#but passing notes in code was clutch

[enerdsout]

at this point it's possible Brennan may need to run trial run experiments on Siobhan prior to future D20 seasons to determine which puzzles and cyphers take her the longest to solve

audio puzzles? ones where you have to find a key to unlock the cypher, like a specific date? writing in different grammar or using archaic language? we gotta find the sweet spot

[ilovolderman]

Movie Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam tries to gather proof of your secret relationship with Bucky during a movie night.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, sam losing his mind, one shared blanket

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam Wilson was back on his BS.

Not because he wanted to be. No. He had to be. This was about justice. About truth. About the undeniable, unquantifiable, deeply suspicious sense that you and Bucky Barnes were absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent... up to something.

He didn’t have hard evidence. He didn’t even have medium evidence. What he had was vibes.

And the vibes? They were criminal.

It all started on a Wednesday.

The group had planned a “Chill Movie Night.”

Sam arrived early, armed with snacks, a color-coded emotional tracking spreadsheet, and a high-end mood ring that Tony insisted was “useless but fun.”

Everything seemed normal. Steve was fluffing pillows like a dad trying to avoid confrontation. Peter was arguing with the popcorn machine. Natasha was already asleep on the couch. (Open-eyed, somehow. Very concerning.) Tony was making a cocktail out of four liquids that were definitely not FDA-approved.

And then you walked in.

Sam’s eye twitched.

Behind you, Bucky entered. Smirking. Carrying your favorite takeout like some kind of emotionally supportive boyfriend ninja.

“Hey, guys,” you said sweetly, flopping onto the couch. Bucky sat beside you, a respectable distance away.

Until Sam blinked.

And suddenly, somehow, your knees were touching.

EXHIBIT Q. KNEE TREASON.

Sam clutched his soda like it was the last thing anchoring him to reality.

The movie choice? A romcom. Obviously. The plot? Two idiots pretending not to be in love. The irony? Painful.

Sam watched you both. Not the movie. You giggled during the fake-dating scene. Bucky smirked.

Your eyes met for exactly 1.3 seconds. You looked away like your life depended on it.

Sam scribbled in his notes. Tony leaned in, whispering, “Are you actually watching the movie or doing telepathy?”

“I’m watching a conspiracy unfold in real time,” Sam whispered back. “...Of course you are.”

On screen, the protagonists shared a dramatic, rain-soaked kiss. On the couch, Bucky passed you a napkin. You took it without looking. No words. No thank you.

EXHIBIT R. EMPATHETIC NAPKIN TRANSFER.

Sam wrote “co-dependent, probably share a soul.” in his notes.

It got worse. At some point  Peter complained about the cold. Tony threatened to install a fireplace. Someone, probably Steve, bless his Midwestern heart, tossed a blanket over the couch. You grabbed one end. Bucky took the other.

Normal. Harmless. Unremarkable.

Until Sam realized there was only one blanket.

And two people under it.

A suspicious amount of shoulder contact was happening beneath that polyester monstrosity. Too much shared body heat. Too much calm.

Sam squinted. “Why are they always so synchronized?” Steve, confused: “Who?” Sam: “The blanket goblins.” Steve: “...Are you okay?” Sam: “NO.”

The movie played on in the background, but you and Bucky were no longer paying attention. Instead, you two were quietly leaning into each other, aware of Sam's eagle-eyed attention from across the room. The couch creaked as Bucky shifted slightly closer, his arm brushing against yours, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too widely.

"Do you think Sam's lost it yet?" you whispered, voice low, just enough for Bucky to hear.

Bucky grinned, but didn’t look away from the screen. "Oh, he’s spiraling. I can feel his brain cells popping one by one."

You let out a tiny snort, trying to hold back the giggle that was threatening to escape. “He's so obvious. He keeps glancing over every two seconds. Should we give him a little more to work with?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his lips curling in a barely contained smirk. “You want to really mess with him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should let him stew for a bit longer.” You shot a playful glance at Sam, who was practically glaring at you two from behind his soda. "He’s getting all worked up for nothing."

Bucky leaned in a little closer, his breath warm on your ear as he whispered, “Let’s make him regret not having a seat next to us.”

He shifted slightly, just enough that your knees brushed against each other. The small touch seemed so innocent to anyone else, but Sam’s narrowed eyes locked onto the subtle movement, his hand hovering over his notebook like a hawk waiting to strike.

Your lips quirked into a mischievous smile. You did your best to make it look like a completely natural movement as you accidentally rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky, of course, played along beautifully, his arm casually draping over the back of the couch behind you, so close that your bodies were practically melting into each other.

“You okay?” he asked in the most nonchalant tone, but the teasing glint in his eyes was hard to miss.

You blinked, putting on your best innocent face. “Oh, yeah. Just—just—getting comfy.” Your hand brushed against his as you adjusted yourself, and you quickly squeezed his fingers once before letting them fall.

Your eyes flicked over to Sam, who was visibly straining to stay calm, his hand twitching over his notebook like it was a lifeline. You could practically hear his thoughts racing: This is it. This is definitely it. They're in on it.

You smiled sweetly, letting your voice drop to an exaggerated whisper. “I think I might be too comfortable.”

Bucky’s smirk widened, and before Sam could even react, he casually pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, and gently brushed his fingertips against your knee. The slightest contact. Barely a touch.

Sam’s eyes narrowed so sharply that it looked like his face might implode. He scribbled something aggressively in his notebook. You could almost hear the frantic ticking of his mental clock. *Evidence: They are physically close. Touch. Note: Is this normal?

You stifled a laugh, shifting just a little to let your body lean more into Bucky. “You know,” you said, voice syrupy sweet, “I could really get used to this.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, shifting just enough that his shoulder brushed against yours, and his hand accidentally found its way to your lower back. “Well, lucky for you,” he said with mock sincerity, “I’m just that kind of guy. Always happy to offer some… support.”

You grinned, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. Instead, you pressed your palm into his chest, just enough for the world to think it was a casual adjustment. But oh, you knew. You knew what was happening.

Sam was now glaring at you both with a level of intensity that could melt steel.

Bucky turned his head toward you, but just enough so Sam could definitely see. He made eye contact, and his lips curved into a teasing grin, one that said, I know you’re watching.

You raised your eyebrows in challenge and tilted your head as if asking, What are you going to do about it, Sam?

You caught a glimpse of his expression, then leaned closer to Bucky. “I swear he’s about to pull out a flowchart,” you whispered, lips curling into a mischievous grin.

Bucky bit back a laugh. “Let him. He’ll need it for all this groundbreaking evidence.”

Sam’s eye twitched.

You and Bucky both leaned back, relaxing into each other, casually oblivious to the total chaos you were unleashing. Sam sat back down, utterly defeated, furiously scribbling in his notebook. He couldn’t even look at the screen anymore.

Then, the movie ended. The lights came on. You yawned. Bucky stretched.

And Sam watched in horror as Bucky casually — casually! — helped you into your jacket like it was 1952 and you were going steady after a sock hop.

You whispered something to him. He grinned. Then you both said you were leaving at the same time, but separately.

Bucky went out the back. You left through the front.

Sam looked at Natasha.

“Did you see that?” She didn’t even open her eyes. “Nope.” “Lies.” “You need a nap.” “I need the TRUTH.”

Tony sipped his weird drink. “I give it another week before they start sharing shoes.”

Peter, from the kitchen: “Wait, do they not already?”

Sam screamed into the void.

Later that night the rooftop was quiet, blanketed in the soft hush of city sounds far below. A gentle breeze tugged at the edge of the blanket draped over your shoulders as you curled into your usual corner, legs tucked beneath you. Fairy lights flickered lazily overhead, casting warm glows over Bucky’s face as he joined you with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

He handed one “Cheers to another successful psychological operation,” you said, clinking the mugs.

“To Operation: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlfriend,” Bucky replied solemnly, taking a sip. He immediately burned his tongue and winced.

You giggled, taking a much more careful sip. “You know Sam’s going to start cross-referencing our foot placement on the couch with moon phases, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Bucky said. “I bet he’s already got a red string board with little thumbtacks that spell ‘LIES.’”

You leaned into him with a contented sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. “We are going to hell.”

“Matching outfits,” he said. “I already ordered the shirts.”

You burst into laughter, nearly spilling your drink. “Bucky.”

He just smiled, wide and soft and unguarded in the dim rooftop light, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side like you belonged there—and honestly, you did.

A beat of silence passed. The kind that wasn’t awkward. The kind that felt like a warm exhale, like a secret just between the two of you.

You smiled into your mug, letting the words settle. The city shimmered below you. The stars above blinked like they were in on the secret too.

“I like it up here,” you murmured.

“I like you up here,” Bucky replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, right at your temple, like he was memorizing the shape of your joy.

You turned your face toward him, bumping noses a little in that silly, clumsy way that always made him smile. “You’re being very sweet. Should I be worried?”

He shrugged. “Just making sure you know.”

“That you like me?”

“That I’m crazy about you,” he said, and then, quieter: “Even when you’re fake flirting with me to drive Sam to madness.”

You grinned. “Oh, babe. That’s not fake.”

Bucky blinked, then broke into a grin so dopey and full of love it made your chest ache.

You clinked your mugs together again, just because.

Meanwhile Sam was crouched on the roof of a building, squinting through a comically long-lensed pair of binoculars that Tony swore were “state-of-the-art.”

They were not.

They were the opposite of helpful.

They had a cracked lens, fog on the inside, and occasionally made a sad whining sound like they missed retirement.

Still, Sam stared across the distance with the desperate determination of a man on the brink.

Through the foggy lens, he saw… two tiny blobs.

Two indistinct, cozy-looking blobs huddled on the rooftop of Avengers Tower, gently illuminated by twinkle lights that only added insult to injury.

He couldn’t see their faces. He couldn’t read lips. He couldn’t tell which blob was Bucky and which was you.

“Come on, do something,” Sam muttered, adjusting the focus knob. Nothing changed. He flipped it the other way. The blobs got blurrier.

He smacked the side of the binoculars.

They shut off.

He swore loudly and rebooted them.

Inside his earpiece, FRIDAY chimed in, unbothered: “Would you like me to send a drone for closer surveillance?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “No. That’s what they want. Then they’ll know I’m watching.”

“They already know you’re watching.”

“I have to catch them, FRIDAY. Not just feel it in my soul.”

Another blob shifted.

Sam gasped. “Movement. MOVEMENT.” He turned the dial again. Still nothing but murky shadow-people. “Are they... hugging? Is that a hug? Or... is one of them standing up? Oh my god, is Bucky proposing?!”

A long pause. Then, FRIDAY dryly: “Sir. They are literally just drinking cocoa.”

Sam groaned and flopped backward onto the gravel roof, his limbs starfished dramatically like a war hero brought low by cuddle-based crimes.

“This is torture,” he moaned. “I’m three buildings away, I’ve got frostbite on my kneecaps, and I’m watching two potato blobs make suspiciously synchronized cocoa movements.”

“Shall I remind you,” FRIDAY said gently, “that you volunteered for this?”

“I VOLUNTEERED FOR TRUTH. AND JUSTICE. AND—” Sam sat up suddenly. “Wait. Are they... did that blob just touch the other blob’s blob-arm?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

“Oh god,” he whispered. “They’re holding hands. I feel it.”

“Or one of them is adjusting a blanket.”

Sam made a noise like a teakettle dying. “It’s the vibes, FRIDAY. I am being spiritually attacked.”

A car honked below. Sam yelped and dropped the binoculars. They hit the ground, bounced once, and rolled off the edge of the building with a dramatic clatter that absolutely ruined the "stealth" part of the mission.

Sam stared at the edge.

Then at the sky.

Then at his empty hands.

“FRIDAY, I’ve lost visual.”

There was a beat.

“Sir, you never had it.”

Back at Avengers Tower, on the actual rooftop you snuggled closer to Bucky, sipping your hot chocolate, utterly unaware of the storm raging in a man's soul several rooftops away.

Actually, no—you were very aware.

You nudged Bucky. “Wanna bet where Sam is right now trying to spy on us?”

Bucky grinned. “Roof of that tall brick building with the busted vent.”

You blinked. “How do you know?”

“I waved at him like ten minutes ago.”

next part

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[natalianovnas]

Hi hi!!! Was thinking about the ceo!wanda from the business fic and how she would be while they’re both traveling. I feel like reader would be responsible but in a normal way. Wanda would be like a control freak.

. . . 𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙱𝚄𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 — w.maximoff

author's note ; YESSS that dynamic fits them perfectly. it's a drabble though.

The Airport Meltdown

You should’ve known it would start the moment she lost control of the boarding group.

“They said Group 1, didn’t they? Didn’t they?” Wanda hissed, clutching her leather carry-on like a weapon. “That woman in the green sweater is Group 4. I saw her boarding pass. This is anarchy.”

You were chewing gum. Calm. Casual. Already scanning the gate area for a place to sit once you boarded.

“Wanda,” you said gently, touching her elbow. “We have assigned seats.”

“But etiquette matters,” she gritted.

You kissed her temple. “And so does breathing.”

.

.

The Itinerary Incident

You found her in the hotel room cross-legged on the bed, her laptop open, two phones buzzing with calendar alerts, and a stack of color-coded folders that definitely didn’t fit in either of your suitcases.

“You brought binders?”

“I shipped them. Overnight,”

You flopped beside her, stealing one and flipping it open.

“Do you ever let yourself exist, or do you only schedule the illusion of existing?”

Wanda didn’t even look up. “We have a hard stop at 3:30 to get ready for the gala. You can question my existential framework after lunch.”

You grinned. “Love you.”

“I know.”

.

.

The Rain Delay

When your return flight got cancelled due to a storm, Wanda had a silent breakdown.

Not loud. Not dramatic. But the kind where her face blanked, her posture locked, and her fingers clutched her phone so tightly you thought it might snap in half.

You pulled her down into a loving, grounding hug.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“I had a plan.”

“I know. And it was a great plan. But now we get to practice being flexible.”

She mumbled into your neck, “I don’t like being flexible.”

You kissed her forehead. “That’s okay. I’ll be flexible enough for both of us.”

.

.

The Soft Shift

By the last day, something in her had changed.

She still checked her email like her blood pressure depended on it. Still packed by color scheme. Still gave you a precise time window for breakfast.

But she held your hand longer, let you sleep an extra hour without stress.

She even stopped herself—mid-sentence—when she realized she was about to spiral over an airport transfer.

You raised a brow. “Did you just… self-regulate?”

Wanda blinked. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m proud of you.”

She rolled her eyes. But she was smiling.

And that night, curled up beside you on a too-firm hotel mattress, she whispered:

“You make chaos feel safe.”

You kissed her. “You make structure feel like home.”

Pommy Update (yes, thats the dog's name.)

Every night, she video-called you just to check on him when she was overseas on her own. It's unbelievable how found of him she had grown but it was even more adorable how much she worried.

“Is he okay? Did he eat? He prefers filtered water. He didn’t look like he napped enough earlier.”

“He’s a dog, babe.”

“He’s our dog. Our baby.”

You chuckled, playfully tolling your eyes. “He’s sleeping on a silk throw pillow. He’s fine.”

“Tell him I love him.”

You held the phone down to said fur baby, who yawned and ignored her completely.

“He says ‘same’ i believe.” you giggled.

Real love doesn’t mean losing who you are—it means finding the person who helps you be softer, even when the plane’s late and the schedule falls apart.

[nhmkhnh]

LUXURIOUS. 

PAIRINGS: DOM!GRAYSON X SUB!FEM!READER

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni) 

TAGS: gentle!grayson ;; sugar mommy!grayson ;; size kink ;; strap-on sex (r.receving) ;; voice kink ;; orgasm control ;; marking kink ;; fingering (r.receiving) ;; office sex ;; after care. 

navigation. 

1. grayson met you by accident at a council party. you weren’t even supposed to be there—just a low-level assistant running errands. but she noticed you. the way your eyes lit up at the chandeliers. the cheap heels you clearly borrowed. the glass of water you clutched instead of wine. she noticed everything.

2. she offered you her coat that night. not because you asked, but because she saw you rubbing your arms at the tram stop, refusing a ride because you didn’t want to trouble her. that was the moment she decided: you’d never need to feel cold again.

3. her money is quiet—but limitless. new phone? already delivered. rent? she bought your whole building. designer heels you only glanced at through a window? in your size, waiting at your door, with a handwritten note:

“wear these for me tonight, sweetheart. i’ll be home late. —g.”

