damage is done. 

You seek out Sarah and Erica, but they just shrug and chuckle awkwardly at you before vamping away. Rory, once he comes back with the squirming cat in his arms, senses the sudden tension he unwittingly created, and after a few seconds of deliberation decides the smartest move is to do the same. Jerks, all of them. 

You really, really wish Ethan wasn’t as clever as he is. You know the instant the explanation dawns on him. His mouth drops wide open and he points to Benny, who gives him an awkward smile. Then Ethan points the accusatory finger at you, and all you can do is pinch your lips together and watch him freak out.

“You—but how—why didn't you say—but that means—you exploded them with sex?”

He shakes his head and spins around, walking away to fetch Jane and muttering to himself like mad. Poor guy.

You and Benny are the only ones left of your ragtag group still lingering, so you walk to his house, and when you reach the steps, you can’t take it anymore. You blurt:

“We didn’t even kiss.” Benny stares at his shoes and bites the inside of his cheek. “We didn’t, so I didn’t know if you actually liked me or not. It was good, it was so fucking good. I should've stayed. I wasn’t thinking when I left the other day. I hate the morning after talk but you deserved so much better than what I gave you. I’m sorry. I like you Benny, I really do and I want to make this work.” You keep rambling, just saying what comes to mind and you’re still rambling when Benny cups your face in both his hands and pulls you into a blessedly mind numbing kiss. 

It’s everything you ever wanted. It's soft and sweet, yet firm and demanding, just like Benny. Your mouths move together skillfully, slotting together like they were made for it, and you’d like nothing more than to kiss him until you can’t breathe any longer. 

He pulls back slightly, lingering in your space, breathing in your air. 

“If I invite you in, will you stay this time?” 

You don't have to think. 

It had been two weeks since Edward and Bella returned home from their honeymoon. Her belly had grown tremendously since their return and Carlisle had no way to see what was inside.

Ultrasound and needles weren't able to penetrate the embryonic sack, but blood tests showed that she was definitely pregnant. Carlisle questioned Edward when they returned home, trying to discreetly assess for whether or not he was sick.

Carlisle was relieved to find out that whatever illness Y/N had was not passed on to Edward. Carlisle still decided to keep Y/N away from the rest of the family in case her sickness was contagious. He didn't need anyone else getting sick in the home, he already had his hands full with Y/N and Bella.

Y/N hadn't been able to keep down animal blood since that day in the woods, she started to desiccate as her body dried out. Carlisle was able to procure human blood for her and it seemed to be the only thing she could stomach for the time being.

Carlisle was uncomfortable with the idea of offering her human blood, but he didn't have another choice.

She stayed in her bed for days on end as her body continued to grow weaker and thinner, dark bags appearing beneath her eyes. Carlisle offered her more blood, but she was continuing to lose weight and he was at a complete loss as to what she could possibly need. In a desperate attempt to try something, he brought her a lone piece of buttered toast.

She looked up at him when he set the plate on the nightstand, "What the hell is that?" She questioned.

"Food," Carlisle said, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.

"I need blood, not carbs," Y/N grumbled.

"Blood isn't helping you. Try it," Carlisle said, picking up the plate and holding it up in front of her.

She grimaced at the smell, turning her head away, "Don't be like that," He said.

"It stinks," Y/N mumbled.

"You need to try it," Carlisle pressed.

"Did Edward ask about me?" Y/N questioned, attempting to change the subject.

Carlisle sighed, lowering the plate slightly, "He is focused on Bella right now," Carlisle said.

"Who are you focused on?" Y/N asked.

"I'm looking after both of you," He stated, raising up the plate again.

Y/N glanced between him and the slice of toast before reluctantly reaching up and taking one of the four triangular slices. She looked down at it with disgust before taking a small bite and chewing it slowly.

Carlisle watched her, smiling softly when her stomach growled. She began to eat the toast faster, finishing the entirety of it in minutes.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

"I need more," Y/N stated.

"I'll get you more," Carlisle assured, standing up from the edge of the bed. He moved across the room, stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind himself.

"What's wrong with her?" Edward asked.

"Edward, you should be with Bella," Carlisle said, keeping himself between his son and the door to Y/N's room.

"Alice was thinking about it. Why didn't anyone tell me?" Edward questioned.

"She told us not to," Carlisle stated.

"Can I see her?" Edward asked.

Carlisle shook his head, "I'm still not sure if what she has is contagious and I can't risk exposing anyone else," He said.

Edward glanced down at the plate, "Did she eat whatever you brought her?" He asked.

"She did," Carlisle nodded.

"Can you keep me updated?" Edward asked, shifting slightly on his feet.

"Of course," Carlisle said.

"Good," Edward replied, turning around and making his way back down the hallway.

Carlisle brought Y/N as much food as she could possibly stomach before he connected her to some IV fluids. He took her vitals and was happy to find that she was doing much better with some food and fluids in her system.

After a few days of calorie-dense meals and intravenous fluids, she was able to function almost normally again. One unfortunate side effect was the need to use the bathroom, which she had not dealt with for a very long time and found to be an incredible annoyance. Her vitals had shown an increase and were finally within the normal range for humans.

She had shown a significant improvement and Carlisle found himself focusing on Bella as her health had continued to decline. The fetus had been starving Bella and breaking her bones.

No amount of IV fluids or food had been able to improve Bella's situation and it was likely that her heart would give out before delivery. Bella had been constantly exhausted and nauseous, but had nothing left in her stomach to throw up.

She was wildly gaunt and pale with almost every bone poking up through her skin. The child was going to kill her, but Bella insisted that Carlisle could change her at the last second.

...

Y/N quickly found herself bored and annoyed at the prospect of being trapped in her bedroom. She stood out on the balcony, staring down at the ground below while silently pondering how many bones she would break if she jumped.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Someone said.

Y/N turned around quickly to find Edward standing in the middle of her bedroom. His eyes were dark and she wondered how long it had been since they had fed.

"Too long," Edward stated.

"What are you doing in here?" Y/N asked.

"I needed to see you," Edward said, taking a few hesitant steps towards her.

"Isn't your wife dying in the next room?" Y/N questioned.

"She is dying and it's my fault," Edward stated.

Y/N stared at him for a moment, caught off guard by his statement, "Wow, I really wasn't expecting you to take accountability for killing your wife," Y/N said.

"Can you talk to her?" Edward asked quickly.

"You do know that she has done every single thing I have told her not to do, right?" Y/N questioned.

"I don't know what else to do," Edward admitted.

"You must be really desperate to be coming to me for help," Y/N said.

"I am... Please, I need you," Edward pleaded, taking her hand in his.

She grimaced at the tightness of his grip and he quickly released her, "I need your help, Y/N," He repeated.

"I can't help you," Y/N replied.

"Can't or won't?" Edward snapped.

"Won't and don't really want to... If you haven't noticed, I have my own problems to deal with at the moment," Y/N said.

The door to her bedroom opened and Carlisle stepped inside, "Edward, you need to leave," He ordered.

"Fine," Edward muttered, storming out of the room.

"Are you alright?" Carlisle questioned, closing the door.

"I'm fine. He just came to beg for my help," Y/N replied.

"He's desperate, Y/N. You can't fault him for that," Carlisle said.

"I told him that something terrible would happen if he married her. It just happened in a different way than I expected," She said, crossing her arms.

"He's your friend," Carlisle stated.

"He's an idiot," Y/N corrected, sitting down on the chaise.

Carlisle made his way over to her, "Be gentle with him. He's fragile right now," Carlisle said.

"I've never been that person and you know that," Y/N said.

Carlisle wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm, she held up her other hand and he placed the probe on her finger. Carlisle turned on the machine and the cuff began to inflate as he took her temperature.

"Can I get out of here soon?" Y/N asked.

"No talking," Carlisle instructed, watching the screen of the vitals machine.

He wrote down the values as they popped up, "We still have no idea what you have, Y/N. It also doesn't help that the wolves are watching us. If you leave the house, you'll surely be torn to shreds in your state," Carlisle said.

He removed the cuff from her arm and took the probe from her finger, "I hate this room," She stated.

"I wish I could help you, but we need you to stay here for now," Carlisle said.

"This house is a prison," She grumbled.

"You'll survive," He smiled, putting the items away on the vitals machine.

"What if I don't? What if I die in this room and you wouldn't even let me go to the kitchen in my own home?" Y/N asked.

"Don't say things like that. Your vitals are stable and you're doing well," Carlisle assured.

Y/N rolled her eyes, "I'm climbing the walls, Carlisle. My god, if you're not sick at this point, I obviously can't infect anyone else," She said.

"I'll think about it," Carlisle replied.

"Think faster," Y/N grumbled.

Carlisle smiled, "You never have been a very patient person. I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised by your persistence," He said.

"Now that I can't use mind control, I'll just have to annoy you into letting me go free," Y/N said.

"I've dealt with you for a very long time, Y/N. I don't think there's anything you could do that would surprise me," Carlisle said.

"Don't challenge me, Carlisle," Y/N replied.

"I'll bring dinner in an hour. I trust that you can keep yourself busy until then," Carlisle said, Y/N nodded.

Carlisle stepped out of her bedroom, closing the door behind himself. Y/N stood up from the chaise quickly and rushed into the bathroom.

She moved her tongue around in her mouth before hesitantly reaching in and pulling out a bloody tooth. Y/N looked at it with disgust before her eyes found her reflection in the mirror.

Her mouth began to fill with blood and she spit into the sink, her eyes glossed over with panicked tears when she saw another tooth in the bottom of the sink. Y/N picked them up quickly and wrapped them in toilet paper, stuffing them into the bottom of the trash can. Y/N washed out the sink, rinsing the blood from her mouth before returning to her bed.

She laid down with a grimace, dragging the blankets over her body before settling against the mattress. Y/N's body was falling apart around her and it was infuriating, her joints ached terribly and her hearing was beginning to fail. Carlisle believed that she was doing well, but she wasn't and she didn't want him to know.

Edward clearly couldn't see anything beyond his own issues and Y/N was grateful for that. Edward was begging for her help while on his downward spiral that would ultimately lead to Bella's death. The hell spawn that grew in her belly would be the end of everything and Edward seemed to understand that. Edward wanted to hear Y/N tell Bella that she was making a terrible mistake, but nothing was going to change her mind.

Bella thought that she could have this perfect child and change into a Vampire at the last second. It was completely ridiculous, but she was stubborn and not even her husband could change her perspective on that.

Y/N was dying and she didn't want to spend the rest of her days under a microscope or trying to talk Bella out of something that everyone already knew was a mistake. Carlisle wasn't going to be able to save either of them and Y/N was the only one who was willing to admit that.

...

Y/N sat in her bed with her back leaned against the headboard as she read from her book. She heard some yelling, but couldn't make out what anyone was saying. The curiosity eventually became too much for her and she closed her book, setting it aside before she stood up.

Y/N made her way over to the door, opening it and lingering in the doorway as she heard more screaming. She leaned out into the hallway, looking both ways before slowly venturing out. Y/N made her way out to the living room, immediately spotting a broken Styrofoam cup on the floor in a pool of blood.

Y/N continued on passed the gory scene and made her way into the kitchen. She looked through the fridge before moving on and checking the cabinets for something to eat. Y/N huffed when she found nothing, returning to the fridge and opening the freezer.

"Oh, yes," She muttered, pulling out a small pint of ice cream.

Y/N grabbed a spoon from the drawer, hopping up to sit on the counter as she took the lid off. Y/N ate her ice cream silently as she listened to the screams from wherever everyone had run off to in the house.

It was obvious that something was happening with Bella, but Y/N couldn't be bothered to go and check on them. She paused in her snacking when the screams eventually stopped.

"Sweet serenity," She sighed, taking another scoop of the ice cream.

Y/N watched as Rosalie suddenly rushed by carrying a newborn baby wrapped in a blue towel.

"Is she dead?" Y/N questioned, Rosalie whipped around at the sound of her voice.

"You shouldn't be out of your room," She stated.

"Not like anyone's here," Y/N replied, gesturing to the empty room with her spoon.

"You still shouldn't be out here," Rosalie huffed.

"Did she die or not?" Y/N repeated.

"She did. Edward gave her the venom, but her heart had already stopped," Rosalie said, Y/N nodded and took another bite of her ice cream.

