you're someone i just want around

IX: tell me what you want because you know i want it too

Tell me what you want because you know I want it too,

Let's skip all the small talk and go straight up to your room.

I've been thinking what I'd do when I'm alone with you,

Just say nothing, small talk only gets in the way.

— Small Talk, Niall Horan

word count: 47.3k

content/warnings: degradation, impact play, choking, spitting, edging, overstimulation, daddy kink, harry has issues but you're the one reading this so who are you to judge <3

For all the times Y/N's been in this position, she'd think she'd be less nervous by now.

Perhaps nervous isn't quite the right word, she muses, as she watches Harry unlock the front door of his condo with ease, still keeping one ringed hand grasped tightly around her own.  That fluttering feeling that's twisting itself around her insides isn't so much anxiety-induced as it is a symptom of anticipation, because Y/N's been in this position countless times, and she knows where it ends.

It would normally start with Harry shutting the door gently behind her, relocking it with a nimble twist of his hand before gently taking his coat off her shoulders, placing a tender kiss to the curve of her bare skin before turning to hang the article swiftly on its designated hook.  That act would be followed by him offering her a drink, usually some sort of cocktail that he's perfected since the last time he'd offered her a beverage.  Then, after sipping and making small talk and laughing at his ridiculous humor, his hand would slip from her waist to her thigh, and he'd give her that look— a look where the entrancing shade of emerald green around his pupils would twinkle suggestively, the copper flecks strewn amidst his irises glinting hungrily.  The look that says I want you.  I want to touch you.  I want to make you feel so fucking good.  Can I? 

And Y/N always says yes, which would begin the chain of events that would surely end with her falling asleep amidst Harry's thousand-thread Egyptian cotton sheets, snuggled in his lean arms as he combs the tangles out of her hair and rubs soothing circles down her damp, naked back.

Of course, that routine has never included Harry buying her a Gucci cocktail dress, taking her out to the fanciest restaurant she's ever stepped foot inside, gracing her with the knowledge that he speaks Italian, and snatching her underwear off beneath the table.  In fact, when Y/N factors the events of the evening into the equation, she's not surprised that there's a fluttering in her belly; with every step she takes inside Harry's apartment, her thighs rub together, and the teasing burn is just a reminder that her black lace panties are currently tucked in the pocket of Harry's trousers.  Really, Y/N should just be thankful that she made it out of the restaurant in one piece, let alone through the car ride home.

Harry had opened the passenger door for her as he always did, extending a hand to help her step inside his vintage car with a gentlemanly grin.  The moment the vampire had climbed into the driver's seat and steered the vehicle back onto the main road, however, Y/N had expected him to ruck up her dress, stretch his hand up her thigh, and toy his fingers in and out of her slick entrance the entire route back to his condominium, only stopping when he'd pull into the private underground parking of his building.  The thought of Harry soothing her desperate whimpers with his silky mouth the moment after he'd unbuckle his seatbelt had sent a fresh wave of heat between Y/N's thighs, but when Harry's hand met her dimpled flesh after shifting the car into gear, he'd simply left his palm just above her knee, and the only movement he gave her was a delicate stroke of his thumb over her clammy skin.