4. grayson is so fucking soft with you. no one believes it. not the cops. not the council. she speaks with steel, commands zaunites and piltovans alike—but she kneels when she takes off your shoes. she kisses your wrist like you’re porcelain. she calls you “my girl” like it’s sacred.

5. she loves watching you eat. like, borderline obsessed. orders you food she knows you love, watches as you take that first bite, always with a smug-ass smile. sometimes she’ll say things like:

“i work too hard for you not to eat like a queen.”

…as she wipes the corner of your mouth with her thumb.

6. possessive sugar mommy af. you post a picture in a cute dress she didn’t buy? you’ll get a message in 3.2 seconds:

“where’d you get that?” you respond, teasing. “a friend gave it to me.” her next reply? “i’ll be over in 20. take it off.”

7. you’re her weakness. one pout, one sigh, one slightly sad text, and she’s leaving meetings early, gun still holstered at her hip, just to hold you in her arms and tuck your head beneath her chin.

8. she spoils you with intention. not just random stuff—she remembers what you say in passing. that childhood candy you mentioned once? she has it imported. you said your old blanket got lost in a move? she commissions an identical one. grayson is detail-oriented as hell.

9. she hates seeing you work too hard. if you have a job she thinks is beneath you, expect her to show up at your workplace one day, lean against the doorframe in her tailored coat, and go:

“pack up. you’re not working here anymore. i already paid your boss to let you go.”

(you pretend to be mad. you’re not.)

10. sugar mommy in the streets, beast in the sheets. you better believe this woman can throw you over her shoulder like it’s nothing and pin your wrists with one hand. she’ll buy you roses and then wreck you on 1,000-thread-count sheets. always rough and reverent.

11. she’s got a whole drawer of lingerie she bought for you. color-coded. lace. silk. she doesn’t make you wear them—she asks with that low voice of hers:

“put this on for me, baby.”

…and you always do.

12. she sometimes brings you to fancy events on her arm. the looks people give when grayson, in all her power and elegance, walks in with the prettiest little thing holding onto her bicep like a prized gem?? you love it. she loves it more.

13. grayson smells expensive. tobacco, clean leather, sandalwood, and warm wine. you cling to her coats when she’s gone. you steal her undershirts. she doesn’t mind. she tells you to take whatever you want—

“everything i have is yours, sweetheart.”

14. she sends you voice notes. deep, gravelly ones when she’s working late. “i miss you, little thing.” “don’t wait up.” “touch yourself if you need to—i’ll make it up to you when i’m back.” you play them on loop until she’s home again.

15. you’re the only softness she allows herself. she might be sheriff, might lead with fire and steel—but she melts the moment you crawl into her lap, kiss her throat, and whisper “i missed you.”

grayson would set the whole world on fire to keep you warm.

smut bonus.

1. grayson has a size kink.

she’s taller, broader, stronger—and obsessed with the way you look curled up beneath her.

“look at you… so tiny under me.”

she’ll stretch your legs wide with one hand and use her hips to pin you still, murmuring about how you were “made to be taken care of”—as she grinds slow, deep, and possessive into you.

2. she lives for strap-on sex.

leather harness. thigh holster. her favorite one is thick and curved just right, matching the press of her fingers when she edges you open for it.

“relax, baby. i’m not done spoiling you yet.”

she’ll tease you until you’re begging to be filled—and only then will she sink in, all slow and loving like she’s feeding you wine.

3. her voice when she talks you through orgasms? unholy.

gravelly, low, damn near feral when you’re about to come. she’ll growl against your neck, lips hot and teeth grazing:

“that’s it, baby—let go. give it to me. c’mon, that’s my good girl.”

you always come harder when she talks. she knows it.

4. grayson adores marking you.

hickeys. scratch marks. lipstick on your thighs. bruises shaped like her palms.

and when she takes you out in public the next day, she’ll gently fix your collar to just barely hide the bite on your throat—then smirk when you flinch every time her hand brushes your waist.

5. she loves using her fingers.

thick, experienced hands that always know what to do. grayson can finger you with such maddening control—slow, deep curls that keep you hovering on the edge forever.

“what’s the rush, sweetheart? i’ve got all night… and you belong to me.”

if you beg? she might let you come. might.

6. she’s the type to fuck you in her office.

desk pushed back. coat still on. you bent over the polished wood, panties pushed aside, her hand covering your mouth while she rocks into you from behind.

“quiet now, little thing. you don’t want the whole precinct hearing who this pretty cunt belongs to, do you?”

(spoiler: she wants them to hear.)

7. post-sex aftercare is everything.

grayson kisses every spot she marked. draws you a bath. feeds you fruit from her fingers while you sit on her lap, boneless and blissed out.

“you did so well for me, baby.”

she makes sure you know that even when she fucks you like she owns you—she treasures you like gold.

so obssesed with her 😋 please let this woman make her way into my life please.

[sagesturns]

˖°. extra credit - c.s ˖°.

contents: smut. pnv. dacryphilia. dom!chris.  + more!

★ ˎˊ˗ you were supposed to be studying.

that was the whole reason you invited chris over — or at least, that’s what you told yourself to get "extra credit". he showed up with his notes all neatly stacked, color-coded tabs peeking out of a worn binder, and that same soft-focus, serious look on his face. like he actually cared about helping you pass.

but after the third time you got the same question wrong — and not entirely by accident — you stopped pretending to try.

chris exhales sharply beside you, tapping his pen against the page like it’s taking everything in him not to snap. “we just went over this,” he says, voice low but firm. “are you even listening?”

you shrug, leaning back in your chair with a grin. “you’re the genius here. thought you’d carry me.”

he doesn’t smile.

instead, he sets the pen down slowly, deliberately, and looks at you with something different — something sharper, darker, hungry. the air shifts, tightens.

“get on the desk,” he says.

you blink. “what?”

chris doesn’t repeat himself. he doesn’t have to. his hand wraps around your wrist, gentle but certain, and suddenly your back hits the desk and your breath stutters in your chest. the study session is over. and whatever you thought this was going to be? you were so wrong.

but now your thighs are spread and shaking while you're bent over, and he’s looking down at you like you’re the problem he’s solving next.

“you’re so close, baby,” he murmurs, voice all warmth and steady hands as he sinks into you, slow and deep. “you’ve got it in you—I know you do.”

you moan softly, arching into him, chasing more—more of his touch, more of his words. but Chris won’t rush. not when he’s teaching you gently, like always.

“there you go,” he whispers, brushing his lips along your cheek as he pulls out just enough to make you shiver. “focus for me, just like i taught you. you’re doing so good, angel.”

you whimper, voice cracking as you force the answer from your lips. and the second you do, he slams back inside like he owns you. like he can’t get close enough, no matter how deep he goes.

fists curling, your nails dig into the wood surface, barely finding grip as he pounds into you harder, rough and deep, making the desk beneath you creak. the air is heavy with skin-on-skin, ragged moans, and gasps that teeter on the edge of sobs. his glasses are fogged, jaw tight, breath wild — like he’s been waiting forever to let go.

“say you need me,” he rasps against your neck, hips stuttering from the way your pussy tightens around him. “say it or i’ll fucking stop.”

“i need you,” you choke, brain scrambled, tears streaking hot down your cheeks. “i—fuck, chris, please don’t stop.”

he grins, crooked and soaked in a sheen coat of sweat, before pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss so messy you’re left breathless, lips bruised and sticky with spit. and then he’s fucking you like he’s starving, like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

your orgasm hits like a punch to the gut, thighs trembling as you cry out, but chris doesn’t stop. he grabs your hips and holds you still as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release, cursing under his breath.

“fuck—fuck, you feel so good, shit—gonna fill you up,” he groans, burying himself as deep as he can go before spilling inside, his whole body tensing with the force of it.

you’re dizzy, barely clinging to reality as he finally pulls out, only to drop to his knees with a look in his eyes that could make you come again on the spot.

he drops to his knees without a word, his mouth finds the mess between your legs, tongue dragging through the slick warmth as he licks you clean, slow and reverent. his hands stay clutched around your thighs like he’s anchoring himself to you. and when he finally lifts his head, face glistening, that crooked smile of his is pure sin wrapped in sweetness.

when he finally looks up, his face glistening, his smile is wicked and sweet. “see?” he purrs. “you learn so much better when i teach you like this.”

you can’t speak, just nod, your body spent, your brain a mush.

“next time,” chris says, gently pulling your panties back into place, “we’ll leave the books alone. i’ve got a better way to make it stay with you.”

©sagesturns☆

a/n: my brain is slowly short circuiting and i cant think of anything to write.

[aemondsbabe]

Stick it Out to the End

summary: michael is desperate to get into oxford's prestigious bullingdon club; unfortunately for him, they command him to do the impossible to gain admittance

pairing: michael gavey x bimbo!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, bimbo reader, mentions of hazing but nothing horrible/extreme, virgin!michael, breast/nipple play, praise kink, piv sex, protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral sex (f receiving), consensual filming, dirty talk, cursing, what i hope is saltburn-esque humor, mild size kink, mild angst but happy ending, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 12.7k

a/n: images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only & are not used to describe the reader! she's back and she's long as hell but what else is new!!! this is my first time writing bimbo!reader and while she wasn't super bimbo-y, it was fun getting my feet wet! hope y'all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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Michael

Michael couldn’t help but feel his heart speed up in his chest as he wound through the quiet corridors clutching tightly to the cryptic note he’d found stuffed in his pigeonhole that morning – just a page torn out of a standard notebook covered hastily written red ink; wholly un-intimidating as far as cryptic notes were concerned. Really, he was surprised to see they didn’t put more effort in; with as secretive and imperious as this little club was, he had been expecting some sort of extravagant stationary, perhaps even some gold embossing. 

Coming to a stop in front of an unassuming janitor’s closet door, he narrows his eyes behind the gold frames of his glasses, staring at the door with a nearly accusatorial expression. Michael swivels his head once more, his brows furrowed as he checks and re-checks every door in the vicinity before turning back to the one he stands before. Scoffing, he unfolds the note with a little irritated sigh and quickly scans the page again, mouthing the words to himself for the millionth time that day. 

The riddle had been easy enough to figure out, some trivial little lines about dead men walking, the mob, finding God, and looking to one’s heart pointed right toward some hush hush basement beneath the Merton College Chapel. That, and it didn’t take a genius to see that each line consisted of a specific number of words, pointing him right to the very door he stood in front of now – 129. 

Fucking amateurs, he’d thought after cracking the code in under half an hour. But that was earlier. And now, as he stares at the stupid dull grey janitor’s closet door in front of him, Michael can’t stop the little tendrils of doubt from creeping into his periphery. He’s sure this is the right door and positive this is the right place and yet… janitor’s closet. He checks his watch, 11:50 PM on the dot, and glances up and down the dark, shadowy corridors once more, half expecting one of the twatty rich assholes to jump out and start snickering at him, making fun of him for thinking that a no one like him would’ve ever received an invite to a club like this. 

Shaking his head, he reaches for the doorknob anyway, he’s come this far so he may as well. He freezes a little when it actually turns and his blue eyes go wide when he pushes the door open, shivering a little as he’s met with a wall of cool, dank air – eau de basement, just as he’d expected. A little actually impressed sigh passes his lips when he pokes his head in, an apprehensive smile blooming on his lips as he takes in the eerie red lighting spilling up the stairwell from the God-knows-what downstairs. 

He winces as the door squeaks when he tugs it open but he doesn’t stop, emboldened now as he knows he had been right once again. He takes the stairs quickly, probably too quickly given that he hasn’t a fucking clue what or who could be down here, but before he can dwell on the idea too much, he’s faced with another corridor. This one, unlike the ones upstairs, is narrow and brick-lined and leads in only one direction, straight to another closed door at the other end. 

Michael squints against the bright red light coming from a spotlight that had been haphazardly set up on the stone floor and walks down the hallway, his steps speeding up as he hears the janitor’s door above him open and close once more. His breath hitches a little as he opens the second door and quickly steps inside, like ripping off a band-aid. 

He freezes once more when a strong hand latches onto his shoulder and quickly jerks him further into the room, making him yelp as he stumbles, trying to keep pace with whoever the hell is leading him. 

“What the –”

Before he has time to so much as blink, his back thuds against a brick wall and finally he looks up, the vicious scowl he’d prepared morphing into a look of disturbed confusion as he eyes a row of other students, about fifteen and all men from the looks of it, dawned with black –

Oh, Christ, are those ski masks? He thinks as he eyes them up and down, How fucking banal… at least it’s not hooded cloaks. He nearly rolls his eyes as he scans the rest of the room, taking in the dim lighting interspersed with blues and greens from more of those stupid party boy spotlights. Glancing to the side, he sees another boy in his year, some guy he only knew from a few classes and passing glances in the hallways, but even still he’s comforted to not be alone down here, no matter how cliché this whole affair seemed. 

His blue eyes snap forward as the door, the only door, to the room is opened once more and some other poor sap is hastily dragged across the room, only to be smacked on the wall to his left. Again, it’s just some other boy Michael knows from classes, though he doesn’t know why he expects any different – it’s not as if he knows many people outside of the forced proximity of a lecture hall. Which was really his only reason for putting up with this bother, for seeking it out in the first place; a quick flash of him placing a tightly folded up sticky note with his name and pigeonhole number in an old, beaten up copy of King Lear in the library played in his mind – the price he seemed to pay for loneliness. 

Distantly, the bells of the chapel began to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, and eventually twelve times – midnight. Time to start the show, Michael surmises. 

“Welcome, initiates,” one of the hooded men says in a tone that makes Michael glare judgmentally, his voice pitched down like some idiotic knock-off Darth Vader. He steps forward from the row they stand in and holds his arms out open at his sides, “Consider this your first foray into the Bullingdon Club.”

Again, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a scoff. This was all just so… juvenile? He was beginning to sincerely doubt that this was the über clandestine club that granted its members all sorts of connections to various businesses, societies, and insider information that even the richest of the rich couldn’t buy. 

Unfortunately, his face seemed to betray more of his emotions than he intended and the masked boy steps forward once more, his dark eyes zeroing in on Michael. 

“You,” he says gruffly, pointing a finger in his direction, “Something you wanna say, initiate?”

Out of habit, he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he spoke, perhaps foolishly bold given the situation. 

“Doesn’t this all seem a bit much for three people?” He scoffs, shaking his head slightly, “I mean, masks, really?”

The hooded boy stops for a second and studies Michael closely, one hand on his hip, “What’s wrong with the masks?”

“Well, what’s the point? There’s, what, fifteen or sixteen of you? And three of us?” He asks, glancing around the room, which he now realized very clearly used to be some run-of-the-mill storage room, probably forgotten about by now.

The boy laughs sarcastically and shrugs his shoulders a bit, his voice back to its natural pitch, “It wouldn’t really be a secret thing if we just invited half the student body, mate.”

Michael supposes his reasoning is sound and says as much with a little hum and nod of his head, eyebrows raising dismissively. 

“Anything else?” The masked boy asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The masks don’t really disguise you lot that well,” he observes, pointing at one of the other boys standing in the row, “That’s Harry from Multivariable Calculus.”

“Shit…” Harry mutters under his breath, the sound carrying through the concrete room. A few of the other boys in the row lean over and place comforting hands on his shoulders and murmur words of encouragement, much to Michael’s dismay.

“Why’re you here, initiate?” The lead boy asks, turning back to Michael.

“Dunno,” he shrugs again, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Friends, I guess.”

A couple of the boys in the row make little noises, mutters of empathy that make the blond’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he glances up and down the line. 

“And this was your first thought? A secret society?” Harry from Multivariable Calculus asks with a little laugh, “Not like… chess or something?” 

“Don’t really like chess…” Michael says with a little shrug. Apparently a good enough answer for Harry, who makes a little noise of understanding and nods his head. 

After another moment, the lead boy clears his throat, which shuts up the rest. “Anyway,” he says, his voice falsely low once more. “Each of you will be given a task…,” his dark eyes glance between Michael and the other two boys as he paces in front of them, “Perfectly customized to challenge you, to push you to your absolute limits.” 

The masked boy pauses his little speech and gestures back to three of the other boys standing in the row behind him who then step forward and walk over to the dank brick wall that Michael and the other two boys stand against. He studies the boy that walks towards him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when he notices how much shorter he appears to be.

Finally, the boy comes to stand before him and presents a plain white envelope, though Michael’s lips spread into a hateful smirk when he sees an all too familiar pair of old, beat up trainers on the boy’s feet. 