"You know, I usually do my best to stick up for you, but this time you are the one in the wrong. Edward has been awful to you, but he needs you right now and you should be there for him. You shouldn't be sitting here and listening to his wife die," Rosalie said.

"It's not like I can help him, Rose," Y/N stated.

"Nothing can help him. Bella is dead. But he needs someone to lean on right now," Rosalie said.

The infant squirmed in her arms and she looked down at them, "It's a girl. Bella decided to call her Renesmee," Rosalie said.

"That's an awful name," Y/N stated.

"It is, but Bella picked it," Rosalie replied, "I need to get her washed up, but you should go and see him," Rosalie continued, Y/N nodded.

Rosalie made her way into the bathroom while Y/N hopped down from the counter. She set her spoon in the sink and tossed the ice cream back into the freezer before following the panicked voice of her friend.

"Please, please, please, please," Edward whispered softly to Bella. He moved over her body, biting into her flesh while her lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling. Y/N lingered in the doorway awkwardly, taking in the scene in front of her.

Edward's shirt and face were covered in Bella's blood, his blood-stained hands were trembling as he cupped her cheeks, "Come back to me, please, baby. Bella, Bella, please, please," He mumbled shakily.

"Edward," Y/N said.

He looked up at her with wide eyes, "I was too late," Edward mumbled.

"I'm sorry," Y/N replied.

He stepped away from her body, moving over to his friend and pulling her into a tight embrace. Y/N grimaced at the feeling of Bella's blood soaking into her shirt before slowly wrapping her arms around his neck.

"She's gone and it was my fault," Edward mumbled, gripping onto the material of her shirt.

"You're going to be okay," Y/N assured.

He pulled away suddenly when he heard the sound of the Werewolves approaching in the forest, "What is it?" Y/N asked.

"They're coming," Edward mumbled, "Get up to your room and don't come out," He instructed.

"Alice! Jasper!" He yelled, returning to Bella's body and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Alice and Jasper rushed down to meet him while Y/N reluctantly returned to her room. She washed the blood from her skin and changed her shirt before sitting down on the edge of her bed. Y/N couldn't hear what was happening outside and it was absolutely killing her.

She could hear the growling of the Wolves, but not much else and then she heard absolutely nothing. It was completely silent and Y/N stood up, lingering in the middle of her room as she waited for something to happen.

Had everyone been slaughtered? Were the Wolves searching the house for the child? Would they kill her if she was found?

Maybe it would be a more forgiving death than the one she was destined for. Y/N's heart began to race as she heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

harry's expectations of university weren't very high to begin with, but he didn't expect it to be this shit.

there were limited options for him since he had no desire of leaving the U.K. to further his career as an auror. and since the only 2 schools that offered a program for him were either an old, run-down campus in the middle of nowhere or an overpopulated city school known for its infamously average quidditch team, his decision wasn't difficult.

the dorms, however, made him reconsider entirely.

though harry was grateful to have a solo room, it was entirely bleak and smelled vaguely of mildew. one tiny window he's unable to open past a few inches and a depressing overhead fluorescent bulb was enough to have him searching the other university's dormitory information, only to be just as disappointed with the result.

harry gets over it quickly, as it becomes fitting to his mental state at the time. plain, cold, and unforgiving, harry feels like it's what he deserves to live in after everything he's seen.

to say harry hadn't been doing well after the war was a criminal understatement. his whole life had been leading up to and dedicated towards killing voldemort before he killed harry first. in that time, he held a purpose and drive to fulfill everyone's expectations of him. and, once he did, he was left with nothing.

voldemort had consumed harry's entire life, and the lives of everyone around him as well. though they technically both died, harry had the choice to live again. after he made that choice, he was never the same.

the relationships around him were changed forever. he lost friends. he lost family. he lost himself. and yet, life continued.

applying for university felt so silly to harry at the time. he had just fought in a war and died, and now he had to sign up for 9 a.m. transfiguration classes. to say he was uninterested was putting it lightly.

it didn't help that he knew no one there. it was nobody's first choice school by any means, and it didn't exactly have the best reputation. his classmates fizzled out into other schools or already had jobs, like ron…

ron and hermione. seems like lately wherever hermione went, ron followed. of course she got accepted into some of the most prestigious schools of magic in the world, with some practically begging her to pick them over the others.

in the end she chose westminster, a legendary university along the northern ireland coast that saw many great members of the ministry in its time. harry's school was practically the furthest it could've been from her all things considered.

ron worked for the ministry office in the area like his father, though he was more like an assistant or secretary than an active member. still, he was paid well and ultimately he and hermione were able to find a place near both of their priorities that worked well for them.

harry knew he wouldn't see them very often at this point. no matter, his relationship with them had long since changed, and not for the better. ron had lost his brother and hermione had lost her parents. once the calm settled after the storm, there was a lingering tension between him and them that went unmentioned for over a year before they split ways silently.

harry still talked to hermione towards the end, mainly to discuss ron and his grief. harry knew the growing coldness between him and his friend wasn't unjustified. harry felt a level of guilt that he previously thought was impossible when it came to fred, and though ron never out right blamed harry, it was just never the same between them.

harry knew their relationship wasn't completely at a loss. like hermione told him, it just needed time. once they both process what happened they can always come back to each other.

but for now, harry was alone. completely and utterly alone.

his first day of classes were confusing, boring, and packed with students. seriously, every seat in every lecture hall was filled, and the hallways were just a mess. the sidewalks weren't much better with too many people being too loud, walking too slow or too fast. in the end, harry was exhausted by the time he showed up for his last class of the day.

another packed room despite his effort to be there earlier than he planned. rather than a lecture hall like all his other classes that day, this last one was set up with plenty of tables and cauldrons. potions. harry loved this class at hogwarts. as his eyes scanned the room for an empty seat, he felt eyes fixated on him from every direction.

though he looks like the same harry potter everyone's read about, he's completely different now. his once bright eyes and radiant smile have been replaced with eye bags and unkempt facial hair. both his short beard and his overgrown hair gave him a messy, disheveled appearance that was rougher than people remember. but, as always, the glasses had never left, and neither had his scar.

ignoring the curious glances and whispers, harry takes a seat towards the middle of the room at an empty table. as more students filed in, his table became the last place to sit. he couldn't help but feel like an outsider, his first day and he already had a reputation.

as the final bell rings, the last student comes walking through the doorway.

it's you.

you're walking quickly, rushing into the classroom just as the ringing of the bell comes to an end. right behind you is the professor, a man of small stature with an impressive beard yet bald head.

"ms. [y/l/n]." he simply states.

you stop in your tracks, a look of defeat crossing your face as you slowly turn to him.

"professor rodden." you respond cheerfully. "it's nice to see you."

he looks unimpressed with your tone.

"we should try to be a bit more punctual next class period, hm?" he asks condescendingly.

harry is taken aback by the immediately intense interaction between the two of you. there's clearly an established relationship there that doesn't seem to be positive.

he can't see the look on your face as your back is turned to him, but he can hear the forced smile in your voice as you cordially respond, "of course. my apologies."

you turn on your heel, facing harry as you quickly find your seat across from him at his table. with all eyes on you, harry looks away and at the front of the room towards professor rodden.

rodden had an indistinguishable look on his face about the situation, but quickly moved on with introducing the class. as he shut the door and began writing on the board, harry took a moment to look back at you.

somewhere in that time you had pulled out a book and ink pen as you began taking notes. your hair fell around your face as you concentrated on your penmanship; a slight furrow of your brows and pursing of your lips.

you were gorgeous. he couldn't deny it.

something about the way you got lost in your notes was so mesmerizing to him. the intense exchange between you and the professor seemed to have no effect on you as you continued to scrawl your thoughts onto parchment. harry couldn't imagine himself being so calm as to just begin jotting down notes immediately after such a conflict.

his eyes flickered from your concentrated expression to your ferociously moving hand, writing line by line in succession without so much as a second's pause. he had to admit he was impressed with you, but he wasn't quite sure how to describe it.

finally, you felt his curious gaze on you.

looking up at him, harry's struck with how beautiful your eyes were. his heart jumps along with his stomach, he's never had such a physical reaction to someone's features before. you're just, so…right. like everything about you just makes sense together.

harry's used to people recognizing him pretty quickly, mostly before he even sees them first. it almost feels like having a big sign taped to his back that says "harry potter, the boy who lived twice". but, you…you just looked at him. simply looking, nothing more.

he felt so see-through at that moment, like you were looking right past him. he could feel his heart thumping, and would be surprised if you couldn't hear it for yourself.

you give him the most casual smile in the world, barely an acknowledgement of his existence in that moment, and yet it fills him with something entirely warm and familiar. he's sure he looks completely lost staring at you, turning his head at the last moment to relieve you of his gaze.

it's a simple, introductory, first day of class. you're all let out half an hour early with no assignment other than to show up for the next, real class on wednesday.

as you're packing up to leave, harry is back and forth between introducing himself to you or letting you leave. surely you'll talk to him at some point during this class, right? especially if no one else seems to sit with you two for the rest of the semester.

but, as you turn your back to him to leave, he makes the split second decision that he can't let you leave without a proper introduction.

quickly gathering his books, harry follows you out the door along with the ridiculous amount of students flooding the halls. scrambling for a reason to talk to you, harry catches up to your left side as you look over at him with surprise.

"how does rodden have it out for you already, hm?"

it's a genuine question he has, but he's not sure it's a great topic to bring up during your first interaction.

looking up at him as you both walk away from the classroom, your cheeks go red as you chuckle dryly to yourself and look away. "oh, arthur?" you ask.

harry's shocked. not just at the way you're looking at him, but the boldness of calling your university professor by their first name so casually. he doesn't know how to respond.

"he's a total wanker," you say with a smirk. "had him 3 semesters in a row now and he just…ugh," you groan, rolling your eyes. harry is even more at a loss. he's surely never called anyone a wanker, let alone a professor, but he can't help himself from laughing at your frustration.

"oh? what's so bad about him?" harry asks as he continues to follow you outside, a cool breeze blowing your hair back in the most cinematic moment harry's ever experienced in real life. as you look up at him, your eyes catch the sunlight and practically melt him on the spot. his breathing hitches at your shy smile and rosy cheeks, and he just couldn't understand how a human could look like that so casually.

"honestly, he's not so bad. he's actually quite a good professor…" you say with a twinge of guilt, turning to look ahead of you. "he just doesn't like me, i guess. we don't see eye to eye, to put it kindly." you laugh it off.

harry doesn't understand. you seem like such a pleasure to be around, and he's only known you these past few minutes. how could anyone dislike you? especially when they're looking into those eyes.

he continues to walk with you, asking about your classes and what your schedule's like. no other classes together, to harry's disappointment, but it's because you're a year above him.

"wow, have any advice for a first year, then?" he asks. it feels like a bit of a silly question, but he just wants to keep talking to you.

you chuckle, like you do after everything he says. he's not sure what to make of it, hoping it's that you truly do find him that funny. "well, i guess i would just tell you to study constantly, keep to yourself, but don't take any shit." you smirk at him again.

he likes that advice. he can already tell you're the type to not let anyone push you around, like with rodden. he likes that about you. you're a bit more confident than him, and you're not afraid to be bold despite your naturally sweet, gentle nature. you're funny, witty, intelligent, and, of course, unbelievably beautiful.

harry just keeps coming back to it through your walking and talking together. every time he looks at you he instantly loses his place in time. it's like everything goes quiet for just that split second that you're looking at him. he's never felt like this, but he's practically addicted to the feeling after the 10 minutes it took for him to walk you to your next class.

before parting ways, he asks for your name. "well, it's nice to meet you then, [y/n]. i'm–" "harry, right?" you ask sarcastically, giving him a cheeky smile. normally that answer would have left him defeated, you already knowing who he was, but for some reason, it didn't feel so bad this time. you never acted like you knew him once this whole conversation. you just let him talk and ask questions without feeling like he was anyone special.

well, of course he felt special. when you looked at him, that is.

he didn't want to let you leave, it physically hurt him to say goodbye. but he wasn't about to creep you out already. no, he had to make a good impression with you. so, he simply turned around and walked away, knowing he would see you again soon.

and as harry walked to his potions class that next wednesday, he had the biggest pep in his step he's had in a while. you'd think there was a tree full of presents waiting for him in that classroom the way he practically jogged through the maze of people between him and you.

as soon as he walked in, he saw you.

how could you get even more beautiful than you were before? he's actually taken aback for a moment as he makes eye contact with you. his heart is so loud in his ears it's deafening. as he slowly makes his way towards the table left for you two, he can't help the goofy smile that spreads across his lips.