“Oliver?!” He hisses meanly, shock lacing his voice as he jerks back the hand he had reached out for the envelope, wincing as his elbow collides with the cool wall behind him. He glances around the room, noting the few pairs of eyes that were on him, before fixing his gaze on the boy before him once more with a harsh glare, “You’re in Bullingdon?”

The boy in front of him hesitates for a second, cutting a sideways glance toward a taller boy that was busy presenting an envelope to the boy to Michael’s left, before he sighs and looks back at him, blue eyes peeking out of the holes in his ski mask. “Yeah,” he huffs, shrugging his shoulders defensively, “How’d you know it was me, then?”

“You look like a goddamn twelve year old!” Michael jeers, his voice low and vicious as his hands curl into fists at his sides, “How’d you manage to get into this club anyway?” He questions, seething, “They only let you in if you have the money or the marks and I know for a fucking fact you don’t have either.”

Oliver sighs again and rolls his eyes, which makes him see red and grit his teeth, although he doesn’t miss how the shorter boy’s eyes cut to the side again quickly. He opens his mouth, but before he can get a word in edgewise, the blond cuts him off with a little mocking laugh.

“Don’t tell me that’s fucking Catton,” Michael groans lowly with a shake of his head, breathing heavily as he feels the same sense of anger and betrayal he’d felt all those months ago well up in him once more, transporting him right back to the stupid damn pub, “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me, is this shite little club only full of cunts?”

“Look, I’m –” 

Oliver starts to speak again, only to be cut off when the head boy traipses over to where they are, coming to stand ominously behind him with his arms clasped behind his back. His dark eyes dart between the two boys before he speaks.

“Problem over here, lads?”

“No,” Oliver answers quickly, staring warily up at Michael as he practically shoves the envelope into his arms, “Just complete the task, initiate. You have thirty-six hours.” 

Before Michael can blink, Oliver turns his back and stalks back over to the other boys, taking his place in the row once more. The head boy looks Michael up and down appraisingly before nodding to the letter in his hands with a sly smirk.

“I can’t wait to see how you fare with that one, Gavey,” he says, his voice low and threatening, as if he’s in on the most delicious joke, “Remember, thirty-six hours, initiate.” He chuckles softly and departs, returning to stand in the center of the room. 

Everyone stands still for a moment, Michael and the other two boys to his left and right holding their respective envelopes nervously, unsure if they were supposed to open them now or not. Thankfully, the head boy clears his throat, commanding all eyes to him once again.

“Initiates,” he says slowly, his voice no doubt already hoarse from this little farce, “Failure to complete your tasks will result in a permanent ban from Bullingdon; no second chances. We expect results as well as proof of those results,” his dark eyes scan over the three boys once more, one corner of his mouth turned up into a mean smirk, “We’ll be seeing you back in this location Sunday at noon. Your thirty-six hours begin now… have fun.” He finishes with a taunting laugh before turning and exiting from the room, the old door creaking as he pulls it open before disappearing into the faint red glow of the hallway, followed by the rest of the fifteen boys in an orderly line.

As soon as the old door closes, the sound of paper tearing echoes around the dimly lit basement as Michael and the other two boys hastily tear open their envelopes. Pulling out a little slip of paper, his eyes go wide as a wave of dread washes over him. His eyes scan over the paper again and again as he nervously shoves his glasses back up his nose once more, silently willing the chicken-scratch words on the paper to somehow change, to give him some other command. 

His heart is pumping so loudly in his ears that he misses it when one of the other boys tries getting his attention, his head snapping up suddenly as a hand waves in front of it.

“Oi!”

“W-What?” 

“What did they give you?” The boy asks, nodding at the scrap of paper in Michael’s hand.

He clears his throat and tries his best to come off as casual, though he hardly cares with the way thoughts begin racing through his mind. “Oh, um,” he starts, glancing down to read over the paper once more, “I just uh, have to sleep with someone is all.”

The other two boys gape at him for a moment before groaning frustratedly. The one that had first spoken to him holds his paper out and smacks it disdainfully with the back of his hand.

“What the hell?” He asks gruffly, glancing between his paper and Michael, “Why’s yours so bloody easy?”

“For real,” sighs the second boy, rubbing the back of his head, “Ours are damn near impossible. They must already be decided on you to go so soft. How am I meant to steal the fucking Selden Map from Bodleian?” He laments, brows furrowed as he stares down at the paper in his hands.

“Yeah, and I have to transfer ten thousand pounds out of the chancellor’s bank account and into mine!” The first boy sighs, shaking his head, “At least your mum’s head of conservatorship here, you can at least get within a stone’s throw of the map. I have to commit fucking wire fraud!” 

The two boys grumble for another moment as Michael silently descends into a tailspin, his blue eyes unfocused as he stares at one of the dingy brick walls of the basement, trying desperately to formulate a plan, any plan. He merely glances up as the other to head for the door, spitballing ideas for each of their tasks.

“Isn’t your dad the president of Julius Baer? Can’t you just get him to pull strings?”

“Oh, yeah, fantastic idea! I’ll just ring him and ask the old man to commit a felony! What could possibly go wrong there?”

Michael tries to tune out their bickering as the three of them ascend the staircase and trail out into the hallway of Merton College Chapel once more; the two other boys don’t pay him any mind as they continue whispering amongst themselves, their voices trailing quietly down the hallway as he leans with his back against the cool metal of the janitor’s closet door. 

Sighing, he reads over the directive again, his blue eyes catching on the sharply scrawled letters of a very familiar name, one that makes his cheeks flush and his heart race. He swallows nervously, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

How could they know to do this? He wonders sheepishly. It’s not like he’d mentioned her to anyone; hell, he’d never even said so much as three words to her! No, his pathetic little crush was entirely in his mind. 

Too much of a coward to even say hi, he bemoans, trying to stave off the sense of shame he felt as he considered how many times he’d finished with her name on his lips, her pretty face and soft curves and sweet smell and little girly outfits whirling around his head since he’d spotted her on the first fucking day; he’d pined ever since and she didn’t even know he existed! How could she?

This is fucking impossible, he thinks miserably, wishing that he had any other task. He’d rather steal the Queen’s own goddamn family jewels than this. He glances at his watch once more and groans when he sees it’s almost already two in the morning; pushing himself up off the door, he hangs his head as he scurries back to his dorm room, thoughts spiraling as he plots. 

You

A laugh bubbles up past your lips as you sway your hips, your whole body vibrating as “Umbrella” blasts through the speakers while you dance with your friends, partying to celebrate the end of term. 

“You can run into my arms, it’s okay, don't be alarmed!” You sing happily, yours and your friends voices mingling together with another peal of laughter; you take another sip of your drink as you move along with the beat of the song, savoring the fizzy strawberry daiquiri as you begin to feel a bit warm from the little rush of alcohol, already on your third drink of the night. 

You smile proudly as you spot Felix in the crowd, his hazel eyes already fixed on you, or well, fixated on your chest. His attention makes you preen and you bite your lower lip, the sickly sweet taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth as you purposefully bounce up and down on the balls of your feet. 

The thin straps of your pastel pink dress hold on for dear life as your chest heaves enticingly, and you giggle when you see those hazel eyes widen just a bit, no doubt tracing over the glittering chain of your necklace, following down to where it settles, a little sparkly pink diamond nestling temptingly at your cleavage. You teasingly wink, blushing a little when you get a wink back, and go back to dancing with your friends, knowing from experience that Felix preferred to approach rather than be approached. 

You dance with your friends for a few more moments, grinding up against any warm body you can find as a raunchier song begins pumping through the speakers, before you feel eyes on you yet again. Smiling at the attention, you glance around again, the low, colorful lighting of the pub making it hard to tell exactly which direction your admirer’s coming from. 

Your eyes flit over a few familiar faces, you can’t help but sigh in relief when you notice that Oliver’s eyes are thankfully planted firmly on someone that is not you, though a confused little crease forms between your brows when you realize that Felix’s aren’t either. Turning your head, you sway along to the music still as you look around quickly, your feet beginning to ache finally from the precious little satin Chanel heels buckled around your ankles. 

Your eyes finally lock onto an unexpected gaze, a fresh wash of pink coloring your cheeks as blue eyes glance shyly away from you. A little giggle titters past your lips as you lean over to one of your friends, patting her shoulder to get her attention.

“You know who that blond guy is? With the glasses?” You call over the music, nodding over in your admirer’s direction as he stands awkwardly back against the wall by the entrance, clutching a still-foamy pint. 

She glances over before turning back to you with a little shrug. “Michael something, I think!” She says, her breath warm as she leans in closer so you can hear her, “I thought Oliver knew him!”

Your eyes immediately find the brunette, predictably following Felix around like a lost little puppy, before you look back over at Michael. You can’t help but feel a bit bad when you see him quickly look away from your direction again before staring intently into his pint glass, one hand shoved in the pocket of his khaki pants. 

“I’m gonna take a breather for a second!” You yell over the loud music, leaning in close and cupping a hand over her ear. 

“Aw, babe, come on!” She pouts playfully, tilting her head at you, “Stay longer!”

You shake your head with another little laugh and gesture at your feet, “These are sooo cute but they’re killing me!” You laugh, finishing off the last sip of your drink, “I’ll be over by the notice board!” You tell her, blowing a kiss as you walk away from the dance floor of the small, cramped pub. 

Finally, you reach the little area by the front door and lean back against the wall, taking in a much-needed deep breath as you pull your little tube of lip gloss out of your bra and carefully reapply some more, smirking when you glance over out of the corner of your eye and see a certain blond boy already shyly eyeing you. 

Rubbing your lips together with a little pouty pop, you tuck your gloss back in your bra once more before slowly approaching Michael, prettily manicured hands clasped behind your back to help shamelessly push your chest out more. His wide eyed stare makes you giggle and blush as you study him, eyes flitting appreciatively up and down his lithe frame; so much potential hidden away under a little button down and khakis. 

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you tease, smirking when he blushes and all but chokes on his beer, coughing for a few seconds before finally speaking.

“I… Me?” He asks awkwardly, glancing around for seemingly anyone else you could be talking to.

Lucky for him, you find his awkwardness endearing. Truthfully, you had for months, never missing the way his eyes always happened upon you in a crowd. There was something impressive about the boy, something that had made your mind drift to him on more than one occasion, even if you were already under someone else. 

“Of course you, silly,” you laugh softly, leaning against the wall next to him and tilting your head curiously, “You’re Michael, right?”

His eyes go wide again and nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah, Michael,” he says with a reserved little smile, “Gavey! Michael Gavey…” He adds awkwardly, cheeks flushing even more when you giggle, seemingly charmed by his inability to string two words together. He nods as you introduce yourself.

“I know,” he says before blinking, eyes going wide behind his gold framed glasses as he awkwardly glances away, “I just… I mean I’ve heard your name before, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?” You echo with a flirty little giggle, twirling a lock of hair around your finger as you let the moment linger, just wanting to push him a little. “What’re you reading?” You ask curiously, cocking your head to the side a little.

“Maths,” he nods quickly before looking down into his pint glass once more as if fizzling beer is the most interesting thing in the world, “I don’t really like it all that much, though… I mostly only picked it because I’m good at it.”

“Ooh,” you coo softly, nodding along with his words as you watch him carefully, “You must be wicked smart, I can’t do maths to save my life.” You comment with a little giggle, biting your lip when he seems to perk up at that comment and looks up at you with a little grin. 

“I can do it in my head,” he says lowly, an unexpectedly cocky edge to his voice that has your heart picking up in your chest, “Ask me a sum,” he says, a challenging glimmer in his eyes. 

You hum softly, biting your lip as you think for a second, “Uhm, seventy-two plus a hundred and thirteen?”

“One eighty-five,” he chuckles after no more than a second before scoffing a little, “Come on, give me one that’s hard, love.”

Love? The little pet name makes you raise an eyebrow before you laugh softly. “What do you mean a hard one?” You giggle, shaking your head, “That one was hard!”

“That was hard for you?” He teases, making your cheeks tingle as a pink flush settles over your skin, “What’re you reading, then?”

“Art history!” You chirp proudly, chuckling nervously when you see him roll his eyes a bit, “What? Something wrong with that?”

He shakes his head dismissively, quickly polishing off the last of his pint before setting the empty class on a table and turning back to you, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin, “Ask me another one, then. Biggest numbers you can think of.”

You don’t know why, but something about his little challenge has you blushing again, like he’s testing you somehow. But still, you take a moment to think of some numbers, biting your lip and quirking your eyes up toward the ceiling. 

“Six hundred thirty-two times… eight hundred ninety-one,” you hum, cocking your head to the side as you watch him closely. His eyes seem to glaze over, only for a second, before once again he’s spouting off numbers like a calculator. 

“Five hundred sixty-three thousand, one hundred and twelve.” 

Your eyebrows raise at that as you gawk at him. “Wow…,” you breathe after a moment, blinking as you stare up at him, “You’re, like, super smart, then?”

“Suppose so,” he says, smiling shyly again as he tucks both hands into the pockets of his khaki pants.

You study him for a moment as the conversation lulls, finding something endlessly fascinating about the boy; the way he could swing from being so cocky and self assured to shy and awkward makes your stomach do summersaults. Turning your head, you spot your group of friends still dancing and you look back at Michael with a little sigh as another upbeat song blasts loudly through the pub. 

“D’you wanna get out of here?” You ask, smirking when he looks up at you shyly.

“W-What?”

“My dorm’s only, like, a minute from here,” you flirt, sweet and enticing as you make him blush somehow more, “We could go somewhere more… quiet?”

He stares at you for a moment, shocked that you’re asking him of all people to come back to yours before he nods and nervously runs a hand through his wheat colored hair, unsuccessfully trying to act casual. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Yay!” You giggle happily, flirtatiously grabbing one of his hands as you saunter past him, heading for the exit, “C’mon, it’s like a five minute walk!” He nods wordlessly and you can’t help but smirk as he follows you like a lost little puppy. 

True to your word, it’s only a few minutes later when you and Michael reach your dorm room, after you’d stopped for a minute at the entrance to your hall to chat with Farleigh, who seemed very interested in the nerdy boy following at your heels. You just couldn���t wipe the smirk off your face as you and Michael left him standing at the doors, mouth open and a wicked little gleam in his eyes; no doubt, he’d immediately scurried off to the King’s Arms. 

The door to your room opens with a tiny squeak, blasted old building, and you all but prance inside, turning back to the blond boy still lingering in the doorway with a smile. 

“Am I going to have to invite you in like a vampire?” You joke with a little laugh as you bend down to quickly undo the buckles of your heels, letting out a relieved sigh when you finally step out of them, leaving you in frilly white ankle socks.  

Michael finally steps into your room with a huffed laugh and quickly kicks off his shoes, you smirk when you see his Star Wars themed socks. “‘M no vampire, love,” he quips, gold framed eyes darting around your room as he looks over every detail. You grin at the little blush on his cheeks and perch on the edge of your bed to watch him, head tilted ever so slightly. 

“It’s, uh, it’s cute in here,” he observes, his voice a low hum as he takes in your frilly, lacy curtains, plush white rug, and equally girlish floral bedding, all encased in the faint pink glow of the heart-shaped fairy lights strung up around the room, “Just like how I imagined…” He breathes, so lowly you doubt he meant to say that bit aloud. 

“Like you imagined?” You echo with a little giggle, quickly reapplying your lip gloss before setting the little tube on the corner of your desk. 

“I just… I – It’s just very… you, is all I meant,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, the apples of his cheeks flushed a dark pink. 

His awkwardness is so endearing, you can’t help but grin. The more time you spend with him, the more interesting he seems to become; this bumbling, nervous boy is so different from the one you’ve seen on campus so many times. On campus, he’s comfortable, quiet still, but with a definite air of confidence – clearly in his element as he prowls through bookshelves in the library or explains some complex math formula in the quad. 

“So, you think about me often, then?” Your voice stays sweet, innocent almost, though you can’t help but tease him; he’s so pretty when he blushes. 

“No!” He answers quickly, whipping his head toward you from where he’d been studying the various pictures tacked up on the walls, everything from boy band posters to stills from Clueless and Legally Blonde. “I mean, yes, sometimes, I…,” he fumbles again and pushes his glasses up his sharp nose, “I think about you a normal amount.” He says finally, glancing at you quickly before looking away. 

You hum softly and stand before walking toward him with a kind smile, though you don’t miss the way he keeps glancing down at your cleavage, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he swallows nervously. 

“A normal amount?” 

“Mhm,” he nods, gaze unsure as you come to stand in front of him, teeth biting into your plush lower lip as you twirl a piece of hair through your fingers, “As much as I think of anyone else.”