"[y/n]." he says, letting it roll of his tongue. you smile warmly at him, your eyes softening. "harry. it's nice to see you again," you chirp.

he's just mesmerized by you yet again, the way you say his name is like a song he never wants to turn off. he's pretty much in complete awe of you as he sits across from your seat.

you chat a bit before class starts, an introduction to your first experiment. professor rodden explains that each table of four will split into partners for each assignment. as harry instinctively looks at you, he's already meeting your eager gaze.

he can't help it when he smiles like a fool at you. he can just hardly believe someone as amazing as you would want to spend even more time with him.

after class, you gush to harry about how excited you are to be potion partners together. his face completely flushes as he tries to return the sentiment, thanking whatever luck he has in this universe to be deserving of this opportunity to be with you all semester, twice a week at least, not including outside studying and walking you to your next class.

that night, after exchanging numbers with you to "discuss class", he finds himself staring at the number you scrawled on a ripped piece of notebook paper along with your name. he just holds it for a while, tracing the curves of your name with his eyes. you're just so amazing to him in every little way.

weeks later, harry is a wreck.

you see, he's become, well…completely obsessed with you. every moment he spends awake is spent thinking about you. in the midst of hours-long homework sessions or mind-numbingly long exams, all he wants to do is think about you.

you two have become increasingly close over time, figuring out your commonalities and learning about each other's interests. you invited him to your dorm and he was amazed at your ability to dress up such a desolate space. it felt warm, inviting, and quickly became a common place for you two to spend your time together.

you also bonded over food, and would often meet up for lunches or dinners and sometimes even breakfast if you were up early enough to respond to his calls.

and you two were always studying together, you really inspired him to stay on top of his classes not only to keep up with you but to also impress you. he really admired your work ethic as a second year and would always ask for your help with assignments.

of course it was nice to have help, but he mainly just wanted you to sit closer to him, your breath hitting his cheek as you explained something complicated to him in your soft voice, pointing at the book that sat in his lap. you could read the most boring textbook to him and make it sound like the most interesting piece of literature in the world.

a lot of things he did were mostly just an excuse to have you pay attention to him in some way. if he felt a bit unwell, he'd play it up a bit to get your sympathy and a back rub. he still gets the most insane goosebumps thinking about your hands all over him.

if he was hungry, he was suddenly starvinggg and needed one of your amazing grilled cheese's made in the student common room kitchen. you would roll your eyes every time, reminding him that you don't do anything special to it, but he insists it's better because you make it specifically for him.

in short, he was head over heels for you. he pretty much knew that first day you two met that he was already smitten with you, but it took a while for him to fully realize just how deep he'd gotten himself into this.

not only had he learned your entire class schedule without asking you directly, he knew your schedule outside of class as well. not through any disrespectful tactics, he just so happened to always study at the library next to your dorm building with a perfect view of the door you go in and out of.

he also knew who all of your friends were, at least the ones he's seen you with so far. it's not difficult when the university yearbook practically gives away their books for free to get rid of them. that's also how he found out what clubs and organizations you're apart of, and knew exactly what to ask you to get you to talk about them with him.

see, some might see this and think harry's a bit creepy or overstepping some boundaries. and harry would agree.

he constantly feels guilty when it comes to his feelings for you. he's a complete gentleman when he's with you, but then he turns around and becomes this incessant stalker who needs to know what you're doing at all times.

that's not even the worst part. he feels so, so incredibly guilty about the thoughts he has of you.

harry's not one to feel shame from lust or masturbation, he doesn't have much experience with that stuff anyways so he never really understood the hype around it.

but now, things are different.

he's had random erections before, and he's gotten riled up from previous makeout sessions, but now, he was constantly horny.

all it took was an innocent look from you and he was hard. you often sat in your bed with him as you two studied and insisted on having a leg or arm touching him at all times, which made him completely hot and bothered. certain tones of voice you use or things you say to him can completely melt his brain on the spot.

this isn't meant to brag, harry felt truly awful for these one-sided thoughts. he felt like such a stereotypical man who thinks with his dick. the last thing he wanted was to make you think he saw you in a sexual way at all; he hated your stories about guys who only turned out to be sex fiends with no respect towards you. his blood boiled to think about it, actually, and swore to himself he would always be your friend first despite what he may feel towards you.

this is where the guilt was heaviest. you were constantly saying he was your best mate, one of your closest friends, someone you can really trust, and he held that so close to his heart. above all else, he cared about you so deeply. he wanted to keep you safe.

so when he started to think these thoughts or feel these feelings, harry beat himself up. how could he truly be a good friend to you if he was just so obsessed with you in every way?

you two had just finished up the last steps of your potion experiment for professor rodden's class in the library that harry frequented by your dorm building. as you and harry are talking and packing up to leave, you look out the wall of windows and laugh.

"hey, look. you can see my dorm perfectly from here." you say, pointing towards your building. harry freezes, feeling his mind go blank as you look back at him with a laugh. "little creepy," you say with a smirk, lifting your bag over your shoulder and the rest of your books in your arms.

harry is still frozen, terrified you're going to somehow figure out that that's exactly what he's been doing for the past month now.

"yeah, weird." is all he managed to get out.

as he walks you into your dorm, he barely has the door closed before you start taking your shirt off right in front of him, not even 3 feet away.

harry immediately turns around, letting the door close in front of him. "oh, sorry." he quickly mutters, his heart racing yet again. he didn't even see anything crazy, just the small of your back and the navy of your bra, but it was enough to immediately get him worked up.

he hears you laugh behind him, opening up your drawer. "you don't have to turn around, harry. i'm just changing my shirt." he can hear the smirk in your voice.

he's dumbfounded. all he's thought about for weeks is your body in front of him, and it's right here, and he can't bring himself to look. he feels each second pass by painfully slow, trying to answer himself as to why the fuck he's not turning around.

"okay, you can turn around now." you laugh as you roll your eyes at him. he slowly turns to you with an undoubtedly pale face and shocked expression.

you're standing at your drawer, new shirt fully on, and he can't help but feel a bit disappointed. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable by watching, but you seemed okay with it. he's a bit lost in his feelings before you start asking him about something completely irrelevant, taking his mind off the mini-show he just got for free.

that night he's lying in bed, room completely dark except his bedside lamp, and he's thinking of you. like always.

as he replays the moment you took your shirt off right in front of his eyes, he finds himself grabbing for his cock without even meaning to. his hand wraps around the shaft as he begins thrusting his hips, imagining it's your hand like he has so many times before. it only takes a few seconds of stroking and thinking about your blue bra before he's made a mess of himself.

cleaning up afterwards was always the most guilt-ridden part of the entire experience. it was bad enough he thought of you sexually and constantly got hard just from you looking at him or calling him a loser as a joke, but to actually jerk off to the idea of you is something else entirely.

he tried not to get too down about it, plenty of guys do this right? whats so wrong with it if it doesn't affect his relationship with you?

except, it does. harry doesn't know how much longer he can go without telling you how he feels. the guilt he feels every time you refer to him as your best friend, not knowing he spends almost every night cleaning up his own cum off his chest just from thinking about your smile. how would you feel finding out your so-called best friend had these perverted thoughts about you?

as harry falls asleep, he hugs his pillow and pretends its you, asleep in his arms, completely safe.

it's halloween, and harry's never been more excited.

you enthusiastically asked if you could do a matching costume with him, and he'd never been so quick to agree. wearing a matching costume with you to a university party was possibly the first step in becoming a real couple. he wasn't necessarily thrilled about going to a party, but he knew if he was with you he would enjoy himself no matter what.

you couldn't decide what you two should be until harry suggested pirates as a joke.

"oh my gosh, harry! that's perfect!" you said with a huge smile. harry laughed at you, shaking his head. "really? i was kidding." he deadpanned. you narrowed your eyes at him. "yes, really! i think it'd be so cute. and i have the perfect top."

harry gets excited once you say it's cute, and is just happy to be included in your plans.

you take harry shopping just a few days before the party to find pirate-like clothes and end up with a good collection of stuff. at the last minute, harry pays for everything you bought and you give him the biggest, warmest hug he's ever gotten.

yeah, that was enough for him to know this was worth it.

the night of the party, harry feels a bit ridiculous walking up to your dorm in such a billowy white button up and the most uncomfortable, oversized pants he's ever worn. to top it all off his bandana didn't look right on his head, so he embarrassingly knocked on your door and waited for your reaction to his failure of a costume.

when you opened the door, he was stunned into silence.

you were just. so. hot.

your hair was loose around your face under a perfectly tied bandana, an off-the-shoulder white top similar to his worn over a red lace bra, along with ripped fish net stockings under a tied skirt and, shit, a fucking garter wrapped around your thigh.

to say he was insanely turned on and completely stunned by your beauty was an understatement. he couldn't believe this gorgeous woman in front of him was dressed like this to match with him at a party in front of everyone. he just couldn't stop staring at you up and down, not caring if you noticed him practically drooling over you.

"you look so cute!" you exclaimed at the sight of harry standing at your door.

he looked up at you, your soft eyes wide with excitement as you clasped your hands together. you motioned for harry to come in and opened the door further for him. he slid past you into your dorm room, intentionally breathing in your scent as he did, and practically fell apart at the seams. he was so, so attracted to you right now.

"but, let me fix that bandana." you say with a giggle. he turns around and you're already reaching for his head. his breath gets caught in his throat as your arms wrap around his head, retying the bandana tightly just below his hairline. you pull away a bit and smile at him before looking down at his shirt, reaching for that as well.

harry carefully watched your fingers begin to unbutton his white shirt, his world stopping in its tracks in this moment. he was so lost until you said, "gotta show off the chest hair."

as you continue to adjust his shirt with the top buttons undone, he can't help but admire your body and outfit from this angle, this close. everything worked together so well on you, and fit you perfectly in every spot. he felt like such a joke standing next to you, who could ever compare to such a goddess like yourself?

on your way to the party just outside of campus, you felt chilly in just a skirt and cropped top. harry noticed instantly. "cold?" he asks. you nod, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you start to shiver. harry instinctively wraps an arm around you before he can even process what he's doing. "uh, is this any better?" he inquires.

you look up at him with those damn eyes, and he's lost once again. "a lot better." you say sweetly.

at the party, you stick with him for a bit until a few friends pull you away to do some shots. he gives you a reassuring smile as he tells you to go, and he watches your barely-covered ass as you run along.

and so do a few other guys.

harry notices at least 3 guys around him who watch you leave, and at least one of them makes some snide comment about you to a buddy. his blood boils like he's never felt before. he could feel himself tensing up as he imagined what he would do to them if they ever tried to touch you.

harry takes a deep breath and finds a bathroom, running some water over his face to calm down. you were not his girlfriend. not even close. but he felt like any other guy who looked at you was looking at what was his. he was there for you 24/7, he knew your favorite everything, he saw how beautiful you were in all your states, not just dressed up at some costume fraternity party, and though that gives him no right over you, he just couldn't help but feel protective over someone who means so much to him.

you find each other again at some point during the party, and you're a bit drunk. harry finds it somewhat amusing at first, but quickly hates the way those guys are looking at you again. so, he wraps your arm around his waist, tells you it's time to go home, and you mindlessly abide.

on the way home he's completely in awe at the feeling of your arm wrapped around his waist, and his around your shoulder. he felt like you looked like a proper couple, matching costumes and all, and he loved that thought.

as he walked you into your room, you immediately began stripping off your accessories. he was caught in that same predicament he found himself in not too long ago. does he casually let you unclothe in front of him or turn around and give you the privacy you deserve?

he quickly decided on the latter and turned away, making sure the door was locked for your privacy. you started giggling infectiously, stumbling around behind him. "you ok?" he asked with a smirk, amused at the sound of you struggling.