“So…,” you breathe, drawing out the word as you reach up and fiddle with the collar of his button down shirt, the turquoise gingham a bright blue blip among all the blush tones of your room, “Every time I’ve caught you looking at my tits in the library or in the quad or in the hallways… that was just a normal amount?”

You giggle as his eyes go wide, his lips opening and closing like a fish out of water. Deciding to take mercy on him, you run a finger down his chest, playfully fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

“Relax, I’m not mad,” you shake your head, smiling when the tension in his shoulders visibly eases, “Why wouldn’t I want a cutie like you staring?”

His lips part at that as he sucks in a little breath, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. “You think I’m… cute?” He asks breathlessly, heart pounding under your fingertip. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip once more as you nod, cocking your head to the side just slightly as you peer up at him. “‘Course I do, honey, what’s not to like?”

Again, he gawks at you, blinking in shock and swallowing nervously.

“I –” 

“I do have one question though…,” you tease, pouting a bit as you slowly and carefully undo the very top button on his shirt, relishing the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Y-Yeah?” His voice breaks, making you giggle while he blushes somehow deeper.

“Mhm,” you nod, undoing the second button and pausing when you find a splash of hair across his chest, the same shiny wheat color as the hair on his head, causing a familiar knot to begin twisting itself up in your belly, “Why were you at the end of term party?”

He blinks for a second, evidently taken off guard. “I… W-Was it invite only?”

His question nearly makes you snort and you shake your head, the corners of your lips twitching as you try not to laugh. “No, sweetie,” you peer up at him through your lashes as you rest your hand against his bare chest, smirking ever so slightly when he shivers, “I just meant, I haven’t seen you at parties before… doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.” 

“I, well,” he stammers, the bottoms of his glasses fogging up from the heat radiating off his cheeks, “I just –”

“It’s for that club, yeah?” You ask finally, giggling at the shocked expression on his face.

“How do –”

“You lot are not nearly as sneaky as you think,” you laugh cheekily, bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet, “Plus, I heard Felix and Oliver whispering about something to do with tasks a few weeks ago… and boys are very bad at keeping secrets once you get their cocks out.” You add with a little giggle, taking Michael’s hand once more and dragging him over to your plush bed. You sit him on the edge before all but climbing in his lap, smiling cheekily as you straddle his thighs, your knees digging into your soft bedding.

“So,” you start, holding onto his shoulders to balance yourself and smiling a little when he finally touches you, lightly resting his hands on your hips, “What’s your task, hm? I heard they made them, like, particularly brutal this year.”

“I don’t think I should say,” Michael murmurs with a little shake of his head, making you pout.

“Oh, come on!” You bounce on his lap a little, not missing the way his eyes seem to be drawn to your breasts like magnets, “I want to help! Is it something at the King’s Arms?”

“N-No, I really don’t think –”

“I know they keep the important rugby trophies there,” you think aloud, still playing dumb, just wanting him to say it, “Is that it? D’you have to steal one? One of the boys that works there owes me, I could get him to let you in after hours…” You prattle on, speaking faster and faster as Michael shakes his head beneath you.

Finally, he seems to reach a breaking point and his grip on your hips tightens. “I have to fuck you!” He blurts out before sighing.

“Oh, really?”

“I… I have to fuck you –”

“Mhm?”

“And prove I did somehow.”

“How interesting!”

He narrows his eyes at that and peers up at you suspiciously, studying you carefully. You can’t help but giggle, loving the way you feel when his eyes are on you, and you smirk when he finally blinks in realization.

“You… you knew this whole time, didn’t you?”

A sly smile spreads across your lips as you nod, squirming excitedly on his lap. “Like I said,” you chuckle with a little shrug, “Not. Sneaky!” You tease, punctuating each word with a little boop to the tip of his nose, unable to resist. 

He stays silent for a moment, gazing up at you with a strange mixture of awe and unease before he finally speaks through a deep sigh. “So, I suppose this is the part where you tell me to leave?”

Well, that comment throws you off. You cock your head to the side, confused, as your eyebrows furrow together. “Why would I ask you to leave?”

He sighs again and grits his teeth, looking dejectedly at the floor. “Come on, love,” he mutters, looking anywhere but you, “I-It’s not like you’d ever want to –”

“Ever want to what?” You ask with a frown, gently grabbing at his chin and tilting his head up, forcing him to meet your gaze, “You think I don’t wanna fuck you, honey?”

“Well, I –”

“Michael,” you say pointedly, raising your brows as you smirk slightly, staring deeply into his blue eyes, “I’m the one that came onto you, yeah?”

“I… I suppose.”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding your head as you run your fingers through his short hair, not missing the little sigh that leaves his lips when you push yourself closer to him, your chest pressing tightly against his, “And while I’m not thrilled at our first time being for some stupid little task –”

“It’s,” he cuts you off shyly, shaking his head ever so slightly, “It’s – I’ve never…” He stammers, nervously gripping at your waist once more. 

You can’t help but smile softly, so charmed by him over and over. You nod your head knowingly, raising your brows just a bit. “I know, honey,” you whisper reassuringly, “We don’t have to, I’ll let you take a pair of my panties or whatever else, but we don’t need to do anything.”

He sighs up at you again, so taken with you he feels like he could scream, and shakes his head more, grabbing at your hips tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “N-No, I… I want to,” he nods, swallowing anxiously, “I do, I just… don’t really know what I’m doing.”

You nod again, listening carefully as he speaks. “So, is it all new or…?”

He shakes his head and smiles a little, shyly, though the sight of it still makes that knot in your belly tighten further, making you blush on his lap while butterflies swirl around inside you. “I’ve kissed before,” he says lowly, chuckling awkwardly as he seems to get bolder, causing you to shudder when he lightly rubs his hands over your waist and hips, “And done… hand stuff.”

You giggle at his boyish explanation and bite your lip when you smile at him, wiggling in his lap as a heat begins to settle at the apex of your thighs. “Can I kiss you, honey?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat again, making you want so badly to press soft, glossy kisses to it, but you resist, determined to make this good for him. 

“Yeah,” he nods eagerly, blue eyes fixated on your lips.

You smile softly before leaning in and finally pressing your lips against his, both of you sighing at once. One of his hands stays at your hip while the other comes to rest in the small of your back, pressing you more tightly to him as your lips move together, his motions surprisingly fluid and practiced. 

You make a small noise in the back of your throat when you feel his tongue licking at your bottom lip, and eagerly allow him access with a little sigh. Your fingers busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making him shudder beneath you when you skim your hands over his bare chest and stomach as his tongue flows with your own, the bitter, coffee-ish flavor of the pint he’d had earlier still on his tongue.

Impatient, you pull back long enough to look at him for reassurance, smiling when you earn a little nod. You kiss him once more before tugging his shirt off, flushing when he groans lowly as you trail kisses down over his jaw and neck before swiping your tongue greedily over his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch. 

“F-Fuck,” he sighs brokenly, bolding tracing over your thigh until his fingers are tucked up under the silky, baby pink material of your dress. His touches make you shiver as goosebumps bloom over your skin, making you whine against the pale column of his throat, “Can I?” He breathes, fingers toying with a strap of your dress while the others slowly inched the bottom of it up higher and higher. 

“God, please,” you mewl, nodding against his throat, your head on his shoulder. He shudders at the feel of your breath on his neck and nods once before tugging at the bottom of your dress. You sit up to help him, whining when you feel his hard length pressing against your thin, lacy underwear, “You don’t need to ask, Michael. Want you to take me however you want.” You whisper as he tugs your dress over your head, blue eyes meeting yours for a second as he nods before they skim lower, widening as he takes you in on his lap wearing only a bra and panties. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, making you giggle shyly as you lean in and softly kiss over his cheeks, “You have…you’re – you’re perfect,” he sighs, brazenly cupping your breasts, skimming his thumbs over your nipples through the thin pink fabric of your bra and smiling proudly when he feels them harden at his touch, “You’re perfect, but these are… holy shit.” He repeats, his voice breathy and mesmerized as he takes in your chest for another moment while you softly card your fingers through his golden hair. 

You gasp through a little giggle when you feel his length twitch, even through his trousers, and wiggle on his lap, blushing when the movement earns you a broken groan. “Yeah?” You whisper cheekily, watching as he marvels at your chest for a second longer before quickly unclasping your bra and shrugging out of it, tossing it down onto the floor with his shirt and your dress, “What about now?” You tease, proudly arching your back as you bite your lip.

He groans again, louder than he has all evening, and instantly ducks his head down. The feel of his soft lips wrapping eagerly around one of your nipples makes you cry out, gasping sharply as he sucks at the sensitive bud before he runs his tongue over it. You cradle the back of his head in your hands, fingers lightly pulling at the short strands of hair, as he switches from one breast to the other, kneading whichever one is free with his hand. 

Needing something, anything, you finally pull him off of your chest after a few moments, laughing when he all but whines, and smiling even more when you take in his disheveled appearance – blond hair sticking up at odd angles from where you’d run your fingers through it, cheeks flushed as his glasses sit crooked on his nose, and his blue eyes staring up at you hungrily. 

You shift back on his thighs just enough to snake a hand between the two of you and he gasps when you cup the bulge pressing against the zipper of his khakis. “You want me to suck your cock?” You ask cheekily, lightly squeezing at his length. 

He surprises you by shaking his head no,gulping slightly with an awkward laugh before answering. “I do, I really fucking do, love,” he breathes, kneading at your breasts as he stares up at you sheepishly, “B-But I really want to last and if you… if you suck it, I –”

“Okay, okay,” you stop him with a kiss, “We’ll table it for next time.” 

“N-Next time?” He questions, fighting to keep his eyes open as you press kisses against his neck once more. You nod against his shoulder and press kisses up to just beneath his ear. 

“I’m not letting you go that easy, honey,” you whisper, chuckling when he shivers. You spend another moment softly kissing and biting at his neck before speaking again, “Have you ever eaten anyone out?” You question, pulling back to look at him.

He shakes his head, his eyes flicking between both of yours as he looks up at you. “No.” He answers simply, his voice hardly a whisper. 

You can’t help but smirk coyly and cock your head to the side, running a finger through the little patch of hair on his chest just to see him shudder. “You wanna try it?”

He nods eagerly and surprises you once again by quickly swinging you around, maneuvering you until your head rests on the pillows of your bed. You squeal at the movement, laughing with him as he settles over you, his narrow hips slotting easily between your thighs as you silently marvel at his unexpected strength, the shock of it going right between your legs. 

“You want me to lick your pussy?” He asks lowly, grinning when he sees your eyes widen ever so slightly. 

“You’re quite something, huh?” You breathe, still gazing up at him in surprise. 

“Observant,” he shrugs, smirking as he sits up, kneeling between your legs, “You aren’t the only one who is, love.” He teases, quickly undoing his belt and trousers and groaning as he pushes them down his thighs, stopping at his knees. 

Your eyes go wide at the size of his length, it’s clearly very impressive and it’s not even out of his plaid boxers yet. That smirk stays plastered on his face as he leans back down to hover over you, hastily removing his glasses and sitting them on your desk before sloppily kissing you for a moment, surprising you yet again by trailing wet kisses down your neck. 

“Michael…” You sigh dreamily, arching your back toward him when he starts kissing over your chest. He groans from deep in his chest, mouth pressed against the fat of your breast. 

“Fucking hell,” he curses, teasing your nipple again with the tip of his tongue, “Say it again, love.” 

His simple command sends shivers down your spine and you mewl, squirming underneath him, “M-Michael!” You moan again, fumbling over your words as he sucks at your breast again before he lifts his head. 

“Good girl,” he purrs with a sly, easy smirk that makes your heart jump, a soft sigh tumbling past your lips. He shifts further down the bed, kissing down over your ribs and stomach, his confidence seemingly growing every time he presses his lips against your skin; the thought makes your head spin.

Finally, he hooks his fingers into the lacy sides of your panties, and his eyes peer up at you as he tugs them down over your hips before flinging them onto the floor. “Oh, my God…,” he sighs, staring greedily at your pussy, a broken groan sounds from his throat when you spread your legs more. 

You bite your lip and giggle, smiling shyly as you tangle your fingers in his hair once more. “Like what you see?” 

He nods his head rapidly, making you chuckle again as he stares up at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I… uh, w-what now?” 

He’s so endearing, you can’t help the little sigh that leaves you and you sit up a little, leaning back on an elbow as you use your other hand to spread your center open. You bite your bottom lip once more when he whines a little, seeing you all spread out before him, flushed folds already slick and shiny. 

“Lick here, honey,” you whimper as you skim your fingers over your clit, so keyed up from only a few kisses that you gasp a little when you feel yourself clench; Michael looks like he may pass out. 

Ever the dutiful student, he gives you one last look before diving in. Your head falls back with a whiny gasp as his tongue snakes over your clit, just as you’d instructed. A long, shuddery moan leaves him, vibrating against your cunt and you watch as his blue eyes all but roll back in his head. 

“Just like that, Michael,” you praise, tugging at his hair ever so slightly, which only serves to make him moan more. Your chest heaves as you watch him, determined not to let your eyes squeeze shut while he licks and kisses and sucks at your pussy like a man possessed, “Holy shit!” You whimper loudly when he pushes his tongue into you, groaning lowly when he feels your walls clench around it as he presses his nose perfectly against your clit. 

“You taste so good,” he gasps, wrapping his hands around your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants. He peers up at you through blond lashes as he feasts on you, sucking eagerly at your clit and savoring the way you shiver and squirm from his motions. 

Unbelievably, you already feel that warm, familiar tug in your belly beginning to grow, making your whole body feel flush and taut. “Just like that, just like that,” you whine urgently, grabbing onto his hair tighter and guiding his mouth exactly where you need it, your eyes finally rolling back and fluttering shut, “Holy fuck, don’t stop!” 

Michael grunts as you tug at his hair, his own hips rutting greedily against your pretty bedding — cock throbbing so hard there’s no doubt he’s leaked through his boxers. He watches you carefully, studying your movements and reactions as best he can while he rhythmically licks at your clit. 

“Oh, shit!” You cry not even a moment later, your whole body seeming to stutter as your muscles finally relax. You mewl as your high finally washes over you, savoring the way Michael groans into your cunt as he feels it contracting on his tongue. Your eyes stay squeezed shut as shivers roll up and down your spine, shuddered cries leaving your lips. 

Just as his touches begin to border on overstimulation, you have enough wherewithal to push him away, and he releases your center with a lewd little pop. 

“Was that good?” He asks through a breathless laugh, swallowing as he looks up at you, evidence of your arousal still shining on his lips and chin. 

“Good?” You huff, eyebrows raised as you gaze down at him, “You’re sure you’ve never done that before?” You question in disbelief, chest still heaving. 

He smiles shyly, already pink cheeks seeming to flush deeper from your praise as he chuckles. You cup his cheeks when he leans over you again, whimpering as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You sign as he kisses down your neck again, making him chuckle against your skin. 

“Just observant,” he grunts, shuddering when you wrap your legs around his trim waist. You gasp as his length brushes over your still sensitive pussy, impossibly hot and hard even through the thin fabric of his boxers. His fragmented sigh makes you smile and you tug his head up, blushing as you look up at him. 

“You ready, honey?” You breathe, giggling when he nods his head again eagerly, his hips stuttering instinctually against your center. “Here, let me…” You trail off, the two of you separating for a moment as you lean over and pull open the top drawer of your desk, pulling out a pack of condoms and tearing one off before laying back down. 

You watch enraptured as he kneels between your legs again, pulling down his boxers finally. “Holy…” you gasp when his cock finally bobs free, twitching up to rut against his lower stomach; he’s long and thick, curving a little as veins run up the underside, leading to a flushed, leaking head. He smiles shyly again at your attention as he shuffles awkwardly out of his trousers and underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor.

You hand him the condom and watch as he rolls it on, giving him a little reassuring smile as he does. Once it’s securely in place, you pull him back to you, eagerly kissing him once more and wrapping your legs securely around his waist. Both of you moan in unison when his length glides through your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit. 

He pulls away with a little gasp, hovering over you as he glances down at your hips. “S-So, I just…” He trails off, watching as you reach down with one hand, grunting softly when you wrap your hand around his cock. 

Carefully, you position him at your entrance and angle your hips a little. “Go on, honey,” you encourage with a soft smile, running your other hand over his chest. 

Nodding once, he presses forward and swears he sees God. “F-Fucking hell,” he groans, loudly sighing your name as he carefully guides himself into you, absolutely in awe at the way your hot cunt grips him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips resting firmly against yours as his chest heaves, breaths coming in short, sharp pants. 