"no, need helppp," you whine, slurring your words slightly while still giggling. harry freezes. he hadn't even considered that you might be too drunk to get undressed by yourself. he's even more conflicted than before.

"m-my help?" he asked. obviously he knew the answer, he just didn't feel right taking your clothes off of you while you were intoxicated. "well duhh…" you giggled, taking another stumbling step behind him.

what should he do? if he says no you might feel like he's annoyed with you or doesn't want to help you out, when that couldn't be further from the truth.

before he can make a decision, you turned him around, his eyes landing on your glazed over eyes.

you had taken off the bandana and gotten your shirt partially off before asking harry for help. he's a bit startled to see you half dressed in front of him, but he quickly makes the decision to be professional and friendly about this situation.

he helps you take off your shirt the rest of the way, and unties your skirt around your waist. harry tries to divert his eyes as he does so to give you the most privacy possible in this moment, though his mind was pushing the most sinful thoughts he could muster.

his hands were shaky as he put both your skirt and top in the laundry, not even noticing how hard and fast his heart was beating until he took a moment to breathe.

just behind him, he hears you take a seat on your mattress. "can you take my shoesss pleaseee," you whine, sticking your left heel in the air towards harry.

the sight that beholds him in this moment is unholy.

you, practically naked except for your underwear and fishnet stockings, pointing a bright red heel at him with a pouty face as you wait for his help. he could devour you whole right here, right now. the fact that he hasn't kissed you yet tonight honestly had harry impressed with himself.

he nervously swallowed before reaching for your shoe, carefully sliding it off your foot as you gracefully lift the other leg towards him. he takes that heel as well and sets them next to your other shoes. he reaches in your closet for a big, comfy t-shirt and turns around to give it to you.

he sees you on your back, rolling around on the mattress, struggling to get your fishnets off, laughing to yourself as they get tangled on your legs. harry cant help but laugh at you as well, your carefree intoxicated state was just so adorable to him.

harry briefly helps you out of the stockings before handing you the t-shirt. "here, is this okay to sleep in?" he asks, putting the stockings on your dresser. "yeah!" you say cheerfully. "thanks, harryyy," you coo. harry immediately blushes, the way you carried out his name just made his heart sing. he was so lucky to be this close to you.

"gotta take this off," you say, pulling at the straps of your bra. harry nods and turns away. you giggle softly, grabbing for his hand. he turns to you in shock, looking down at your hand as you stand up from the bed.

"help me?" you ask seductively.

harry is frozen. are you meaning to be so overtly flirty right now? is this a bit from the alcohol? are you about to start laughing him off and put the shirt on anyway?

but you don't, you just patiently wait for his answer with puppy dog eyes. he glanced between you and the t-shirt in your hand, clearly a worried look taking over his expression.

"you don't have to," you say softly. that snaps harry out of his daze. "n-no, of course i'll help," he says eagerly. you smile again and turn around, gathering your hair to one side to get it out of the way for him.

harry has never been so aroused in his life. this is the most intimate he's ever been with anyone. he's never unclasped a bra before, and worries he's about to make a fool of himself in front of the most beautiful girl in the world.

but he soon figures it out and manages to unclasp it for you. "there you are," he assures you. you slowly turn around, your arms crossed in front of your chest as you hold the bra up. harry's completely infatuated with the delicious sight of you in front of him in this moment, but quickly diverts his gaze to an uninteresting part of the room.

"harry, do you want to see my boobs?"

harry snaps his head back at you with concern. his brows are furrowed and mouth agape. you have a genuine expression but your eyes are still a bit bloodshot.

"wh…what?" he choked out. he can't believe you asked that, even in this state. you've truly never showed interest in harry like this before, only subtle touches and looks that he interpreted how he wanted, but never anything like this.

well, unless you count the other day when you undressed near him.

but that was friendly, wasn't it? you were just changing, lots of friends change in front of each other. but this was completely different, you were purposefully exposing yourself to him. not only that, but you were asking him if you could, as if it wasn't the only thing he wanted in this moment.

"do you wanna see my boobs?" you ask again, giggling slightly.

harry blinks a few times, trying as hard as he can to not ogle over your body. this is all he's wanted, for months this is the only thing he's wanted, but right now just didn't feel right. you weren't fully aware of what you were doing or saying, and he couldn't, in good faith, continue further with this situation.

he carefully places his hands on your crossed arms, keeping them close to you as he talks.

"[y/n], you're drunk right now. and while i helped you get undressed, which was already a bit over the line, i don't want you to do something you'll regret."

you give him a look he can't quite decipher. your smile drops, your eyes focus, and your arms tense.

"i'm sorry," you say softly.

harry quickly reassures you. "don't be! seriously, don't be. i am so, so glad that you trust me enough to help you in this state. truly. it means the world to me, because i care about you so much." he gives you a warm smile.

you smile back at him. "then i hope you understand when i say i want to do this,"

you begin to pull your arms away from your chest, but harry is still holding them. he looks you in the eyes with worry, afraid of what you're about to do, yet more excited than he's been in a long time.

"but [y/n]..." he protests. "please?" you ask simply.

harry is reluctant, but he can tell you're going to be insistent, so he slowly lets go of your arms as you remove your bra from your body.

harry glances at your chest, his heart dropping. you're perfect.

perfect, perfect, perfect.

your skin looked so beautiful in the lowlight provided by your lamps and fairy lights. the curves of your boobs looked so soft and untouched. this was the first time harry was seeing tits in real life, and he was pretty sure this was the best they could possibly get.

he looks back up at your eyes, a shy smile spread across your expression. "beautiful…" harry whispers before he even realizes what he's saying.

you giggle, unfolding the shirt you handed him and swiftly pulling it over your head. "thanks, harry," you say so casually, turning around to make your bed so you can sleep in it.

he can hardly believe what's just happened. the girl of his dreams, the girl he'd practically been obsessed with for months, just willingly showed him her boobs for fun. though you were intoxicated and would most likely regret it tomorrow, hopefully not mad at him for letting it happen, he was still grateful that you felt that level of trust with him in any capacity.

what he wasn't grateful for, however, were these bloody pirate pants that gave him the most uncomfortable erection of his life. this was also definitely the hardest and most turned on he had ever been, so he's not sure if there's any comfort to be had in this moment anyway. while you focus on the bed, harry takes a step away and tries to calm himself down, thinking different thoughts to try and let the hornieness subside for just a bit longer.

as you plop into bed and begin getting comfortable, harry turns off a few lamps for you but keeps on the fairy lights in case you need the bathroom at any point.

"do you need anything before i head out, [y/n]?" he asks.

you sit up in your bed, a look of pain on your face.

"you're leaving me?"

harry is utterly heartbroken at the tone of your question. you sound so genuinely upset he immediately comes to comfort you, sitting on the edge of your mattress.

"oh, no, i-i won't if you don't want me to." he stumbles out. harry wasn't planning on staying, he was actually just imagining how good of a jerk he was about to have in 10 minutes, plus he's never technically stayed the night with you before. but he quickly pushes his perverted thoughts of you to the side and knows it's much more satisfying to him if he stays here and makes sure you're okay through the night.

you reach for the bandana that's still tied around his head and pull it off swiftly, leaving his hair disheveled. you throw it across the room with a laugh.

"sleepoverrrr" you cheer, patting the spot next to you on the bed. harry laughs with you, standing up and realizing he's still dressed as a pirate. "i didn't bring any clothes…" he says with a twinge of sadness.

you look at him confused. "you're a guy, just sleep naked." you say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. harry is a bit stunned at this statement but quickly laughs you off, going to your drawers to look for a pair of pants. besides, he's still slightly struggling with a situation in his boxers and being naked next to you wouldn't exactly help him out.

he eventually put together a shirt and pants combo that fit him comfortably enough to sleep in. "hope you don't mind," he says as he changes into them.

"not at all," you say, watching him change in the lowlight. there's something in your voice that makes harry feel feral, an overwhelming desire to just let go and release the tension between you two. at least, the tension he thinks is there.

he quickly gets dressed, setting his pirate clothes and glasses on your dresser as the sleep begins to settle into his bones. he crawls into bed next to you, and is quickly invited to join you under the covers. he's a bit reluctant at first, but realizes he doesn't have much of a choice as he starts getting cold.

within a few minutes of saying goodnight to each other, you and harry drift off to sleep together.

you're the first one awake, a splitting headache and dry mouth creating an unpleasant feeling immediately after opening your eyes. you rub the sleep away from them and reach for a glass of water on the nightstand next to you, sitting up a bit to sip slowly.

"good morning," a deep voice rumbles just beside you. you instinctively jump a bit before your brain quickly recognizes harry's tone and accent. as you turn to him, he's adorably disheveled wearing one of your university crewnecks under your blanket.

he smiles at you. he looks so different without his glasses on.

"morning, harry," you say groggily. the moment doesn't last long before another wave of your headache hits you, causing you to rub your forehead. you groan in pain. "what happened last night?"

harry's a bit frozen. this is exactly what he was afraid was going to happen. you don't remember anything from last night. he should've just dropped you off here and left right away, not even letting there be a chance of anything happening.

he's brought out of his thoughts when you look back down at him, a look of curiosity in your eyes as you continue to rub your head.

harry also sits up a bit before climbing out of bed, putting his glasses on from the top of your dresser.

"well…" he starts out nervously, scratching his head. "we went to the party," he says as he begins to stretch his back out.

"oh yeah, the party. we were definitely the best costumes there." you recall the night fondly. harry laughs nervously, worried about how you're going to react when you find out he undressed you and even saw you nearly completely naked in such an intoxicated state.

"right, yeah, of course." harry chuckles dryly. "but, um…at some point you left me and started drinking, so we didn't stay for long." he says carefully, his mind racing as he slowly, nervously paces between your bed and your dresser.

"classic," you chuckle, reaching for a hairbrush as you begin to comb through your knotty hair. "thanks for bringing me home, harry," you smile at him.

the guilt twists in his stomach like a knife, he can't believe how innocent you are. but he also can't believe what happened between you two last night, and just how eager you seemed for it to happen. he has to stop thinking about it before he gets turned on again.

"of course, [y/n], but, um…" he takes a deep breath before he continues. "you look cute in my jumper, by the way," you interrupt him, standing up from your bed as you begin to collect toiletries to take a shower.

his brain fogs from the compliment, but doesn't let it distract him from what he knows he has to tell you.

"well, thank you, but, um…" harry says with a blush.

you give him a confused look. "what's up?" you ask him. he's just going to come right out and say it.

"look, [y/n], i don't know if you remember, but…you asked me to help you get undressed last night because you were too drunk," he spits out, trying to immediately gauge your reaction before continuing. you just give him an even more confused look. "oh, well, thank you then. is that okay?" you ask incredulously.

harry stiffens. "yeah, um…i didn't mind helping, of course, it's just…" you giggle, opening the door to your en suite bathroom that's barely bigger than the shower within it. "harry, you're such a dork. do you actually feel bad for taking care of me when i was drunk?" you ask sarcastically as you set down various lotions and hair products onto the sink.

he cracks a small smile at you calling him a dork, but it doesn't last long. his heart settles a bit after hearing your positive outlook on the situation so far, but it doesn't stop completely.

"it's not that, um…but, uh, afterwards, you, well, kind of…" he awkwardly tried to find the words.

"you…showed me your boobs." not the most eloquent way of putting it.

your face goes pale. his stomach drops immediately.

"n-not by my request or anything!" he quickly reassures you (and himself). "it's just, i told you you might regret it, but you were insisting on doing it anyways…" he doesn't want to feel like he's blaming you when he was the sober one in charge.

"oh…" you say despondent, seeming lost in your thoughts as you search his expression. he gives you a moment to process what he's said. "yeah…" is all he manages to say.

you sigh. "i'm sorry, harry. it was wrong of me to force that on you." your apology is so sincere, and it immediately confused harry. force that on him? bloody hell. you really had no memory of just how much he enjoyed himself in that moment. harry's sure he looked like a kid at a candy shop just staring at your beautiful body in the warm light.

"what? no! i-i'm sorry i let that happen," he responds with a ridiculous tone. "i was the sober one, i should've tried harder to–""to what? stop a drunk girl from showing her tits? yeah, good luck with that one." you laugh, cracking a joke.

harry's nerves are much more calm. he's insanely grateful that you seem to be taking this news well and aren't angry with him.