You aren’t fairing much better, head spinning at the way he splits you open, pressing incessantly at each and every sensitive spot within you. You pant against his neck as he stills, pressed deeply within you. 

“D-Do… fuck, do I just…?” Michael stutters, giving half-hearted little thrusts to test the waters. 

“Yes!” You answer instantly, anxiously nodding up at him as your hips wiggle against the bedsheets, making him swear and shudder above you, “Just move, honey, do what feels good.” 

He groans again and gives a little nod before experimentally moving his hips again, pulling out more this time before pushing back in. “Shit,” he breathes above you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grunts with each roll of his hips. 

You pant underneath him, spurring him on by pressing your feet against his backside, urging him to move faster and faster as the frilly lace from your socks tickles his pale skin. “You’re doing so, so good, oh, my God,” you breathe, your voice high-pitched and whimpery as you tangle your fingers in his hair again, knowing by now that it drives him crazy. 

Above you, Michael’s hips slowly but surely begin to stutter, his thrusts starting to peter out as his breathing picks up. “I’m —!”

“Wait!” You blurt suddenly, smiling wickedly as he comes to a screeching halt, pushing himself up enough to stare down at you with wild eyes, “I have an idea…” You tease with a little giggle. 

“W-What?” 

“You have a phone, yeah?” 

“…Yeah?”

“One that can, like, take video?” 

“Yes?” 

“Grab it,” you laugh, pushing him off of you with a laugh. He rolls his eyes with a smirk but does as you ask, clumsily pulling himself from your heat before stumbling over to where his khakis had landed. He shuffles about for a second before pulling a silver phone from the pocket of his trousers. 

“Now what?” He asks curiously, positioning himself back between your thighs, cock twitching meanly. 

“Film me.” 

“What?!” He gapes at you, brows creased. 

“Film me, honey,” you giggle, biting your lip conspiratorially, “For your little task, you need proof, yeah?” 

“Well, yeah, b-but I can just take your panties or something, I don’t —“

“Or you could bring back something better…” You smirk, shrugging your shoulders playfully, “We don’t have to but… it could be kinda hot?” 

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking between you, your pussy, and the phone in his hand before he nods once, curtly. “We… we can try it.” 

“Yeah? You wanna?” 

“Yeah,” he quips, catching you by surprise as a mean little smirk spreads over his lips, “Wanna see the look on Catton’s face when he sees you creaming on my cock.” 

Your eyes widen and you huff out a shocked laugh, a zing of electricity lighting behind your eyes. “You’re insane,” you say softly, an endeared smile on your lips. 

He snickers, his whole demeanor seeming to change before your eyes as he transforms from this shy, stuttering boy into an astonishingly cocky man. “You like it, love,” he teases, grabbing his dick and positioning himself at your entrance yet again. 

“Wait!” You giggle again, blushing as he groans. 

“You don’t want to anymore?” 

“No, no, not that,” you assure him, affectionately running your hand down one of his shockingly muscular arms, “You can film me… on one condition.” 

“‘N what would that be?” 

“Take me on a date.” You breathe, suddenly shy. You know he’ll agree to it, but even still, your heart pumps wildly in your chest. 

He stares at you for a second, blinking dumbly as he processes your request. “You want me to take you on a date?” He asks, flushing so deeply that the soft pink hue cascades all the way down to his chest. 

Giggling, you nod your head, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You need to start giving yourself more credit, honey.” 

He sighs at that, a little astounded huff, before he’s suddenly grabbing at your calves and pushing your legs up toward your shoulders, all but bending you in half, anxious to get his cock back into you. You gasp at the movement, and chuckle at his eagerness, a sound that morphs into a whiny moan when he slides back home. 

“Christ,” he grunts, shoulders heaving as he gets used to the way you feel around him once more, “Y-You feel so good, love, fucking perfect.” 

“You’re so big,” you whine, nodding as you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, “You’re so good, Michael, you have no idea.” 

He groans above you, hands shaking as he grabs for his phone, flipping it open and quickly opening the camera as his hips rut into you, making the springs of your bed creak softly. 

As soon as Michael gives you a little nod to let you know he’s filming, you truly put on a show — or well, you at least stop trying to quiet yourself down and be conscientious of the people in the rooms next to you. The way he has your legs bent back makes him feel somehow bigger and causes his cock to hit that sensitive spot within you with pinpoint accuracy every time he thrusts in, making you clench around him and moan loudly each time he moves his hips against you. 

You watch as he angles the camera down a bit, no doubt pointing it at the spot the two of you are joined together, letting the camera record his cock sliding in and out of you. When he moves it back up, however, to get your face as evidence, you plaster on the cheekiest grin you can muster. 

“H-Hi boys,” you tease breathlessly, smirking as you lean up on one elbow. You wave with your other hand before blowing a kiss to the camera, which makes Michael cockily laugh.

“Fuck, I gotta…” he mutters after a few more seconds, carelessly dropping his phone down on the bed before roughly grabbing at your thighs with a bruising grip, one that makes you mewl and arch your back toward him. The two of you moan and whimper in unison as he begins thrusting wildly, seemingly too worked up to care about anything but cumming. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant over and over, head spinning as he bullies your sweet spot. 

“That’s it, love,” Michael murmurs, his voice gruff and low as he stares down at you, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead; he looks wilder than you’ve ever seen him, the thought only serving to push you closer and closer to the edge. “S-Shit, that’s it. Fucking come for me, cream on my cock; please, please, please,” he murmurs, leaning down to press desperate kisses against your neck and collarbones. 

The new position causes his pubic bone to rub deliciously over your clit, making you seize beneath him with a loud whine. Your toes curl, heels still pressing into the small of his back. “M-Michael, holy fuck!” You practically squeal as your high finally washes over you once more, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you go lax and pliant underneath him. 

The feel of your walls pulsing around his cock has Michael reeling, his hips somehow thrusting even faster as he both desperately wants to cum while also never wanting this feeling to end. “C-Cum, honey, cum,” you pant softly, cupping his cheek with one hand and turning his face toward yours. 

That does him in and the rubber band in his belly viciously snaps, making him shudder above you as his thrusts come to a halt, cock twitching wildly inside you as he empties himself into the condom. You watch him in awe, taking in every detail from the way his nose scrunches up as his eyes squeeze close to the way he whispers your name over and over like a prayer. 

The two of you lay in silence for a moment, his breath warm against your neck as he slumps against you trying to catch his breath. 

Eventually, you can’t help it anymore and let out a breathless giggle, which only intensifies when he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at you with a smirk. 

“Something funny?” 

“Just,” you breathe, trying to calm yourself enough to get words out, “Just… wow,” you finally say, giggles petering out as you look up at him, the soft gleam in his eyes makes your heart clench in your chest. 

“Good wow?” He blushes, looking down between the two of you as he pulls himself from your walls with a little hiss. 

“Very, very good wow,” you confirm, grinning as you watch him pull off the condom before he peers up at you with a sheepish grin. “Tie it off, honey,” you instruct, smirking as he does just that, before nodding to the little wastebasket by your desk. 

He gets up with a groan and quickly tosses the condom in the trash before turning back to you, the bashful look on his face making you blush. 

Unable to resist, you grin at him and spread your arms with a giggle, wordlessly inviting him for a cuddle, which he gladly accepts. The bed creaks slightly as he lays back down, relaxing his head on the pillow just beside yours. Again, the two of you stay silent for a moment, content to merely gaze at one another, before he shyly looks away and sighs. 

“I…,” he starts, blue eyes blinking and flitting around your room as he gathers his thoughts, “Thank you,” he finally says, looking back at you with a little half smile. 

Your brows furrow at this as you grin at him. “What’re you thanking me for?” 

“Well, f-for… this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the two of you before sitting up just slightly and fishing around in the blankets for a second. “And this,” he sighs, holding his phone up before twisting around to set it on the corner of your desk, turning back to you. “I just… I know you didn’t have to, is all, so…” 

You cock your head to the side as you prop yourself up on an elbow, eyes narrowing as you study him closely. “And people have the nerve to say I’m thick,” you joke, lips spreading into a wide grin as you gaze down at him, “I wanted to do all this, Michael. I’m the one that came onto you, remember?” 

“W-Well, yeah, but —“

“No buts!” You laugh, pressing a finger against his lips as you shake your head, “I have eyes too, you know.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“You haven’t been the only one watching someone for months,” you giggle shyly, pressing your forehead against his, “I meant what I said about that date, too.” 

His arms wind around your waist, holding you tight as he processes your words with a dumbstruck smile, blushing under your gaze. “Whatever you say, love,” he concedes finally, pressing his lips against yours sweetly. 

He yawns tiredly when he pulls away from you after a moment, which only makes you yawn as well, and you glance over at the little clock on your dresser. “Christ,” you gasp, turning back to him, “I didn’t realize it’s already almost four… you can crash here, if you want?” 

He considers it for a moment, knowing he has to be back in that stupid little basement by noon and making a mental map of where exactly your dormitory is in relation to the Merton College Chapel. “I… I can stay, yeah,” he finally nods after a moment. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Love, I’m not sure my legs work well enough yet to walk out of here anyway.” 

Michael

Groaning, Michael slowly blinks his eyes open, rubbing them softly as he sits up in bed with a yawn. Blindly reaching over for his glasses, he’s confused when he doesn’t feel them in their usual spot and finally opens his eyes properly. 

He stares, confused for a moment as to how exactly he somehow got transported into what appears to be Barbie’s damn dream house, before the events of last night come flooding back to him. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes when he turns his head and sees your still-sleeping form beneath your flowery sheets, your hair tousled wildly on the pillow as your shoulders rise and fall evenly still with each breath. Looking around, he finally spots his glasses and puts them on before reaching for his phone, and cursing again when he sees the time. 

11:47 AM. 

He practically falls out of your bed as he tries to extricate himself from the sheets, and he hears you wake with a start behind him as he grabs wildly at his clothes on the floor. 

“Michael?” You ask questioningly, your voice still hoarse from sleep as you, frankly fucking adorably, rub at your eyes before fixing him with a curious look. 

“Gotta, shit, gotta run,” he explains quickly, cursing as he nearly loses his balance trying to tug his trousers on, “Need to be at Merton Chapel in, like, Christ, ten minutes!” 

“Ohh,” you giggle softly, watching with amusement as he finishes getting dressed, hair and clothes so disheveled that he’s sure he looks like the very definition of the walk of shame. 

Just as he’s tugging his shoes on and making a mad dash for the door, you stop him. “Here,” you smirk, holding out the same lacy pair of pink panties you wore last night, “For proof,” you explain, nodding to the phone in his hand, “Along with that. Should be more than enough,” you giggle proudly. 

He smiled sheepishly as he pockets your underwear. “T-Thanks,” he nods, turning to leave before you stop him once more. 

He can’t help but blush when you lean in and press and quick kiss to his lips, your cherry chapstick rubbing off on him some. Pulling away, you playfully smack his chest with a little grin. “Go get ‘em, honey.” 

Nodding, he smiles again before finally pulling your door open and bounding down the hallway. “I’ll text you, love!” He calls, peering back just before he rounds a corner, “About that date!” 

It’s 11:58 on the dot when he flings the basement door open, only to be pulled over to the same stupid dank basement wall, his back hitting it once more with a dull thud. 

Glancing around, he sees the ski-masked boys again, all fifteen of them, standing in a row with the head boy slightly out of line. To his left stands one of the other initiates, clutching a black tube of some sort. 

The basement stays silent for a moment before one of the masked boy’s watch alarms goes off just as the bells in the tower begin to chime. 

Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Noon.

Right on cue, the head boy steps forward even more and looks between Michael and the other initiate. “Your friend couldn’t be bothered to show his face, then?” He asks, dark eyes peering at the boy next to Michael. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, glaring at the head boy. “He’s still at the bank!” He snaps, “All the way in bloody Switzerland,” he kicks at the dirty stone floor as he explains, “Dickhead,” he finally mutters lowly under his breath. 

“Shame,” the head boy quips, clasping his hands in front of his waist, “Some men are simply not cut out for Bullingdon.” 

The boys in the row behind him nod knowingly, each making some little noise of affirmation until the head boy quickly stops them, holding a fist up by his head, bringing it back down to his side when they shut up. 

“So, initiates, what’ve you got?” 

The boy next to Michael steps forward first and hands the black tube to the head boy with a sigh. “There,” he says, gesturing to it, “There’s your bloody map. My mum could get sacked for that.” 

The head boy pops open one end of the tube, a document sleeve Michael now realizes, and gingerly extracts a rolled up piece of parchment from it, unrolling it just enough to confirm it's what they asked for. 

“Well done, initiate,” he nods, seemingly impressed as he flashes a smile at the boy, white teeth gleaming creepily through the slit in his ski mask. Carefully, he rolls the document up again before sliding it back in the tube, “Your commitment to Bullingdon will take you far. Welcome to the fray.” 

The boy stands still for a moment, eyeing the document tube with an almost regretful expression before curtly nodding and taking his place back against the wall. 

“And then there was one,” the head boy murmurs, dark faze fixed on Michael, “I seem to remember we gave you quite the… interesting task indeed, initiate. How did you manage?” 

Smiling damn near arrogantly, Michael all but skips up the head boy and proudly pulls your panties from his back pocket, letting them dangle from his index finger. “See for yourself.” 

The head boy grabs them by the edge and studies them for a moment, turning back to the row of boys behind him with a questioning glance. The boy Michael knows already to be that cunt, Oliver Quick, glances between him, the panties, and Michael, before cutting a sideways glance to a tall boy standing next to him. 

“These could be anyone’s,” the head boy says, turning back to Michael as he shakes his head, “You could’ve nicked them from your sister or something, we’ll need more than this, initiate.”

“Don’t even have a sister,” Michael quips, shrugging his shoulders with a little frown. 

“Okay, like, your cousin or something then –”

“Don’t have a female cousin,” he says with a shake of his head, “All boys.”

“The point still stands!” The head boy finally snaps, making Michael bite the inside of his cheek to hide a little laugh, though the corner of his lips still quirks up in a smirk, “You haven’t got any proof, do you? Is that why you’re stalling?”

Huffing a little laugh, Michael finally lets himself smirk meanly and steps closer to the head boy as he pulls his phone from his pocket, flips it open, and navigates to his video gallery. “Is this enough proof?” He teases, pressing play on the most recent video. 

The picture is small and grainy but there’s no doubt as to what’s happening as the sound of your pretty whimpers and moans echoes around the brick basement, along with the wet smack of Michael’s cock driving into you again and again. 

The head boy stares at the screen still as curiosity gets to a few of the boys in the row behind him and they all come crowd around Michael’s phone, eyes widening behind their ski masks and mouths falling open. 

The tallest one, the one Oliver keeps glancing at, lets out a long sigh as he peers down at the small screen and brings a hand up to his head as if he were going to run it through his hair before remembering the mask he has on. With him this close, Michael finally notices the little silver barbell stuck through his eyebrow and shivers as his lips curl up into a sadistic Cheshire cat smile, a tidal wave of savage pride crashing through his system. 

Finally, fucking finally, I get something he wants, he thinks as your breathy moans continue to pour from the speaker of his phone, tinny and muffled in some spots where he’d accidentally covered the microphone, but beautiful, beautiful and because of him.

After a moment, the video ends, the tiny phone screen reverting back to it’s little thumbnail as the head boy peers up at Michael, the rest of the club members taking their places back in line, though he can’t help but notice that Felix’s broad shoulders are slumped now and Oliver stands ever closer to him, like some kind of fucked up bodyguard. 

“I’ll be damned, initiate,” the head boy sighs with a shake of his head, “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

He watches as Michael merely nods and pockets his phone again, holding it tightly in his fist even still. After a second, he smiles widely and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Welcome to Bullingdon.”

Some time later, Michael finally exits the basement, a few of the club members, sans ski masks now, nodding goodbye to him as they disperse across campus, meeting adjourned. 

He wasn’t really sure what he’d been expecting from the initial meeting but it was mostly them prattling on about where exactly they had all their grubby little fingers, poked in seemingly every facet of society from Parliament to local newspapers. 

Braggy cunts, Michael thinks as he ambles outside, glancing up at the sky as he steps into the Mob Quad, surrounded by stony old buildings. 

Smiling to himself, he pulls out his phone and quickly finds your number in his contacts list, blushing when he sees you’ve taken the liberty of adding some girly heart emoticon next to it. He hardly has time to press it against his ear before you answer.

“Well?” You demand with that now familiar giggle, some unfamiliar pop song playing in the background.

“I’m in,” he confirms, nodding to himself as he slowly walks in the direction of his dormitory, “Thanks to you.” He smiles like an idiot when you laugh.

“Don’t sell yourself short, honey,” you tease, he can picture your bright, glossy smile in his head, “You earned that spot.”

Michael merely shakes his head with a happy little sigh. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “About that date… I was thinking the King’s Arms? Tonight at six, if that works?”

“Oooh, tonight at six,” you repeat teasingly, an image flashing in his mind of you twirling your hair around a perfectly manicured finger, “Someone’s quite eager, hm?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Hmm, I suppose not,” you giggle, pausing for a second, “It’s a date then.”

“Fantastic,” Michael sighs, trying with every fiber of his being to sound casual and cool about the whole thing, even as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 

“See you tonight, Mr. Bullingdon,” you tease, making a little kissy sound into the phone before hanging up. 

Michael pauses for a moment, standing to the side on the pavement as he nods to himself. If it weren’t so fucking cheesy, he’d raise his fist in the air, victorious, à la Judd Nelson at the end of The Breakfast Club. 

Instead, he flips his phone back open and navigates back to your video. Sighing, he stares at the little thumbnail for a second before deleting it, pocketing his phone once more, and continuing back to his dormitory. 

He has the real thing now.

taggled lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[azsazz]

Out of Order

Hockey!Azriel x Figure Skater!Reader

Summary: You're running late from practice and the women's showers are out of order. In your haste to make it to class, you utilize the men's locker room while they're on the ice, only to find out that their practice has been cut short as well...

Warnings: Smut (oral, m receiving). Steamy (haha, get it?).

Word Count: 3003

Notes: This would prob never happen but it’s my world and you’re all living in it 😏

Belongs to the Shut Out & Penance world

_________________________________________

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter, staring at the sign hanging over the showers in the women’s locker room. It reads Closed for Maintenance. You’ve completely forgotten that the showers weren’t going to be in working order this week. You hadn’t been paying too close attention when your figure skating coach told you about it before the weekend hit, still too stunned thinking about Azriel when you’d run into him on your way to where all the coaches’ offices are housed. 

It hasn’t been a great start to the week. Your alarm went off late, you spilled the horrible coffee you’d managed to make whilst brushing your teeth—no harm there—and you split your leggings after a tumble on the ice. Now, you’re going to be doubly late for class because Coach Vanserra had wanted to talk to you about your routine after practice.

And now this.

Clicking your phone on, you check the time. Yup. You only have fifteen minutes to make your way across campus to class, and you’ve only just stopped sweating from the vigorous run-throughs of the jump you fell on during practice this morning. Anything to get the routine perfect, even if it did mean receiving a few cutting glares from the hockey players who were loitering around for their own practice. The chain reaction of you being late meant that the Zamboni flooded the ice late which meant that hockey practice started late.

Late, late, late.

You would totally skip class too, if it weren’t the one that you were struggling the most in. The Teaching Assistant even allowed you to meet with her before class today to go over the outline of your mid-term, and you really need to do well on it.

“What do I do, what do I do?” you wonder aloud, staring at the bright neon sign. You don’t have enough time to make it home, but—you groan as the idea pops into your head. 

The men’s locker room.

There are showers in there. Ones that probably work, too. 

Fuck, you really don’t want to do this. 

But you have no choice, you’re not spending the day walking around classes a filthy mess or smelling like sweat.

You duck out the door with your things, your bag slung over your shoulder, towel draped over your arm. Your shoes are clutched in your free hand as you duck your head, walking faster. Passing the rink just to make sure the hockey team is still out on the ice, you exhale softly, only allowing yourself a fleeting look at sex on skates.

Azriel is fast. Probably one of the fastest forwards on the team. He slides across the arena with a grace that rivals your own, and you’re impressed. Maybe he’s taken a few figure skating classes of his own. If only you could ask.

Quickly, you make sure that the coast is clear before ducking into the men’s locker room. It doesn’t look much different from the women’s locker rooms, with added urinals. It’s muggy even though it’s early, from the male figure skaters taking showers of their own. There’s a lingering scent of stale sweat in the air that makes your nose wrinkle, but you can push through that if it means you get the shower you so desperately need.

You halt, listening for any noise. Nothing. The locker room is perfectly empty.

You hustle to the back of the room where the showers are located, claiming the one furthest from the door. If someone does come inside, they likely won’t take up the empty shower next to you. Something about bro code and urinals, Cassian once mentioned. You pray that it applies to showers, too.

The walls separating each shower come up to your shoulders, and there’s a pair of swinging doors that keep the area enclosed. The water pressure is incredible, much better than in the women’s showers, and you groan as you step under the hot spray. Your towel is hung on the rack, your bag the furthest from the water as you can manage without getting it wet or being seen by anyone that might come your way.

You scrub your hair quickly, and when you turn around to wash the shampoo out, your eyes connect with a very familiar—and very heated—pair of hazel ones.

Azriel.

Holy fuck, this can’t be happening right now. His dark hair is damp with sweat, clinging to his perfectly tan skin. He’s sans shirt, and when your gaze quickly flicks to below the door, notice that he’s not wearing any pants, either.

Your heart pounds in your chest. He’s not supposed to be in here. You’re not supposed to be in here.

“What are you doing in here?” You exclaim, voice pitching high with your nerves. You slap your arms across your chest, even though you know he’s gotten an eyeful of your breasts from his vantage point, way taller than where the doors end.

“What are you doing in here?” He bites back, and the roughness of his voice makes the warmth pounding against your back converge between your legs. Fuck, he’s so attractive. His throat works around a harsh swallow, and you have to clamp your legs together stifle the throbbing.

Azriel watches you shift on your feet uneasily. Tracks you with his dark gaze like you’re a trapped animal and he’s about to pounce.

You kind of like this look on him.

“The women’s showers are out of order and I’m late for class,” you hastily reply, cheeks burning bright. You don’t know why he’s in here or if the rest of the team is seconds from following, but you need to get the fuck out of here right now, go bury your head in your pillow and potentially never return to the ice rink ever again.

This is utterly humiliating.

Azriel opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, raucous laughter and crude jokes fill the space as the rest of the team enter the locker room. Your heart falls to the floor, swirling around with the soap that’s still running from your hair, and slipping down the drain.

Before you can protest, Azriel’s shoving himself inside of the stall with you, uncaring that you’re completely naked and shouldn’t be here. He presses himself up against you and you slip, but he’s righting you, pulling you into his chest where you can feel how very interested he is in this debacle.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You exclaim, and it’s hard to keep your voice from shouting frantically like you want to.

The air becomes a thousand times hotter. You can barely breathe with him pressed up against you like this, turning the both of you and hiding you from the view of his teammates. Your heart still races in your chest, both because your fucking crush is pressing his naked torso up against yours and with the fear that one of his teammates will take notice.

“It’s either I see you naked, or the entire team does,” he whispers, huskily. “And no way in hell am I letting that fucking happen.” He growls and something like pleasure skitters down your spine.

You swallow roughly, “Good call.”

“Practice ended early,” He tacks on, answering your previous question.

“I gathered,” you breathe, but it holds none of the heat that it normally does when you talk to any of the hockey players. Especially Cassian. “You were out there for like, five minutes,” you whisper-shout. You can feel how red your cheeks are, and while this may be mortifying, Azriel’s hard cock pressed into your stomach only adds to your already heightened emotions.

You wonder what he’d do if you got down on your knees right now.

“It’s been an hour,” he responds, and you hold your breath when the water of another shower turns on. Azriel drags you under the spray with him, making it look to his teammates that he’s showering instead of hiding the figure skater they’ve been arguing with for ice time all semester. “Coach wanted to keep us loose for the weekend. We’re supposed to change and watch film.”

Fuck, maybe you were staring for longer than you thought.

You can’t focus. Your entire mind needs rewiring because all you can think about right now is how Azriel’s bare skin is touching yours. How he towers over you, how he’s staring down at you with a heat that rivals a thousand wildfires. Actually, he’s staring a little south of your eyes, right at your—

“Hey,” you snap softly. Your arms are still tucked tightly over your chest, and you hope you’re not experiencing a nip-slip right now. “Eyes up here, asshole.”

Azriel’s smile nearly makes you slip.

“Can’t help myself,” he defends, and this is the most animated you’ve ever seen him. Out on the ice he’s all broody and serious, head strictly in the game. It’s hot, but this side of him, cheeky and smug, might even be hotter. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Can you feel how hard you make me, baby?”

Gods, if he doesn’t shut up right now, you’re probably going to do something you’ll regret later, like grab his hand and slide it right between your—

“Dude,” Cassian’s voice bellows and you duck closer into Azriel’s chest. Each ridge of his impressive muscles contract as he freezes up and despite your heart feeling like it’s about to pound out of your chest, you can admit that this is thrilling. The thought of being caught in here, surrounded by built hockey players, naked with Azriel, makes your core twist with pleasure. “Since when do you have a pink towel?”

You wince. Of course, he can see where the towel is hung on the rack, the dude is massive.

 Azriel lies easily, “Yeah, some chick left it over at my place and I brough it to return to her later.” It sounds like something he’s done before. A bite of jealousy hits you hot and harsh at the thought of him doing this with anyone else.

You clench your jaw, but as if he can feel the way you tense, his large hands come to rest on your hips, soothing across your skin. Fucking fuck.

“Used? Nice one, Azzy,” Cassian laughs and nothing more is said while he returns to his own shower.

Azriel eases slightly, the motion making his abs relax. You want to lean forward and lick over them, but now is nor the time nor the place.

You really need to get the fuck out of here.

There’s no way in hell that you’re going to make it to class, dammit.

You hear more showers turn on, and Azriel removes his hands from your hips to reach behind you for the soap you have on the shelf. You watch him as he squeezes some of the shampoo into his hands before scrubbing them through his black hair. He’s like a fucking dream come true, and his cock still hasn’t gone down from where it’s pinned between the both of you, only the thin fabric of his boxers keeping you and it from meeting.

A droplet of soap falls onto your face, and you flinch, but don’t move. You’re not sure if you can, because your limbs are seized up with nerves. You’re not sure you want to.

Azriel rinses his hands off, slowly bringing them to your face. He wipes the droplet away with his knuckle and the feeling goes straight to your core.

“Azriel,” you breathe, but are promptly interrupted for a second time.

“Hey, man.” It’s Rhys. “You ready to kick the Sea Lion’s asses this weekend?” The water turns on in the shower directly next to you and in your haste to shuffle closer to Azriel, your arm brushes up against his cock and his hands fly out, gripping you firmly to keep you from squirming.

Oh. He’s enjoying being in this shower with you as much as you are.

A smirk makes its way onto your face that makes Azriel’s glorious hazel eyes narrow in distrust.

Reaching carefully behind you, you snag the bottle of conditioner from the rack and press it softly into his hand. His brows furrow in confusion as he answers his team captain. “Yeah, dude, Tarquin and his team don’t stand a fucking chance.” He almost chokes when you slide down to your knees in front of him.

“Damn straight,” Rhys says, while Azriel pleads you with his eyes. You’re not sure if he wants you to stop or keep going, but you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tug anyway.

His cock springs from its confines and the bottle in Azriel’s hand drops, ringing loudly against the floor.

“Shit,” he says, but it’s tight in his throat, like he can’t even get the words out. If someone catches on, he’s screwed.

He leans down to pick up the conditioner bottle and you frown as his cock is pulled from eye-level.

“What do you think you’re doing, pretty girl?”

You lean in close, sliding your hands up his muscular arms, enjoying the way his thick, dark eyelashes flutter under your touch. “Just enjoy, Azriel,” you whisper, your breath casting over his lips. He could grab you by the back of your head and tug you into the kiss he’s been wanting to since the first day you showed up at the rink, snarking at the team for going over their time. His cock jumps at the thought of those pursed lips wrapped around his cock. “And wash my hair while you’re at it.”

“Fuck,” he groans softly, but you pull away before he can rock into you and claim your mouth. He’s been crouched down for too long, anyway, so he rips himself from you, pushing to his feet.

“What do you think about Tarquin?” you hear Rhys ask, but you’re already reaching forward, taking Azriel in your hand. He jerks immediately and when you look up at him, he’s already shooting you an apologetic look, and then another that tells you he isn’t going to last very long.

You like the idea of that. Having this power over him.

He’s hard and smooth in your hand. You watch eagerly as a bead of precum drips from the tip, but it’s washed away by the water still cascading down his body, to your disappointment. If you’re going to be waterboarded, you’re thankful that this is how it’s going to go.

Azriel’s response is choked when you finally wrap your lips around the head of his cock, teasing his slit with the tip of your tongue. The flavor of him bursts on your tongue as another drop of precum follows, and you almost moan before remembering where you are. To keep the noise from coming out, you sink further onto his cock, cutting off your airflow.

“He’s good, but he’s no match for Bloodshed over there,” Azriel answers, and his hand falls to your head, fingers burying into your hair. You can feel the cold of the conditioner and if you weren’t enjoying yourself too much by bobbing your mouth up and down his cock, you’d be worried about the amount he’s using.

“Yeah,” Rhys says. “Their goalie is decent, but our offense is better.”

Azriel hums in response and his other hand finds your face, cupping it and guiding you just the way that he likes.

You take advantage of his help, lathing your tongue across any skin that you can find, reveling in the feeling of it all. Your legs are clenched so tightly together, your clit aching for release. You’re on edge, but you’re terrified of making any noise. You really can’t be found in the men’s locker room like this.  

“Dude…” Rhys trails off, and the suspicion in his voice makes you falter, but Azriel’s still guiding your head, trying not to fully say fuck it and jerk his cock as deep as he can go. “Are you fucking jacking off right now?”

“Yeah,” Az answers, because he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He’s still going to protect you, but his hips are moving, his tip hitting the back of your throat but not pushing any further, so you don’t choke. “So, if you’d kindly fuck off, that’d be ace. We’ll talk at film. Tell coach I’ll be late.”

Rhysand’s answering chuckle rings throughout the stalls when he cuts the water from his shower. “Enough said, Az. You’re fucking sick, but I’m out.”

As soon as Rhysand’s out the door, Azriel’s picking up his pace, gasping out that he’s going to release and trying to pry you off his cock like the gentleman he is.

Too bad you want his cum in your mouth.

You curl your fingers into the meat of his thighs, urging him to stay inside.

“Fuck, baby, you’re fucking perfect,” he groans before he releases himself. He’s all heady and musky, and you swallow him greedily, not letting a single drop escape. Gods, you need to stop acting like this, but around Azriel, you can’t help yourself.

He helps you to your feet and ducks down to capture your lips in a heated, desperate kiss. Your hands find his hair, clutching to him as his tongue traces the seam of your lips, silently asking for permission. You grant it to him, and the kiss turns hot and needy, like he’s been wanting this for a long as you have.

You’re breathless when he pulls away, chest heaving, but your gaze stays locked on his, especially when he sinks to his own knees.

“What are you doing?” you pant, planting your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging deliciously into his skin.

“Returning the favor,” he says, like it’s the simplest answer in the world. He taps the inside of your tingling thighs. “Why do you think I told Rhys to tell coach that I’m going to be late? C’mon, pretty girl, open these legs for me.”

_________________________________________

Hockey!AU Tag (will be tagged for any hockey fic, no matter paring):

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks

[incloudcity]

unexpected play | jh86

requests are open

summary: you’re a focused, no-nonsense junior trying to survive midterms, and Jack Hughes is the golden boy—the kind of chaos you’ve always avoided.

The door hit something.

Correction: someone.

You blinked, mid-coffee crash and Red Bull high, and found none other than Jack Hughes—frat boy legend, hockey team captain, and campus golden boy—clutching his forehead.

“Oh my god,” you blurted, your carefully color-coded flashcards exploding across the floor. “I didn’t see—are you okay?”

Jack was grinning, leaning against the doorframe with a hand dramatically pressed to his temple. “That’s one way to say hi.”

“I’m serious! I didn’t mean to—”

“You decked me with a library door,” he said, biting back a laugh. “You’ve got a hell of an arm.”

You stared at him, mouth parted. He was too chipper for someone who’d just been clocked with industrial-grade glass.

“I was trying to escape midterms, not commit assault,” you muttered, crouching to gather your flashcards. “Are you actually okay?”

“I’ve taken worse hits on the ice,” he said, brushing off his hoodie. “At least this one came with an apology.”

Of course he made a hockey joke.