"look, harry…" you start, adjusting your shirt around your shoulders. harry's been stealing glances of your delicious thighs and legs every so often as you talked.

"i'm really grateful for you. just in general, but for last night especially. you helped me out, and you were a complete gentleman, at least from what i can remember…" you joke with him. he cracks a smile too.

"so don't stress about it, yeah?"

harry lets out a breath of relief, physically feeling the weight of the situation lift from his shoulders. "yeah, of course. i'm really grateful you trust me like that." he's in awe of your grace in this moment.

you smile, stepping over to the laundry next to your dresser. you grab a shirt and some pants from your closet, and, before harry even realizes what you're doing, you drop your underwear you were wearing last night to your ankles, stepping out of them and walking towards the bathroom again.

"gonna shower for a bit," you inform him as you close the door behind yourself.

harry's left behind, staring at the door before returning his gaze to your panties.

they're red, much like your bra from last night, and he remembers taking note of them to keep in his fantasies later for accuracy. but now, here they were, just laying right in front of him.

he finds himself still staring at them when he hears you turn the shower on and step inside, closing the sliding glass door behind you. he looks at the door, and looks back at your panties.

for a while he just looks at them incredulously, not entirely sure why this specific detail has made him so irrationally horny. you were completely naked on just the other side of this wall, but he's practically mesmerized by the image of you casually sliding your red panties down your legs right in front of him like it wasn't the most erotic thing he's ever witnessed in his whole life.

before he knows it, the shower turns off. he's still left staring at your red panties. as he shifts his weight, he can see that they're a bit wet and slick in the light from you wearing them all night.

he can't take it anymore. his erection from last night has returned with a vengeance this morning. before harry could even realize what he's doing, he's picked up your underwear carefully, holding them between his fingers, your wetness still soaking through the cotton.

his heart is racing as he hears you brushing your teeth. what is he doing? if you caught him being perverted with your panties like this after just reassuring him that he wasn't in the wrong for what happened last night, he'd surely be on your bad side. but he can't stop himself.

he brings them to his face and takes a slow, deep inhale.

you smell completely divine. slightly sweet, slightly bitter. he gets goosebumps just thinking about how you must really smell. his erection is raging beneath your sweatpants he put on last night, feeling incredibly dirty from being so turned on by your used panties.

his stolen pleasure is too quickly interrupted by the sound of the bathroom doorknob jiggling. shit. as you're about to open the door, harry panics and shoves your panties into the pocket of his sweatpants.

you come out with freshly damp hair and raw skin. the wonderful smell of your shower products fill the room as you brush through your hair casually.

harry keeps a hand in his pocket over the panties so you don't have the chance of catching him, and to better conceal the raging boner that's not going away anytime soon.

you don't say anything as you place your toiletries back in their rightful spots, humming to yourself as you comb through your hair occasionally.

so casually beautiful, so effortlessly pristine. you amazed him every time with just how ethereal you could be at any given moment. a freshly clean angel fluttering around the room without a care in the world.

you begin complaining of your hangover headache and ask harry to get food with you. he's more than willing, his stomach already growling in response for him.

at breakfast, you sit in silence with harry as you both hungrily devour the pancakes you ordered. harry got you two glasses of orange juice to keep you hydrated after last night.

after a while, you inform him you have to go study, and he offers to help you. "thanks, but i can't be distracted. this exam is going to kick my ass." you complained to him. harry gave you a look. "i distract you?"

you laugh at him, leaving him at the lunch hall with a simple, "goodbye, harry. call me later."

when harry gets to his dorm room, he realizes he's still wearing your clothes. and, shit, he's still got your panties in his pocket.

harry slowly reaches for them, feeling a twinge of guilt and lust once his hand finds the fabric. pulling them out, he's in shock that he actually stole a pair of your panties. to be fair he didn't intend to, he just panicked and wasn't thinking straight.

but, now that he has them…

keeping the red lace hanging from his fingers, harry climbs into bed and begins to remember those unforgettable moments with you just the night prior. it doesn't take much to get him just as riled up as before, imagining the moments he was undressing you in slow motion. taking your heels off as you looked up at him with the most seductive eyes in the world. seeing the flesh of your breasts for the first time in the dim lighting, imagining how they'd feel in his rough hands. god, he feels so bad finding pleasure in these moments, but he physically can't resist it.

his hand is already wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking slowly as to savor the memories flashing through his brain. he's been aching for this release since seeing you in your costume last night, just another memory that brings him closer to the edge.

finally, he slowly brings your panties to his face. though they've since dried in his pocket during breakfast and the walk home, the lingering smell is still enough to drive him wild. he's breathing them in like it's oxygen and he's drowning.

just as he's nearing the end, he brings the panties to his other hand and begins stroking his cock with them. the sight alone is enough to break him, his cum spilling onto his hand and all over your red panties as images of your half naked body continue to infest his brain.

this time, the immediate guilt was the worst it'd ever been.

as he began to clean up, he realized just how much he ruined your panties in his excitement. his cum had soaked through the thin fabric and was already drying around it. he cursed himself for ruining such a sacred momento that he should've cherished, but also quickly cursed himself for thinking that way about you in the first place.

you even said yourself that harry was being a perfect gentleman last night. yeah, a gentleman with a raging erection the entire night who steals your used panties for his sick pleasure…

he continues to clean himself up, putting your panties in a safe place where nobody can find them and he won't lose them. even just the thought of them being in his possession was enough to get him riled up again.

it's the stressful time between thanksgiving and christmas where school has the two of you completely spread thin. harry's constantly writing essays while you seem to have endless lab experiments to finish for other classes. the one saving grace is your potions class together, twice a week. it's what kept harry sane during this chaotic time.

spending even just this short hour and 15 minutes with you is enough to fulfill harry. he hasn't properly hung out with you in nearly two weeks and was missing you like he was withdrawing.

sitting close to you to copy some notes about the potion you two are working on, harry admires your handwriting for the millionth time since he's met you. "i just don't understand how you write so well, i can barely read my own," harry jokes, holding out his notebook, making you laugh and blush.

the potion you're working on is one that allows the consumer to communicate with animals for a short period of time. it's rather complex, but harry helps you keep things organized and encourages you when you get frustrated.

"i just don't get it, how is it 3 drops and not 6? i swear it was 6 last week…" you groan, looking through your notes as you set down the tincture, rubbing your face, exasperated.

harry sets a reassuring hand on your arm. he's gotten pretty good at being more physical with you, and isn't afraid to touch you casually like you always have with him. "hey, [y/n], it's okay," he tells you, catching your eyes with his. "it's been a stressful week, yeah? just a mistake, no big deal."

you give harry that same, warm smile you delivered on your first day meeting him. he often looks back at that day fondly, forever grateful he got the sudden courage to talk to you after this class. not only were you now his closest friend, you were also the light of his life.

as harry finishes up, he hands you the round vial full of luminescent, purple potion. "here you are, test it out."

you take a small swig of it just as professor rodden makes his way to your and harry's table. next to the table is a bird's cage on a hook, with a sweet owl inside named jewel.

you make eye contact with the owl, and begin to speak. to you and everyone else it just sounds like regular english, but the owl begins to hoot and flap its wings at you immediately.

"hello, jewel, how are we feeling today?" you coo.

amazing, incredible, unbelievable! jewel's hoots become intelligible to your ear as you practically jump up and down with a huge smile on your face. "it worked, it worked!" you announced to harry, instinctively jumping in his arms for a hug as he spins you around excitedly.

"yes! you did it! see, i knew you could." harry exclaims, setting you down and giving you a toothy grin.

you look at jewel again, who is turning her head at you every which way. how nice, you and the boy! how sweet indeed! her loud hoots make the class silent as they watch you interact with her.

"what's she saying?" harry asks curiously. you give him a shy smile, feeling your face turn red. "she likes us." you're not totally lying.

"well, ms. [y/l/n], i must tell you i'm quite impressed. not just at how quickly you two perfected this potion, but of your performance this semester overall." professor rodden compliments you. he turns to harry. "i see mr. potter has been a positive influence on you this year."

harry quickly shuts him down. "actually, sir, if you don't mind me speaking out of turn, [y/n] has helped me way more this semester than i've helped her. she's brilliant."

professor rodden turns to you, a pale face and shocked expression, and gives you a smile. "well, then, hat's off to you, ms. [y/l/n]." he says, bowing to you before continuing with his rounds in the classroom. "thank you, professor rodden."

after class, you're all over harry, resting your head on him, hugging him, touching him randomly, but he's not complaining of course. he feels lucky enough that you're so comfortable around him as to be touchy feely.

"thank you, by the way. for what you said to rodden." you thank him as you two walk into your dorm room. harry takes his usual seat at your computer desk. "of course, i wasn't about to let that wanker give me credit for all of your hard work." harry says, laughing. he's become so much more confident with you, even using your lingo in his own vocabulary.

"no, really, thank you. just, for everything." you smile at him. "you're the best friend i could ever ask for."

harry feels his smile slightly falter. he's always reminded that that's all you are is friends, and while he's insanely grateful for your friendship, probably more than anything else in his life, he just can't help but feel a bit lost at this point. he's insanely attracted to you, ferociously protective over you, and, yet, can't bring himself to tell you any of this.

"you're welcome, [y/n], but if anything i should be thanking you. you don't even know how much you've helped me, not just with school but with everything. you're, like, the only friend i have at this point." harry laughs, but it's true. he's tried to make friends in other classes this year but has been disappointed each time, they're just not you.

you give harry a sad smile. "that's not true, ron and hermione are still your friends. more than that, they're practically your family." you walk over to him and run your hand through his hair, something you know he loves. he looks up at you slightly through his eyelashes.

"hermione's right, they'll come back to you one day. just give it some time, yeah?"

harry melts into your touch. nobody can settle his mind like you do. he didn't exactly look for pity from people, but you were someone he felt so safe with that he could be completely vulnerable in front of you. the reassurance and love that you provided him in these moments healed him in a way he didn't understand.

"right," he sighs, giving you the same sad smile.

you whine and pull his head into your chest, resting your own head on top of his. "awh, i hate seeing you so sad." you say sympathetically, still running your fingers through the back of his hair.

if harry's being completely honest, he's not sad at all anymore. how could he feel anything but pure bliss with his head buried in your sweater and your fingers leaving goosebumps throughout his scalp? he leans into you like a dog being pet, so desperate for your touch.

you stay like that with him for a while, just enjoying each other's company. harry found solace in your heartbeat, feeling truly at peace for the first time in weeks. "i've missed you." harry practically moans, intoxicated by your warm scent, his eyes fluttering closed.

you hum, smiling softly to yourself, feeling harry practically melt into your arms. "missed you too, harry," you coo, enjoying the feeling of being together.

"the semester's almost over, then it's christmas." you remind him, lifting your head as you look down at his closed eyes. he looks so peaceful resting against you.

harry smiles. almost christmas. but more importantly, almost your birthday.

harry very vividly remembers a conversation he had with you towards the beginning of your friendship about birthdays and how neither of you particularly enjoyed them.

your birthday fell close to christmas, so, inevitably, it became synonymous with christmas growing up. never really getting a separate party or separate presents, you learned to not expect much the actual day of, and to rather wait for christmas so you could be celebrated on the side.

harry was having none of this. he thinks you forgot about the conversation with him completely, but he's thought about it constantly since then. he's been planning on giving you a special birthday on your actual birthday this year, and he's practically dying to tell you. but he doesn't, and he won't, because it has to be a complete surprise.