You’d crossed paths with Jack Hughes exactly three times:

1. Once when he spilled beer on your tote bag at a party your roommate dragged you to.

2. Once when he asked to borrow your notes for a class he definitely didn’t attend.

3. And once when you told him—firmly—that you weren’t interested in being another name on a list of flings or a prop in someone’s post-game photo.

He’d laughed. You hadn’t.

Now, though, he just watched you as you reassembled your academic chaos.

“Cramming hard?” he asked, nudging one of your flashcards with the toe of his Nike. “Or just really passionate about brain anatomy?”

“Neuroscience. And yes, I’m cramming. Unlike you, I can’t rely on being good at skating and charming professors to pass.”

“Oof.” He clutched his chest. “That one hurt worse than the door.”

You looked up at him. He was in joggers and a hoodie that’s logo resembled his frat’s, hair mussed, a dimple peeking from his grin like it had its own agenda.

“I’m not your type,” you said flatly, mostly to shut him down.

Jack tilted his head. “What’s my type, then?”

“Anyone who thinks your snapback is a personality trait.”

He laughed. A real one. Loud, surprised, and stupidly infectious.

“Okay, fair,” he said. “But maybe I’m branching out.”

You arched a brow. “Why would you want to branch out?”

He handed you a flashcard, his fingers brushing yours. “Because I think you’re more fun than you pretend to be.”

You weren’t sure why you came. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the way Jack had looked at you—not like you were another challenge to win, but like he genuinely meant what he said.

You wore jeans and a cozy sweater. You brought your roommate, who beelined to the dance floor in less than sixty seconds. And you stood on the edge of the crowd, clutching a LaCroix, wondering if this was a mistake.

Then Jack spotted you.

His face lit up. He pushed past a couple of guys and crossed the room with ease, like it was the most natural thing in the world that you—you—were there.

“You actually came,” he said, half in disbelief, half impressed.

You shrugged. “Might as well see what all the noise is about.”

He handed you a red solo cup. “No pressure. But I make a mean vodka lemonade.”

You sniffed it. “This smells like a regret hangover.”

He laughed. “You’re brutal.”

“I’m honest.”

“Even better.”

You didn’t mean to stay long. You definitely didn’t mean to end up outside on the porch, sitting beside him on a rickety bench, talking about everything from your favorite sci-fi books to the weird comfort of academic burnout playlists.

He told you he wasn’t always this chill. That he puts a ton of pressure on himself to be the guy everyone expects. That the frat stuff was fun, yeah, but also exhausting sometimes. That he misses home. That he doesn’t get taken seriously by half his professors, and that he’s kind of used to girls not really seeing him—just the version of him they want to say they hooked up with.

And for the first time, you saw him.

Not as a frat boy or a jock. But as a person.

He took off his hoodie without a word when the wind picked up and wrapped it around your shoulders.

It smelled like laundry detergent and a little like cologne, and you hated how warm it made you feel.

“You still think I’m not your type?” he asked, voice quiet under the string lights.

You looked at him—his earnest expression, the nerves hidden behind his smile, the way he was really trying—and let out a breath.

“I think you’re more complicated than I thought.”

“Is that a good thing?”

You smiled, for real this time. “I think it might be.”

[fiastomatocheek]

CHOP CHOP LOVE

pair: will smith x f!reader; will smith x athlete!reader

genre: romantic fluff, domestic sweetness, celebrity realism.

warnings: none beyond mild teasing and tooth-rotting love.

summary: you and will, sit down together for your first ever joint interview on the graham norton show. between laughter, career talk, parenting stories, and memories, you both reflect on the rare kind of love that defied busy schedules, different sports, and public pressure. for the first time, the world gets to see not just the power couple but the best friends behind the jerseys.

fia’s note: okay so this is a totally different universe for dad!will, in this one, reader are also an athlete! i didn’t specify what sport reader play because i wanted to leave it open for your imagination. maybe reader’s into something competitive and fast-paced, or maybe it’s something low-key but still intense. whatever sport you love or vibe with right now, just slide that version of you into this universe. it’s all about having fun with it and making it feel personal to you!

tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @kell9rs @nokiaholland @smiley-roos @macka @alwaysclassyeagle @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk

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You sit down beside Will on the famous red couch, just happy to be here, next to Will, in this rare moment of where it’s not about your sports or media days or parenting twins… it’s about both of you. Together.

“This is a proper treat,” Graham leaning forward with his trademark mischief.

“A married couple, both top-tier athletes, parents to twins, and somehow still disgustingly in love? I’m jealous, and I don’t even know where to start.”

Will chuckles, his thumb brushing your knuckles.

“We’re just happy to sit still for once. No rink, no gym, no toddlers throwing Cheerios.”

You nod, grinning. “Yeah, this is basically a date night. You’re welcome, Graham.”

The audience laughs, and Graham claps delightedly. “A date night on my couch? I’m honored, Mr. & Mes. Smith. But seriously, how do you schedule your lives? Two athletic careers, twins, do you… do you ever sleep?”

“Uhm… we don’t,” Will says, deadpan. “We just vibe on chaos.”

“Lies,” you counter, nudging him.

“We’ve got this color-coded calendar that’s basically NASA-level logistics. My trainer’s on it, his coach is on it, even our nanny gets pinged when we’re double-booked.”

Graham blinks dramatically. “I can’t even sync my calendar with my mum. You’re superheroes.”

You and Will exchange a look, stifling giggles like kids caught passing notes.

“Okay, Let’s rewind a little bit,” Graham says, eyes twinkling.

“Will, you’re a star with the San Jose Sharks, NHL’s golden boy. And you,” he turns to you,

“An absolute force in your sport. How did this power couple come to be?”

Will’s grin softens, his eyes flicking to you.

“Teammate dragged her to one of my games. He’s like, ‘Come on, meet my friend, the athlete.’ I turn around, and she’s standing there, all ‘I’d rather be napping’ energy.”

You laugh, because it’s true.

“I’d just come from practice, totally wiped. My friend guilt-tripped me into going. I was not ready for hockey charm.”

“And yet,” Will says, squeezing your hand, “fate said, ‘Chop chop chop, let’s make this happen.’”

Graham leans in. “First impression of Will?”

You tilt your head, smirking. “He was so… red. Fresh-off-the-ice, cheek tomato-level red. Sweaty helmet hair, cheeks like stoplights. I thought, ‘Oh cute, but someone get this man a towel.’”

The audience roars, and Will clutches his chest.

“My face was out here winning her heart.”

“Honestly, though,” you add, softer,

“He was sweet. I’d been a Sharks fan forever, so meeting a player was cool. I just didn’t expect… us, you know.” You gesture between you, and the crowd awws.

Graham raises an eyebrow. “A Sharks fan before Will? So you were already tweeting about his team?”

“Oh, yeah,” you say.

“I’ve got receipts, tweets from years back, hyping the Sharks. Probably manifesting him without knowing it.”

Will leans toward Graham, mock-whispering.

“She summoned me with her fandom. I had no choice.”

Graham cackles. “Okay, careers. Different sports, Will tearing up the ice, you dominating your field. Any competitive tension?”

You both answer at once.

“No.” — “Yes.”

You turn to each other, bursting into laughter.

“Okay, maybe a little,” you admit.

“If I outrun him in a sprint, he’s like, ‘Bet you can’t do a slapshot.’ It’s his go-to.”

“She’s worse,” Will says, grinning.

“Honeymoon in Italy, we’re strolling through this gorgeous piazza, and she goes, ‘Race you to that fountain.’ In sandals!”

“And I won,” you say, pointing at him.

“Because I was carrying our luggage and your gelato!”

Graham is doubled over. “So, no relaxing honeymoon vibes?”

“We relaxed,” you say, then crack up again.

“But really,” Will adds, his tone shifting to something softer.

“That trip was perfect. I’d lose a hundred fountain races just to see her smile like that again.”

He looks at you, eyes warm, and your heart does a little flip.

The audience coos, and Graham fans himself.

“Will, you’re making us all swoon. How are you this romantic?”

Will shrugs, a playful glint in his eye.

“She makes it easy. I mean, look at her, my wife, she’s out here killing it in her sport, being the best mom, and still putting up with my sweaty post-game self. I’m just trying to keep up.”

You blush, swatting his arm. “Stop it, you sap.”

“Never,” he says.

Graham claps his hands.

“Okay, let’s talk twins, Charles and Theo Smith, gorgeous names. How’s parenthood with your high-octane lives?”

You squeeze Will’s hand, grinning. “It’s wild. They’re two, and they’re already little tornadoes.”

“Charles is a thrower,” Will says.

“Balls, toys, spaghetti, if it’s in his hands, it’s flying.”

“And Theo’s obsessed with speed,” you add.

“He sprints down the hallway in socks, sliding like he’s auditioning for the Olympics. We’re terrified he’ll crash into a wall.”

Graham laughs. “Are they already little athletes, taking after you?”

“Oh, definitely,” Will says.

“Last week, we set up this mini obstacle course in the backyard, cones, a little slide, toddler stuff. Charles bulldozed through it, and Theo? He’s weaving around cones like he’s got a game plan.”

You nod, laughing.

“I caught Will ‘coaching’ them, like it’s NHL tryouts. He’s whispering, ‘Stick to the left, Theo!’ I’m like, ‘Babe, he’s two. Let him eat dirt first.’”

Will grins. “Gotta start ‘em young. But yeah, they’ve got her fire, stubborn, fast, and way too charming for their own good.”

Graham leans forward.

“So Will, we all wanna know, you’re a young dad for an NHL star, yea sure but what made you so sure about starting a family?”

Will’s expression softens, and he glances at you, his voice full of feeling.

“I just… knew. The second I met her, it was like my life clicked into focus. I didn’t want to wait five years, ten years, whatever. I wanted her, us, family. Even with our crazy schedules, she’s always been my home base.”

You bite your lip, caught off guard by the emotion.

“He’s always been all-in,” you say quietly. “Like, we’d be on FaceTime me at a meet, him at an away game and he’d still find a way to send me flowers or a text that’s like, ‘You got this, champ.’”

Will smiles, a little sheepish.

“I proposed like eleven months in because I was on a ‘chop chop chop’ timeline. Couldn’t wait.”

Graham pounces. “Chop chop chop! Explain this madness!”

Will laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s this dumb thing I’d say when we were dating. I knew I wanted to marry her, like, yesterday. So I’d tease her, ‘Chop chop chop, let’s get this love story moving.’”

“He was ridiculous,” you say, but your smile is unstoppable.

“Proposed right after a competition. I’m sweaty, chugging water, barely alive, and he’s on one knee with this ring, saying, ‘Marry me, champ.’”

“Best moment of my life,” Will says, eyes locked on yours.

“She won her event and said yes. Double victory.”

The audience melts, and Graham pretends to wipe a tear.

“You’re killing me. How do you stay this in love with all the pressure careers, kids, the spotlight?”

You pause, glancing at Will.

“He’s my best friend. Even when it’s hard like when I missed his game-winning goal because I was at an event, or he missed my big win for a road trip we make it work. We cheer louder than anyone else for each other.”

Will nods, his voice soft but firm.

“She’s my everything. I’d skate a thousand extra laps just to see her in the stands. And when I watch her compete? I’m her loudest fan, screaming like I’m at a playoff game.”

You laugh, nudging him. “You are loud. I could hear you over my own heartbeat last time.”

Graham claps dramatically. “You’ve ruined every other couple for me. But one last thing, any big plans for the future? More kids, more medals, more fountain races?”

Will grins, glancing at you with a softness that makes your heart skip.

“More of her. That’s the plan. I’ve witnessed her through the pain, the grind, even before all this, her strength, her heart. So if she wants more babies, I’m ready, chop chop chop. But if not, that’s totally fine by me. I’m good as long as it’s what she wants.”

You blush, caught off guard by his earnestness, and swat his arm lightly.

“You’re gonna make me cry on national TV, Smitty.”

The audience awws, and Graham fans himself again.

“Will, you’re setting an impossible standard here! Any response to that?”

You smile, leaning into Will’s shoulder.

“He’s stuck with me, that’s for sure. More medals, maybe. But mostly just… more us. Chasing goals, chasing toddlers, chasing eachother.”

“Chop chop chop,” Will adds, winking at you, and the audience erupts.

Graham throws his hands up.

“That’s it, you’re officially the cutest. Get out of here before I propose to you both myself.”

[claymoresword]

I Choose Her | Epilogue

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: time jump, smut, porn very little plot, draco & y/n , kid fic coded, y/n & hermione endgame obv

Note: Hi, so this is an epilogue in theory but i think what it ended up being is just an open ended conclusion. Which doesn't sound promising, but it also just means that there will more for me to expand on (for side chapters) so it's exciting! The main series is now concluded but i am nowhere near done with writing Hermione x Y/n within this particular universe that I've cultivated. Long story short: more to come!

Eitherway, hope you enjoy this one ;)

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss @unexpected-character @brocoliisscared @aki-ham @theheartwants-what-itwants

Hermione turns towards the commotion in the living room, standing from her seat abruptly with her voice raised.

“Hugo! Give Scorpius a turn or I will shut that entire thing off, this is my final warning.” She asserts as the children bickered amongst themselves– fighting over the Playstation controller.

“Yes mother..” Your son mumbles, begrudgingly passing the controller over to his friend.

You lift the rim of the mug you are clutching up to your lips, masking your amusement at the display– your son has never taken to the idea of sharing; even with his own sister.

As anticipated, your attempt proves fruitless when you are caught on the receiving end of Hermione's narrowed gaze.

“Don't you dare laugh, he takes after you.” Hermione remarks as she pokes at your stomach, and your expression instinctively contorts in mock offense.

You soon turn to Draco and his wife, who remain sat across from you.

“Do you hear the way she speaks to me?” You retaliate in jest, earning a light slap to the arm from Hermione.

Astoria does grace you with a laugh, whether forced or not, you accept it as a small triumph.

Draco remains impartial, quickly redirecting the conversation.

“I've never understood those things” He gestures to the game console, and then the television it is attached to.

“I mean, when Y/n and I were their age we actually spent time outside.” Draco adds and you can't contain a scoff.

“Right, and you tormented me.” You contend, not allowing your best friend the chance to rewrite history simply to impress his wife.

“Did not.” Draco denies regardless.

You feel Hermione’s hand glide across your shoulders, causing them to relax involuntarily. Soon her fingers are delicately toying with your ear. A habit she had picked up over the years– one constantly reassuring, in an odd way.

“You were a nightmare.” You insist, leaning back in your chair, and Draco possesses enough cheek to appear affronted.

“I was a delight.” He claims defensively. This time it is Hermione who scoffs, and you allow yourself a smirk of satisfaction.

It is now two against one.

Astoria chuckles once more, hiding a smile behind her hand as she glances between you and your wife.

“Darling, I do find that hard to believe.. you seem to forget that we went to the same school, and Hogwarts was never immune to gossip.” She coos, turning to her husband, and Draco redirects his attention to her.

“Oh, now you're ganging up on me too?” He accuses, and you watch as Astoria smooths her hand across Draco's chest, up to the collar of his shirt. Without saying much else, she kisses him, and that quickly puts an end to the debate at hand.

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat as the couple escalated in their displays of affection.

You turn to Hermione, and she gives you a similar look in return, eventually nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck, an effort to escape the discomfort.

“I would say it's time for dessert but it appears they've already started.” Your quip, a whisper only for Hermione's ears.

Your wife stifles her laughter against your shoulder, glacing at the couple again, who remain in a full lip lock, oblivious to the world around them.

“Do you think they'd notice if you and I just got up and left right now?” Hermione asks, and you grin. Feeling inspired and overcome with the want to feel her mouth against your own.

“Probably not,” You respond, now leaning in to kiss her. Lightly at first, but as your hand slips around her waist, Hermione’s mouth opens wider, inviting your tongue.

You pull an involuntary moan out of her, causing your own smile to form mid kiss. Hermione breathes in sharply at the realization, before feebly shoving you away with her palm against your chest.

She is flushed, her chest heaving. Even after all the years of marriage; you'll never tire from watching this gorgeous woman blush.

Hermione averts her gaze, as if overwhelmed by your stare, and your smile only widens.

“I'll go fetch the cake.” Your wife says suddenly, her hand falls from your shoulder as she rises from her seat.

You can only watch as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Your own heart, pounding.

Seventeen years since you first met, and yet your pull towards Hermione remained formidable; your bond, unbreakable.

Seventeen years.

Your smile remains as you go to take another large swig from your mug. Draco and his wife have since stopped kissing, now instead whispering in secrecy to each other.

You roll your eyes, beginning to forget the point of inviting them today.

“Boys, dessert!” You bark, easily capturing Scorpious and Hugo's attention.