"hm. christmas." is all he says, tilting his head back to look up at you. from every angle he finds you so fascinating, you just get prettier and prettier the more he truly looks at you.

you're gazing at him so gently, so warmly, your hand practically cradling his head against you. harry blinks and you're suddenly leaning forward, planting a soft kiss against his forehead.

harry could've died happy at that moment.

he brings his head away from your chest as you step away, soft smile and blushing cheeks. watching you turn and start folding laundry mindlessly, harry feels the lingering kiss tingling his skin.

for a brief moment, he imagines himself coming up to you from behind, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your neck, feeling you, pushing you to the bed…

harry quickly shakes his head, grinding his teeth at the horny urges he gets at the most simple actions. what other boys in university get an erection so quickly from a forehead kiss? sometimes harry felt like such a loser, not just with you, but with sex in general.

he never thought about it much before you, so it's not something he knows a lot about. he'd masturbated before, but not as often as he does now, or in the same way. usually he thought about making out with someone, maybe touching them, but now…he just felt so dirty, the things that his brain creates about you.

once you finish the laundry, you ask for his help to put stuff away. he's done this for you many times before, so he knows where you like everything to be.

he hangs up a few shirts and puts away some jeans and socks. he turns around to see you handing him a pile of your panties loosely stacked together. "here," you say as you're turned the other way, gathering another pile of clothes with your other arm.

harry is frozen for a second before reluctantly taking the underwear from you, immediately feeling his face flush.

he's instantly reminded of your panties sitting in his room right now. the panties he stole. the panties he masturbated with.

he's since washed them and keeps them out of guilt, partially, but he's not quite sure how to subtly return them to you. not like he wants to anytime soon.

as harry turns around and opens the drawer you put your panties in, he takes his time so he can admire all the different pairs in his hand. pinks, purples, reds, neutrals, blacks, he was practically holding a goldmine. it almost made him chuckle, the irony of you asking him to put these away.

he neatly tucks them into the drawer, admiring them one last time before slowly closing it.

for the first time that month, you and harry actually have the freetime to leave campus and get food together. your favorite diner is open all night and serves the best milkshakes either of you have ever had.

"how are we splitting the checks?" the older waitress asks, eyeing harry up and down. before you can say anything he tells her just one, handing her his card out of nowhere.

as she walks away you give him an evil look. "you don't always have to pay for everything, y'know? i'm perfectly capable of paying for myself or the both of us." you tease him. he smiles. "i know." he states simply.

you finish your milkshakes within minutes, handing your cherry to harry like you do every time. "cherry for harry," you always say. it always gets a smile out of him.

after a few minutes of chatting alone in the diner, the bell at the front door rings. you get a big smile across your face as you stand from the booth. "thomas?" you ask.

harry turns around to see a man in a quidditch uniform, his hair sweaty and book bag full to the brim. he's carrying his broomstick around, like a total tool if you ask harry, and gives you the cheekiest smile possible.

"[y/n]?" he asks.

harry could've killed him just for saying your name the way he did. like a predator hunting its prey again.

harry's anger immediately worsened when you practically jumped on this guy to give him a hug. nothing like the hug you gave harry in class today, he wants to note.

harry stood up, causing the guy to look at him. he had a scar as well, one from quidditch harry would assume. a slash across his left eye, healed but still somewhat recent.

you look back at harry as well, smiling at him. "harry, this is thomas." you introduce them.

yeah, he picked up on that. harry's face was red from anger.

he reluctantly steps forward, offering his hand to the douchebag who still kept a light hand on your shoulder. harry wanted to break his wrist when he went in for the handshake, but instead he offered a polite, "harry. nice to meet you."

the guy, thomas, gives a half smirk. "harry potter." he states matter-of-factly.

harry was sure his anger was visible at this point. it was enough that this guy was touching you and clearly had a past with you, but for him to pull the boy who lived card on him in front of you was enough to make his fists ball up.

"that's me." he says, his tone dripping in sarcasm.

there's an awkward moment of silence as harry continues to stare thomas down.

"so. how do you two know each other?" harry asks you, his tone and gaze softening just looking at you.

"oh! um…" you start nervously.

"we dated back in high school." thomas finishes for you.

of fucking course you did, harry thinks.

"yeah…for, like, 2 months…" you awkwardly laugh off, clearly not the most comfortable discussing this in front of harry.

thomas laughs with you as the waitress hands him a to-go box. "well, i'll see you guys around," he says as he hikes up his bookbag. "it was nice to see you again, [y/n]."

if looks could kill, this guy would've been dead long before he left out the door. harry knew he was visibly upset when you looked over at him.

"you okay harry?" you ask with a laugh.

he breaks, looking at you with a smile as he loosens his tight muscles. "sorry, i'm fine," he says.

as you both put your coats on to walk home, harry can't help but replay the interaction in his head. "dated…in high school…" "yeah…for, like, 2 months…"

harry's mind was swimming as you left the diner with him, walking into a light snow. "wow," you sigh, looking around you. harry looks up. it's beautiful out. the snow gives everything a light, soft look under the street lamps. he looks down at you and smiles at you admiring the scenery.

sometimes it scares harry how jealous he gets when it comes to you, and how quickly it can happen. that guy did nothing but say your name and give you a 2 second hug, and he actually dated you, so what right does harry have to get upset as just your friend? but all he can think about on the walk to your dorm is pummeling this guy's stupid face into the ground.

harry hadn't told you yet, but he had actually been going to the gym lately with all the time he had spent away from you during the busy school weeks. nothing too intense, he actually focused on boxing and lifting specifically because he wanted to be better prepared to protect you in case anything happened to you. and for self defense reasons, of course, but mainly for your benefit. he would do anything for you.

upon arriving at your dorm, you plop onto your mattress with a groan. "too much milkshake," you whine.

harry chuckles at you, shaking the snow out of his hair. "i told you not to get the large." he smirks. you frown at him, making him laugh again. "it's not funny! and you're wrong, i deserved a large after this month." you protest.

he laughs you off again, taking a peek at your alarm clock next to your bed. his eyes widen. "bloody hell, since when was it half past 11?" he asks astounded.

you laugh at his shock. "time flies when you're havin' fun,"

harry rubs his eyes. "if i don't leave now i won't get enough sleep to make it to my 9 a.m." he groans, not wanting his time with you to end yet again.

"nooo," you whine, clearly wanting the same. he gives you a sad look at your tone. "stay?" you ask.

harry's a bit taken aback. he hasn't stayed the night since the halloween party. thinking about that night for even a split second makes him break a sweat. it's his most replayed memory. he could even call it his sexual awakening at the ripe age of 19.

"stay? are you sure?" harry asks. you immediately nod your head, smiling at him. he can't say no to you, and he doesn't want to. he has no reason to leave, anything he needs is already here.

"well, if you insist." he smirks. you roll your eyes, taking off your jacket and hat and setting them in your closet. "i only insist because that snow is turning into a storm." you reply. you're not wrong, harry would've had to walk for 15 minutes through heavier and heavier snowfall, not to mention the windchill.

"well, thank you." he says. you smile back at him before reaching to take your shirt off. harry's seen you in multiple states of undress since the halloween party, so it's not uncommon for you to just change at any point during your conversations.

but that didn't make it any less pleasurable for harry.

sometimes he just sat back and watched like it was a personal show just for him. he would memorize the shape of your back and, shit, the curve of your ass. he watched as you pulled down your jeans, left in nothing but a bra and panties. he tried not to stare but it was impossible to look away for too long, your ass was just perfect to him.

before too long you unclasped the bra hooks behind your back and let the black fabric fall into the laundry. you slipped on a big t-shirt, your favorite thing to wear to bed, and harry caught just the slightest glimpse of your tits from behind you.

as you turned around, harry quickly began taking off his wet, snow covered converse to appear as though he wasn't just observing you like his own personal dirty magazine.

when he looked up, you were handing him some clothes to change into. he thanked you, grabbing them as he took off his jeans and sweatshirt. harry had also learned to be more comfortable changing around you, even if it wasn't as often.

harry put on the sweatpants and fresh pair of socks before realizing you hadn't given him a shirt. he looked over at you and you were already staring at him.

"harry, have you been working out?"

his face flushed, feeling exposed with just a pair of sweatpants on his hips. you were looking at his body with an expression of shock and amusement.

"u-um, yeah, a bit…just between classes, get some stress out." he's not entirely lying, but he could never tell you the real reason.

you smile at him, but a different smile than normal. you're almost…nervous? you've never been nervous around harry, even when you two first met.

"you look…good…" you say with a slight crack in your voice, still looking at him. harry can feel his blood pumping, and he knows that can only lead to an eventual erection, so he turns around casually pretending to fold his jeans. "oh, thanks," he tries to say casually.

he can still feel your eyes on him as he hangs his sweatshirt on your coat rack. "damn, harry. you're like…ripped." you say with genuine shock in your voice.

harry turns towards you, but you're fixated on his exposed torso. he nervously laughs, not sure how to respond. of course he thought getting stronger would mean his body would inevitably look better, but he cared more about his ability to fight off any creeps he needed to in order to keep you safe. however, he hadn't necessarily considered your reaction to his transformation. he had somewhat forgotten you also saw him change his clothes that halloween night. he thought you had forgotten too.

"i don't know about that," he laughs awkwardly.

you just giggle and look away, shaking your head. you climb into bed and invite him next to you. harry accepts and joins you beneath the covers, turning off a lamp beside him.

after a few moments of silence, harry could hear your shallow, even breaths indicating you're asleep. he looked down at you, peaceful, beautiful. he sat up as gently as possible and placed a soft kiss to your forehead. "goodnight, [y/n]."

it was finally your birthday.

harry had been planning this day for weeks. he made sure to ask you way ahead of schedule when you would be seeing family so he could time everything perfectly.

he had completely set up your room to look like a birthday party for a kid. balloons, streamers, a birthday cake and ice cream, presents, even fun plates and napkins.

you should be coming home from going out to eat with your parents for brunch in about 10 minutes. harry made sure to call you before you left early in the morning to be the first to wish you a happy birthday.

as he was waiting for you to arrive, he made sure everything was perfect, down to the last balloon. he had put your favorite cd on and even lit a candle. he's not quite sure why, he just felt like it was right.

soon enough, he could hear your keys on the other side of your door letting yourself in, so harry positioned himself beside your bed and waited eagerly for the reaction he'd been thinking about for months.

when you open the door, you're a bit startled to see him at first. "surprise!" he says with a suppressed smile, trying to contain his excitement.

your eyes slowly examine the room, your jaw dropping as you bring a hand to your heart. "harry…" you choke out in a small voice, still noticing different details around you as the door closes behind you.

"happy birthday." he says lovingly, taking in every second of your realization.

"you…how did you…" you can't even get the words out as you set down your purse and coat on your bed next to your presents from harry.

"i've been planning this for weeks. i wanted to give you the birthday you never had." he tells you.

you look at him with tears in your eyes, quickly looking away and towards your dresser. "you got me a cake…" you say tearfully, walking up to the custom cake he had placed an order for an entire week ago.

"we also have reservations for the diner at 5. if you'd join me, of course." harry smirks. you chuckle at him, jumping in his arms and enveloping him in a hug. "thank you…" you begin to cry into his shoulder.

harry holds you tight, dazed from your scent and enjoying the softness of your hair. he rubs your back softly as you get the tears out, letting you know it's okay.

you pull away, wiping your tears as you laugh at yourself. "sorry, i just…this is so amazing of you harry."

"don't be sorry. i'm glad you love it." he reassures you, making you smile. "let's have some cake, hm?"

after some cake and ice cream as well as messing with the balloons and party favors, it was time for harry's favorite part. the presents.

he sat you both down on your bed and savored each reaction you had to each present. every thank you was followed by, "how did you know i wanted this?" "how much was this?" "how did you get this?"

harry had his ways. and again, he would do anything for you.

his last present for you, though, was the most important. he kept it beside him until the very end, handing it to you with a shy smile. you lifted the lid off the box to reveal a beautiful necklace, one he saw you looking at multiple times while out shopping with you.

you were speechless. you looked at harry with the most genuine expression of shock, gratitude, and confusion. "harry…" you gasp. "you got this for me?" you ask.

harry chuckles. "do you like it?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"harry…you really shouldn't have…" you tell him, staring at the necklace in your lap. he smiles even bigger, the look on your face was already enough to convince him it was worth it. it was all worth it. "here, i'll put it on you."

you hand harry the necklace, turning and scooting towards him as you hold your hair to the side for him. he's immediately reminded of the night he helped you take your bra off.

he clasps the necklace together and you turn towards him, looking down at it with him. "wow, it looks great." he says with a smile.

you look up at him, your faces nearly touching. harry can barely process your beauty before you lean in for a soft kiss against his lips.

harry's completely frozen, not knowing what to do or what's even happening.

when you pull back, harry can barely breathe.

you look up at him, your eyes soft and eager. harry can't hold himself back anymore. you've kissed him first, that's all the permission he needs for now.

he lightly grabs the back of your head and pulls you in for a bigger, deeper kiss. soon enough, you're making out with harry in your bed.

he's a bit rusty when it comes to kissing, but he plays it safe with you and keeps it soft and light. your hands have traveled to harry's neck and hair, pulling him closer to you.

after a minute or so, harry pulls away. "i love you, [y/n]." he admits. he just couldn't keep it in for much longer.

your eyes light up, a shy smile on your lips as you read his expression. "oh, harry. i love you, too." you reply breathlessly.

the kissing becomes more and more heated as you eventually push harry back onto your pillows. he's surprised, and completely aroused, trying to ignore his growing erection from simply kissing you.

you climb on top of him, the visual making harry sweat already. as you lean in to continue the kiss, your legs end up on either side of him, straddling his torso.

harry is at a loss. he never imagined his birthday surprise for you would end like this. did you really mean you loved him? like, loved loved him?

his hands went to your hips, savoring the feeling of your weight on top of him, his pants becoming more and more uncomfortable. eventually, he can feel your hips slowly rock back and forth on his lap.

he pulls away from the kiss, looking at you above him with wonder. it was everything he could've imagined. even better than the constant fantasies he had of you.

"is this okay?" you ask him softly, searching his eyes, grinding your hips into his a bit slower than before.

harry looks at you incredulously. "[y/n], this is all i've wanted for so long. please. use me." the desperation in his voice surprises him, he knew he wanted you this bad but he couldn't believe how quickly you had him begging.

you practically moaned at his desperate request. "fuck," you whisper as you go in for another kiss.

harry guides your hips into his, and he's sure you can feel just how hard he is through his jeans. you're softly moaning into the kiss, stopping to catch your breath every so often as harry slightly thrusts his hips into you, desperate for more.

"oh, harry…" you moan, causing his eyes to roll in ecstasy. for so long he imagined how you'd sound moaning his name just for him, and he's more than happy with the real thing.

"you're so beautiful, darling," harry says, reaching for your flushed cheek.

you whimper at his voice, tangling a hand in his hair. "tell me again." you demand him.

shit. harry could seriously cum just from that. he's doing everything he can to keep this going as long as possible, but he's not sure how much longer he'll last under you.

"beautiful. so, so beautiful." he says between heavy breaths, watching your incredible body grind onto him for pleasure. "you have no idea how badly i've needed you," he looks back into your eyes, half shut with pleasure as you continue to blush.

"touch me." you tell him, putting your hair behind your shoulders. he looks up at you slowly moving up and down on his lap. he could watch you do this for hours. a dream come true.

one hand slowly makes its way towards your tits, massaging one through your clothes. harry's head rolls back in pleasure, hardly believing this was his real life. involuntary moans slip through his lips as you continue to dry hump him.

"fuck, harry…" you whimper, kissing him again. he can feel the necklace he got you against his hand as he continue to feel your tits. everything about this was perfect. as far as he was concerned, right now, in this moment, you were his and only his.

"i-i…i think i'm gonna cum…" you tell him between kissing. his hands grip you tighter, all he wants to do is please you, be the reason for your ecstasy.

"please, [y/n], please cum for me," he begs of you, feeling his own body tipping over the edge. you look him in the eyes, your hand on his cheek as your breathing gets more rapid and uneven.

you're whimpering, desperately grinding for relief on harry's jeans as he feels himself about to cum. "harry, please…" you beg.

harry slightly thrusts into you, meeting your rhythm as he pulls you closer to him. you begin to shake in his grip, your eyes and jaw going lax as your whimpers become breathless. your hand finds one of his and interlocks your fingers together. you squeeze his hand as you ride out your high. he's completely enthralled with your face and body's reaction to him. he could be here forever, letting you use his body for pleasure, and he would hurt anyone who tried to stop him.

as you start to come down from your climax, harry gently pulls you in for a weak kiss. you crawl beside him, hiding your face in his chest as you continue to catch your breath.

"that was…so hot…" you manage to say between breaths. harry laughs softly, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer to him, placing a kiss on your head. "you're amazing." is all he can say.

"so…did you…?" you shyly start to ask. "yes. i came in my pants." harry admits, hiding his face in your hair. you can't help but laugh a bit, looking down at his jeans. he looks down and sees a dark spot near the zipper.

"oh." you say, clearly amused. "how couldn't i? i had the most beautiful woman in the world orgasming on my lap." harry smirks.

you hide your face in his chest again, giggling. you look up at him with dilated eyes, flushed cheeks, and sore lips in a small smile. "i really do love you, harry," you speak softly.

"i love you too, [y/n]."

it's the day after christmas, and you and harry had spent the holiday with your family. he loved your parents, and got on well with your siblings. he had even rented a room at a local inn near the area for you two to stay in. a private place to escape the chaos and have some alone time.

you and harry were practically all over each other all the time at this point. he couldn't help himself, all he ever wanted was to kiss you and now he could, whenever he wanted, and he was going to take advantage of that.

it was your last day at the inn, a cozy cottage type place with the softest beds you've ever slept in, and harry paid for all of it before you even knew about it. "merry christmas," he had told you.

you were eating your complimentary breakfasts together in silence, across from each other at the little table in the corner of the room.

"thank you, again, harry. this was a wonderful idea." you said as you finished your orange juice, admiring the snowfall out of the window. "it's so beautiful here."

"you're beautiful."

you give harry a look, but crack a smile. "and you're cheesy."

harry chuckles, admiring you like he always does. his soft eyes and kind smile give you butterflies.

as you're packing your clothes to get ready to leave, harry comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you. you smile, giggling, continuing to pack your suitcase. his lips end up on your neck, but you ignore him as you put your panties inside the bag.

harry laughs to himself. you look over at him. "what?" you ask with a smile. he's blushing, shaking his head. "nothing, nothing." he continues to laugh.

"tell me," you say. he shakes his head again. "no, its…it's weird." he says. you can hear a bit of shame in his voice as he hides his face in your neck again. "harry, tell me. please?"

he can't resist when you ask nicely.

he sighs, taking a step away from you and sitting on the bed next to your suitcase. "well…" he starts, rubbing his face nervously. "um, after the halloween party…" he trails off.

"yes…?" you ask, amused at his shy demeanor.

"u-uh, the morning after, when you took a shower…" harry recalls, shifting his weight. "i may have, um…stolen your underwear you took off in front of me…." he cringes at his words, turning his head away from you.

"i knew it!" you declared, pushing his shoulder.

harry covered his face completely, feeling like he could burst into tears at any moment from the embarrassment.

"god, that's so bloody hot, harry," you practically moan, pushing his arms to the side and sitting in his lap. he's completely red in the face, bewildered by your reaction.

"wh…what?" he asks breathlessly.

you hold his face in your hands, admiring his shy expression as you sink into him. "you don't find that weird? or creepy? or extremely perverted?" harry asks you incredulously.

you giggle at him, your eyes full of love. "yes, harry, stealing my used panties behind my back is very perverted. if you did that to any other girl they may find it really disturbing." harry's heart drops, his eyes focused on you completely. "but, i like you. i've really liked you for a long time. and…i find it so fucking hot just how desperate you were for me…"

harry's heart is immediately pumping at your words. you wrap your arms around his neck as you force a kiss on him, his hands grabbing your waist with a hunger.

after a moment he pulls back, nervously blinking and clearing his throat. "um, that's not all, though," he says regretfully. you give him a curious look. "i might've, um…used the panties to masturbate…" he admits.

you smile at his nervousness, biting your lip and giving him a desperate look. "oh, harry, tell me what it was like…" you moan as you begin kissing his neck.

harry's voice is caught, his head rolling back in pure bliss. sometimes he still can't believe this is real life.

you continue to bite at his neck, leaving marks as harry tries to find the words. "i, um…" his hand travels to your ass. "well, i smelled them first…" you moan against his skin, your legs tightening around him. "go on…" you say with a smile.

harry's trying to focus on the story without getting distracted by your lips. "they smelled so good, and you almost caught me, so i put them in my pocket," harry fights back a moan.

"so naughty," you tease him, pushing him onto his back. "tell me more." you demand.

harry nervously swallows at the sight of you above him. you hadn't done anything since your birthday just a few days previous, but it was all harry could think about. he missed the feeling of you being above him, using him, telling him what to do.

"when i got home, i immediately started jerking off thinking about undressing you, seeing your tits for the first time, smelling your panties, i felt so dirty because you told me i was such a gentleman that night…" harry rambles. something about revealing his perverted obsession with you as you're on his lap makes his erection harden.

he grabs for your thighs, sighing at how heavenly they feel in his hands. "then, i just…wrapped your panties around my dick…and i came on them, almost instantly…" harry reveals, the embarrassment fueling his lust.

you're practically aching for harry listening to his story, watching him become desperate for you once again. he's falling apart in your hands and you just can't get enough of it.

"god, harry, that's so hot…you were so obsessed with me…" you say as you lean into his lips, your bodies entangled on the bed.

harry pulls away, holding your face in his hands gently. "i still am, [y/n]." he says sincerely, admiring your eyes. "so, so obsessed…you have no idea…"

you gaze longingly at him, melting his heart. after a moment you kiss him passionately, savoring his eagerness.

"well…would you like these panties too?" you ask with a smirk, putting his hand on your ass. he looks up at you with begging eyes. "please," he says so softly.

soon you're sat on the edge of the bed, harry pulling down your pants with the fireplace lit behind him. he's looking at you so tenderly, taking in every part of you, constantly reminding you how much he loves you, and how beautiful you are.

you open your legs for him as he kneels in front of you, his eyes fluttering from your face to your panties, which are undoubtedly wet from hearing harry's perverted stories.

his mouth is watering just looking at you.

he gently kisses your thighs, higher and higher until he reaches your panties, taking a moment to look back up at you. you're intently watching him, a blush spreading across your face. you look so pretty from here, a view he's daydreamed about plenty of times.

he buries his face in your smell, moaning, taking you in completely, eyes drooping shut as he feels complete bliss overcome him.

you whimper at his reaction, a hand reaching for his hair as he comes back to earth. he reaches for your panties when he pauses, looking up at you shyly.

"i-i've never done this before." he admits.

you giggle at him lovingly. "i know, harry. it's okay. i haven't either." you reassure him, reaching for his glasses and setting them beside you. he smiles shyly and lays his head on your thigh, letting your hand tangle itself in his hair, memorizing this angle of you.

"just enjoy yourself."

harry blushes at that sentiment. he was enjoying himself no matter what, with you he was always happy, especially in moments like this.

but harry more than enjoyed himself. he had always fantasized what it would be like to eat your pussy, your hand in his hair as you ride his face and cum in his mouth. what he didn't expect was just how intimate it felt with you, the soft whimpers that escaped your mouth, having your legs rest on his shoulders, practically making out with your pussy while you writhe with pleasure beneath his hands.

you were both a bit unsure at first, awkward smiles and laughs and reassuring touches, before harry eventually lost himself in the act. he paid close attention to your reactions, your facial expressions, trying to figure out the best way to pleasure you. he loved feeling you get more and more wet for him by the minute, he couldn't get enough of you.

harry didn't want to stop. cumming once wasn't enough for him. he ignored your begging for him to wait, please, it's too much, holding your hands down with his own as he continued for several more minutes. he had waited so long to finally do this for you, showing you just how badly he wanted you. his dick was aching from how hard it was. this was easily the most turned on he'd been for you so far, watching and hearing you orgasm because of him, on his face, he was convinced there was nothing more enjoyable or desirable than this.

"harry, god damn it…" you sighed. he stayed between your legs in the same position, leaving loving and longing kisses on your thighs and stomach, enjoying the aftershocks your body was having in response to him, looking at you with hunger in his eyes.

"yes?" he asks innocently, still admiring your delicious pussy. "harry, i can barely move…" you whine, your body aching and sore. harry smiles devilishly at your weakness, loving the effect he's come to have on you.

he kisses up your body, leaving a desperate kiss on your lips as you taste yourself on him.

"that was even better than i ever imagined it could be," harry practically growls. you giggle at him, your eyes tired and lips bitten.

you look down at harry and see his throbbing erection through his pants. you look back at him, and offer to return the favor.

"oh, honey, you don't have to, you should rest…" harry insists, stroking your hair out of your face. but you're not backing down, and you at least convince him to let you help him out.

he lays next to you on the bed, shirt and pants off as you start feeling his dick through his briefs. harry's instantly desperate under your touch, realizing just how long he's waited for this moment, no longer having to imagine his own hand as yours.

"[y/n]..." harry moans, his eyes filled with lust as he looks over at you. you. blushing, beautiful, natural you. "i swear i could cum just looking at you."

you giggle at harry again, blushing into his chest as your hand continues to stroke him. you look back up at him innocently, admiring the look of desperation he couldn't hide. reaching for a kiss, harry moans softly into your mouth, his dick twitching in your hand.

"oh god…" harry whines, his head falling back in pleasure. you can tell he's close, just from light touching and barely any kissing. you can't help but giggle at his state, loving the control you have over him.

"go ahead, baby, cum for me," you whisper seductively.

that's all it takes for harry.

trying his best to keep his eyes on you, he comes completely undone under your touch. his breathing becomes completely ragged, breathy whimpers, vaguely trying to say your name the longer you stroked him. similar to how he kept going with you, you didn't back down. he begged you to stop, but you could tell he didn't really want you to stop any time soon. you kiss him to quiet his begging, continuing to overstimulate him until he came for a second time, ruining his briefs for good.

after cleaning yourselves up, harry gives you the longest, warmest, most loving hug you've ever received in your life. you bury your head in his chest, taking in the feeling and smell of his skin. his, now muscular, arms are wrapped tightly around you, holding you like harry had nothing left in this world but you.

"i love you, so much, and i'm so thankful for you." harry says, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

you hug him even tighter. "i love you, harry,"

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by the time next semester starts, you and harry are full-blown boyfriend and girlfriend, constantly holding hands wherever you two go and seeing each other off to your classes or study sessions. people talked amongst themselves about the harry potter having a girlfriend, but you both paid no mind.

being with you has really made harry come out of his shell. by the time spring sports roll around, harry feels confident enough to try out for the university's quidditch team. with your support, of course.

it was never a question that he'd make the team, he instantly became their new seeker and brought the school out of their losing streak. through this, harry also made tons of friends, real friends, who wanted to get to know him outside of being harry potter.

not to mention that you had become his number one fan, showing up to every game and most practices to cheer on your best friend and help him strategize for future games.

in every aspect, harry's life completely changed for the better. he loved his classes, he loved his team, and above all else, he loved you, and felt like he owed everything he had to you.

the only thing that bothered harry anymore was that jerk you dated and introduced him to at the diner, thomas.

thomas hadn't made the quidditch team this season, and he made it very clear that he blamed harry for that. he tried spreading a rumor that harry paid his way in, but people didn't buy it after seeing just how well harry played every game.

but that's not what bothered harry. what bothered him was the way thomas used you to get to him.

everyone knew you and harry were dating. it was the topic of conversation on campus for nearly a week when everyone found out. so why is it that every time thomas talked to you when he saw you alone you had to remind him that no, you can't hang out sometime soon, you have a boyfriend now? to harry it felt personal, and he didn't like it.

it was one of the most important quidditch matches of the season, it determined the university's qualification for finals. harry was on top of his game, especially seeing you cheering for him in the stands, and won the match easily, being celebrated by his team on the field.

after taking a few photos and congratulating the rest of the players, harry eagerly runs to meet you at your usual spot just beside the stands to get his usual post-win kiss.

what he finds instead makes him see red.

thomas. he has you completely backed up to the stands, a clearly heated conversation going on between you two. harry can tell you're pissed just by looking at you, speaking with your hands and trying to walk away but being stopped by thomas each time. finally you push him away, and he grabs you.

that's all harry needs to see before he begins sprinting towards him, his mind racing a million miles an hour and yet completely blank at the same time.

you had managed to push thomas off of you, now yelling at him to get the fuck away from you before you rock his shit.

before you can even try, harry tackles thomas to the ground and begins rocking his shit for you.

you gasped. "harry! stop!" you tell him, not wanting him to get caught and punished. but harry doesn't stop. you've never seen this anger from him. it's like he can't stop, not showing any signs of fatigue or resistance.

"harry! stop!" you yell at him, grabbing him from behind and pulling him away. harry stops punching thomas, only to stand above him and kick him in the stomach. "harry." you warn him, giving him a concerned look. "stop. you'll get expelled." you tell him in a hushed tone.

harry looks at you, softening, coming back to earth as you motion for him to just walk away with you. harry looks down at thomas, a bleeding mess in the dirt, crying in the fetal position.

harry kneels next to thomas, making him flinch. harry points his wand at him and mutters quickly, "episkey."

thomas's nose fixes itself, his cuts heal, and his stomach bruise lightens. he looks at harry incredulously, feeling no physical pain, but in fear of the threat harry posed.

"don't ever fucking touch her again. do you understand? next time i won't be so nice." harry growls. thomas quickly nods his head, desperate to leave. harry stands up, sneering at him still in the dirt. "and don't talk to me either while you're at it." you add at the end, your voice just as intimidating as harry's. "got that?" harry asks sarcastically. thomas nods again, standing up and running away from harry.

as he turns to you, you notice his bloody nose, multiple cuts from the game, and bruised knuckles. "oh, harry," you coo sympathetically, grabbing his hands and examining them. "come on. let's go home."

and by home, you meant to your house. the university had upgraded your room and board in exchange for you to work for them as a professor's assistant in potions. it was a small cottage just outside of campus, one bedroom, one bathroom, but it was enough for you and harry.

walking into your living room, you send harry to the bathroom as you lock the door behind you and drop your stuff off on the dining table. you grab a rag from the kitchen and get it wet with warm water.

you enter the bathroom to see a shirtless harry already attempting to clean a wound on his chest. you can see his reflection in the mirror and are completely infatuated with his focused, bloody face concentrated on his reflection as he tends to his injury.

you come up behind him, barely able to rest your chin on his tall, broad shoulders. his reflection instantly softens, his muscles relaxing.

you turn him around, cleaning the wounds on his chest, arms, and hands. his knuckles were bruised, nothing a spell couldn't fix. "you're lucky you didn't break anything." you remind him.

he watches you so intently. your gentle, caring touch bringing him instant relief. even now, all these months later, you still mesmerize him every day. he's not sure he'll ever get used to having you for himself. but that's just what you were, for himself.

"i wanted to kill him. i would've killed him." harry reminds you, rubbing his knuckles. "sit, please," you ask quietly, pulling him over to the closed toilet. harry sits down, letting out a groan as his entire body aches from quidditch and nearly killing someone.

he looks up at you, his eyes dark and angry again just thinking about it before softening at you. you bring the rag to his face, wiping away blood and dirt from his scars. a tense silence falls between you two. harry can't tell if you're angry at him for what he did. he has no idea why, that thomas kid was dead meat as soon as he decided to touch you.

as you carefully finish cleaning the last of the dirt off harry's face, you notice how tenderly he's watching you. you sigh, holding his face in your hands.

"i'm not mad at you." you say. he swears you can read him like a book.

"but, you could've gotten in serious trouble. or hurt yourself. i just don't want to be the reason you're down." you explain, rubbing a thumb along his cheek.

"i would do anything for you." he reminds you, his hand finding yours.

you smile warmly at him. you can't stay upset with him for very long.

"then do this for me: stay out of trouble."

harry smiles. no promises.

as you're getting ready for bed, harry walks in from his shower in just a pair of shorts. you walk up to him, running your hands along his torso to make sure his scars are sufficiently clean. and to just admire your boyfriend in general.

harry revealed to you some time back his real reason for working out. you found it sweet, but a bit silly, as you could handle yourself perfectly well. however, tonight, harry proved you wrong. though you were never in immediate danger or physical harm, as far as you knew, it still felt really nice to know he had your back when things got scary.

while working out definitely helped his strength, quidditch is what really made his body so exceptional.

he was perfectly toned, incredibly strong, and more buff than he ever had been his entire life. you were never someone to have a thing for muscular guys, but something about watching harry's body get better and better with time just drove you crazy.

"you know," you start off, resting your hands on his chest. you could feel his heart racing. all this time later and he's still such a nervous wreck for you.

"i may not approve of it, but…i can't deny how fucking sexy you looked beating thomas up for me,"

harry could feel his blood boil just from you mentioning that douchebag's name, but he was somewhat distracted by your observation.

"oh, really?" he smirks, grabbing your waist possessively. you instantly have goosebumps, leaning into harry's tight grip. "mhm. i haven't stopped thinking about it…you in your quidditch uniform, your muscles, the anger in your voice…" you practically swoon for him.

harry blushes, but takes advantage of the situation. "i was seeing red." he recalls. "i was seriously going to fucking kill that loser for even thinking he could touch my girl."

you're instantly turned on by his fierce protectiveness. normally you find harry's jealousy funny, since he has no reason to ever worry about you, but tonight it made you see a completely different side of him…

harry was always so soft and careful with you, and was a normally mild-tempered person with everyone. the only time he really got upset was if someone was getting too comfortable with you too quickly. to see him completely lose his cool, to watch him unleash onto this guy who thought he could just grab you…

you were just so, so attracted to him right now.

"yes, your girl, all yours," you reassure him as you lean in for a kiss. he quickly takes control and brings you to your bed, laying you down with haste. "mine. mine. mine." he reminds you between sloppy kisses.

the lingering anger within harry needs to be released, immediately.

he quickly undresses you, a complete 180 of the old harry who was afraid to help you take off your bra. he practically rips your panties in half trying to get them off of you.

you're already soaking wet from his aggression. he smirks at you. "guess i should get angry more, yeah?" harry teases.

you blush, but you wouldn't exactly be against it.

as harry slowly begins thrusting into you, he feels that familiar bliss overcome him like it does every time he's inside of you.

you and harry have had sex a couple times before, mostly slow and passionate with lots of kissing, enjoying each other's bodies and intimacy.

but this time, harry was hungry for you.

not to say he never is. he might always be hungry for you, quite literally. but this time, he lets the hunger consume him.

harry's thrusts become less careful and more desperate, he leaves dark, aching bites all over your chest, marking what's his. "mine. mine. mine." he reminds you between each bite.

you're in a state of pure ecstasy. you didn't know harry could be so rough with you. his desperation usually came in the form of shy begging, whimpering, and a desire to please. but this kind of desperation was aggressive, jealous, and aimed to please himself. you didn't mind, you thought it was bloody hot. you also wanted to help harry get his anger out, and you were the perfect way to do that.

as his thrusts become more possessive and sloppy, his arms rest on either side of you, the sight above you enough to make your orgasm accelerate. a sweaty, tired, aching harry, desperate to prove something to you, looking at you like you're the first meal he's had in years. his muscles flexing, veins popping out, and his breathing becomes labored.

he can feel you tightening around him and quickened his pace. "harry, harry, i'm cumming," you warn him, whining, desperate for a release.

"that's right, cum for me, baby." he groans in your ear, wrapping his arms around you as he continues pounding into you relentlessly.

watching you fall apart under him is enough to send him over the edge himself. his head is buried in your neck as he breathes heavily, moaning your name in your own ear.

"fuck, i'm gonna cum inside you, baby. can you let me do that?" harry asks you, his sweaty face desperate for your approval. you nod quickly, eager to be his release in anyway you can.

"can you take it? can you be a good girl for me?" harry loves to dirty talk, and this is the hottest it's been yet.

"please, harry, please give it to me, please, please, i need you," you beg harry, grabbing his shoulders, feeling your body prepare for its second orgasm.

"take it, baby, take it, god, you feel so good," he groans into your ear, his hips stuttering as he cums deep inside you.

your body convulses from the feeling and watching harry melt into you. his face is relieved of all anger, his eyes soft and full of love for you as he leans in to give you a sloppy kiss.

he steps back, watching his cum drip out of you, and could easily get turned on again just by the sight of you right now. but he's too tired, and he knows he has lots of time with you to do it all over again.

after cleaning up and crawling into bed, harry holds you against his chest. you're asleep in no time, steady breaths and slight snores coming from your peaceful expression. harry wraps his arm around you before leaving a kiss on top of your head.

"i love you, [y/n]. goodnight."

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