Now your son and his friend race towards the dinner table, disovering something new to squabble about.

Soon, Hermione emerges from the kitchen, a large lemon cake in one hand a stack of plates in another.

You then turn around in your seat to address your daughter. She had been a few paces away, sitting quietly by the window. Her nose in her book, as she often is. “Darling, do you want any cake?”

“Yes, please.” Rose replies simply, without looking up.

Your daughter; truly every bit like her mother. In both temperament, and appearance. Blessed with Hermione's rich curly hair and her gentle eyes. She's assertive as much as she is kind.

Your heart soars everytime you look at her, yet you are also overcome with the urge to weep all the same, for reasons unbeknownst to you.

Perhaps it was the cost of unconditional love, the price every parent had to pay. An impending burden that you could only do so much to ignore.

The fact is your daughter will not remain pristine and unspoiled forever. Life frowns upon innocence, it is bound to be stripped away from her; a violent and inescapable fate.

Change is a torturous and ugly thing, it is a challenge everyone must endure, no matter what you try to tell yourself.

“What's wrong?” Hermione's concern pulls you out your thoughts, you feel her hand grasping your arm.

You force yourself to smile, shaking your head dismissively. Now aware of Draco and Astoria's quizzical eyes on you.

“Nothing, I was just thinking.” You assure, resuming your position next to her at the table.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You let out a breath of relief as Hugo finally slips into a slumber in your arms. You gently lift him to lay your son on his bed properly, subsequently draping the covers over him.

Shutting the book in your hand, you set it down on his nightstand, wary not to make too much noise.

“Goodnight, sweet boy.” You utter quietly, threading your fingers through his hair before placing a tender kiss upon his forehead.

Your son remains asleep as you exit his bedroom and gently shut the door behind you.

You roll your shoulders as you start down the stairs, stifling a groan at the ache.

However, any feelings of discomfort dissipate once you catch sight of Hermione, standing by the sink, still busy with the dishes.

“Do you need my help?” You offer as you step through the kitchen, rolling up your sleeves in preparation.

Hermione throws you a quick glance before replying. “No, thank you, I'm almost done.” Your wife says as she rinses the final traces of soap off a plate before propping it onto the drying rack.

Your stare soon turns incredulous as you approach your wife.

“I don't understand– you'd get the dishes done twice as quickly if you used your wand.. you won't even have to stand by the sink to do that.”

You remark, now standing close enough to Hermione that you can smell the familiar and welcomed scent of her hair.

“I prefer to wash them the normal way, I suppose I'm just used to it.” She explains and you let out a huff.

You needed no more proof that your wife is indeed, muggle-born.

“So odd.” You tease in return, Hermione lets out a breathless chuckle as you wrap your arms around her torso.

Your breasts pressing up against her back as you embrace her tightly from behind.

You observed as Hermione washed all traces of dish soap off her hands before turning off the faucet.

“Is Hugo asleep?” Your wife asks, and you nod. You hear the subtle way her breath catches in her throat as you kiss her neck.

“He did put up a brave fight, but he's out.” You quip.

*

Hermione’s chuckle morphs into a proper gasp as you slipped your hand underneath her shirt, cupping her breast, her nipple quickly growing hard from your touch.

Your wife merely leans further into you, allowing you better access to her neck.

“I don't think I got the chance to tell you how gorgeous you looked today.. I liked the dress.” You admit, nipping lightly at the column of her throat.

Hermione lets out a satisfied hum, pressing her rear harder against your groin, as she reaches back, her hand finds the nape of your neck. “I had a feeling you'd enjoy it.”

“Well, I did. You always look beautiful.” You state, expertly kneading her other breast, drawing a breathless moan from your wife; one that drives you half-mad with need.

“Fuck, you're perfect.” You praise her again, lips still brushing against her neck.

You swiftly shift your hand lower, unlacing her pajama bottoms, she lets you do so, quietly, for a moment.

“Even now? Even after how much my body has changed from bearing our children?” Hermione asks.

Ever since the birth of your son, insecurity has polluted her– and you find it entirely unwarranted.

Hermione is flawless, she deserves to feel beautiful and you aim to remind her of it everyday.

“Especially now.” You persist, finally slipping your hand inside her underwear.

Hermione lets out a louder moan as you boldly palm her heat, feeling how wet she is already.

She whimpers as your finger prods at her entrance. Your wife grips a fistful of your hair, her other hand firmly on the edge of the sink to steady herself.

“The children–” Hermione pants, her voice strained with arousal. Her words of concern do not match the way she is grinding against your hand ever so slightly.

“��are sound asleep in their beds.” You assure, finally entering with another finger.

Hermione’s hips buck against your touch as you are now knuckle deep inside of her. Broken gasps of pleasure is all she can manage as you begin pumping, slowly, in and out.

Your wife lets loose an unrestrained moan as you curl your fingers. You watch as she bites her bottom lip in an attempt to conceal her sounds of pleasure.

You can't help but groan at the sight.

It is near agony– no one should ever be this enticing.

Time is unrelenting to some, and cruel to most. Yet it has been generous to her; your wife has truly only gotten more desirable with age.

“You're so intoxicating..” You allow your own desires to speak.

Then, you place a lingering peck on her cheek, simultaneously pulling another loud moan from Hermione before she guides you in for a kiss, one on the mouth, desperate and hungry.

You consume her gasps and whimpers as you continue pumping in and out of her at a steady, yet urgent, pace.

Eventually, your thumb finds her clit, you begin rubbing in a circular motion in tandem, and soon, Hermione can no longer kiss you properly.

She is reduced to mewls and pants. She removes her fingers from your hair, letting her arm fall to her side before harshly gripping the hem of your shirt.

In truth, your wife could just as well shred the fabric to pieces and you simply wouldn't care.

Hermione's fingers graze your abdomen, and it is only then you notice that it was her clumsy attempt to undress you, but her plans are soon destabilized as a wave of pleasure wrecks her body anew.

You are now forced to place a hand over her mouth as your wife begins to tremble. She is close. You could feel it in the way her cunt was clenching around your fingers, almost painfully so.

“Come.. come for me, beautiful.” You urge, your breath against her ear; that is all it took for Hermione to surrender herself to her climax.

As she moans against your hand, you find yourself taking in the way her chest heaved violently, her fingers digging into the counter till her knuckles turned a pale white– utterly vulnerable, and breathtaking, and she is all yours.

“My god, y/n–” Hermione curses once she has gained enough of her strength back.

Even so, your wife continues to rest some of her weight against you, and you are happy to provide her the support.

Hermione mewls into your kiss as you pull your fingers out of her. She watches through hooded eyes as you pull away so you could take your digits into your mouth, tasting her release.

Your wife turns around fully, resting her back against the counter as she continues to observe you. Her arousal, searing and visceral.

Desire shrouds the both of you, impairing all sense and judgment. It doesn't take long at all before Hermione is on you once more. As soon as you remove your fingers from your mouth, she replaces it with her tongue.

Hermione swallows your noises of pleasure as she finds the hem of your shirt once again, this time successfully pulling it over your head before discarding it, heedless and uncaring.

Her hands quickly find your breasts as she trails wet, languid kisses along your jaw and eventually your neck.

You are aroused beyond belief, and you can hardly think– you want to slip your fingers inside of your wife once more, you need to feel her, taste her. and you need it now.

As your mouths make contact once more, you prop your hand firmly underneath Hermione's thigh, lifting her in one swift motion, setting her on top of the kitchen counter.

Hermione lets you remove her shirt in record time, you fling it out of your grasp in a similarly incautious manner, not heeding where it lands before your mouth makes contact with her nipple.

You licked and sucked at it eagerly, with primal and unchecked want. A string of trembling moans from your wife urge you on, she gasps as you shift your attention to her other breast before just barely mustering enough to speak.

“No– wait, not here.” Hermione gasps, pulling your head back, her chest now wet and glistening from your saliva.

Before you can respond with something coherent, your wife kisses you again, open-mouthed and deep, but it ends far sooner than you'd like. Happily, her next words easily make up for it.

“Take me to bed.”

[wisteria-lodge]

“Snape’s Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them — we’ll be able to see if it’s true”

The Changing Framing of Snape as a Teacher (Part 2 - Book 5)

Part 1 - Books 1-4

In part one, we saw a pretty villain coded, bully Snape. Now that Voldemort is back, do things get better for Snape in Book 5? (surprisingly, yes)

Class # 10 - Draught of Peace

For the first time, we get a clear picture of what a typical class with Snape actually looks like. 

In the first four books, it's descriptions of students weighing and crushing ingredients, and Snape coming in with criticism when someone messes up. But when it comes to his actual teaching style - the most helpful line is from Book 2: “Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors’ work.” I’m picturing a hands-on, results-focused class with students getting instructions out of a book (the way Hermione can do with Polyjuice), while Snape walks around and corrects errors. This fits with the way he teaches Lupin’s DADA class -

They sat and made notes on werewolves from the textbook, while Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work they had done with Professor Lupin.

Also, Snape seems to like putting students on the spot with questions. He does that on the first day of potions, and again in Lupin’s class. 

However, in Book 5 he’s not a textbook guy, he’s a write-instructions-on-the-board guy. (Makes sense, gotta set up that Snape has… problems with the specific textbook Advanced Potion Making.)

"The ingredients and method” — Snape flicked  his wand — “are on the blackboard” — (they appeared there) — “you will find everything you need” — he flicked his wand again — “in the store cupboard” — (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) — “you have an hour and a half. . . . Start."

I’m picturing something that looks very like the technical challenge from the Great British Bake off - right down to calling out timing cues (“A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion,” called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.”) I go a little more into Snape’s classroom performance here, but basically - his presence/vibe/teaching style makes Harry and Neville actively worse, and they both start doing much better when he leaves them alone. But on the *other* hand, Hermione seems fine with the way he does things: she’s autism spectrum coded, good at learning things out of books, and definitely seems to likes a more structured class (does not do well in Care of Magical Creatures or Divination.) Snape spends the entire fall semester of fourth year going over how to synthesize antidotes, and when Slughorn takes over Hermione remembers how to do this… while Harry has nO idea.

We also learn that apparently Snape is a GOOD teacher, which is completely new information. He talks about “maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students,” which squares with Umbridge’s comment later on that “the class seems fairly advanced for their level.”

We also see a little more of Harry being an unreliable narrator:

“Potter, what is this supposed to be?” The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry.  “The Draught of Peace,” said Harry tensely.  “Tell me, Potter,” said Snape softly, “can you read?”  Draco Malfoy laughed.  “Yes, I can,” said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.  “Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.” 

Like… is that a taunt? Draco’s being an ass, but I wouldn't say that Snape necessarily is? Harry's Going Through It in Book 5, and is just a raw nerve sitting there clutching his wand - a pretty aggressive little detail. I think this passage is meant to introduce the idea that Harry might be possibly be taking Snape in bad faith - instead of just the other way round. Their relationship is becoming more equal, which will become important in occlumency lessons later.

“Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?” “No,” said Harry very quietly.  “I beg your pardon?”  “No,” said Harry, more loudly. “I forgot the hellebore . . .”  “I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco.”

His potion had been no worse than Ron’s (...) or Neville’s (...), yet it was he, Harry, who would be receiving zero marks for the day’s work.

“Your potion wasn’t nearly as bad as Goyle’s, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire.” [said Hermione.]   “Yeah, well,” said Harry, glowering at his plate, “since when has Snape ever been fair to me?”

So - here we have Snape being an unfair grader, being a little easy on Goyle, and coming down hard on Harry. But… the potion also doesn't seem like it was that good. “Not as bad as Goyle’s” is kind of damning with faint praise, when Hermione could have compared it to Ron's the way Harry does, or made a general statement about it's quality.

Also, it’s possible that Snape’s zero was meant as a motivational tactic, especially because it... works? Up until now, none of the ‘threaten extreme consequences’ tactics we’ve seen Snape use have ever actually worked. 

Class # 11 - Strengthening Solution

Snape gives Harry a D (Dreadful) on his homework, and for one it seems like they're on the same page: Harry also “knew he had done a poor job.” Snape also just seems to have been a tough grader across the board - Hermione only got a “passing” grade, which I assume is an A (Acceptable.)

“The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week’s essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D’s.” He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, “Some people got D’s? Ha!”

Malfoy is over here being a little hype man… and also doing some of the structural work connecting the word “dunce” to Harry. Like that is absolutely an insult… but I don’t think it’s fair to say that Snape is insulting specifically Harry. Or at least not JUST Harry. And if he IS insulting Harry… only Harry knows it. Especially because the only people Snape ACTUALLY puts in detention for being “dunces” are… Crabbe and Goyle.

“I would’ve had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn’t put them in detention!” “Keep your voice down!” spat Snape, for Malfoy’s voice had risen excitedly. “If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres —”

Which is the FIRST time we see Snape discipline a Slytherin!!! (Also gives us the interesting bit of info that if you fail your OWLs the first time around, you’re apparently allowed to retake them).

Harry actually does quite well this lesson:

Determined not to give Snape an excuse to fail him this lesson, Harry read and reread every line of the instructions on the blackboard at least three times before acting on them. His Strengthening Solution was not precisely the clear turquoise shade of Hermione’s but it was at least blue rather than pink, like Neville’s, and he delivered a flask of it to Snape’s desk at the end of the lesson with a feeling of mingled defiance and relief.

It seems like Snape's method worked.

STUDENTS INSULTED: Vague? I’ll give him half a point for Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle, because it was a generalized insult.  1.5 (TOTAL - 1, 11.5) 

(“dunce”) 

DETENTIONS GIVEN: 2 (TOTAL - 2, 4) 

Disciplinary Action #8: The Draco Malfoy Special

Draco’s here to cause problems. First he’s “waving around an official-looking piece of parchment and talking much louder than was necessary” about how Umbridge is letting him re-form the Slytherin Quidditch team. This doesn’t get a rise out of Harry, so Malfoy tries going after Arthur Weasley… and then in a last-ditch attempt (losing your touch there) he goes after people with curse damage - and accidentally triggers Neville.

Neville struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Malfoy who looked, for a moment, extremely shocked.

Harry and Ron hold him back, which is when Snape shows up.

“Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom?” Snape said in his cold, sneering voice. “Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you.”

And Snape doesn’t know Draco was involved, so… fair.

POINTS TAKEN: - 10 (TOTAL:  - 10, -10, - 157)

Class # 12: Umbridge’s Observation

So Umbridge is here, and we get an absolutely classic Snape moment: 

“You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?” Professor Umbridge asked Snape.  “Yes,” said Snape quietly.  “But you were unsuccessful?” Snape’s lip curled. “Obviously.”

And Harry is definitely engaged… but not in the class…

Harry was very interested in hearing her question Snape, so interested, that he was becoming careless with his potion again. “Salamander blood, Harry!” Hermione moaned, grabbing his wrist to prevent him adding the wrong ingredient for the third time. “Not pomegranate juice!”  “Right,” said Harry vaguely, putting down the bottle and continuing to watch the corner. 

Unsurprisingly, Harry’s potion does not turn out particularly well. It’s “congealing foully and giving off a strong smell of burned rubber.”

“No marks again, then, Potter,” said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry’s cauldron with a wave of his wand. “You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?”  “Yes,” said Harry furiously. Snape had already given them homework, and he had Quidditch practice this evening; this would mean another couple of sleepless nights.

And like… I don’t know about MALICIOUS as an adjective there, Harry. He’s giving you extra homework to make sure you understand the lesson. It’s tough, but you know. Understandable. 

Disciplinary Action #9: Gryffindor vs Slytherin Pre-Game Shenanigans

Snape was no less obviously partisan [than McGonagall]: He had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia Spinnet turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast that they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eyewitnesses who insisted that they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library.

This is interesting. On one hand… Snape is overbooking the Quidditch pitch (very annoying), ignoring the eyewitnesses who saw a Slytherin jinx a Gryffindor by insisting that the eyebrow thing was self-inflicted, and ignoring “attempts” to curse Gryffindors (which is interesting word choice. "Attempts?" very vague.) And McGonagall’s getting in on the fun by not assigning homework (to only the Gryffindors? Unclear.) Also - Alicia got embarrassed sure, but she’s good to play in the match. Snape ISN’T doing what we see Umbridge do, which is deliberately scheduling detentions at the same time as games. He isn’t even punishing anyone. He’s being sort of annoying, in a way that favors Slytherin. But all in all, he's being framed as - slightly worse than McGongall (who is also getting a bit of a call-out for being "partisan") and much better than Umbridge.

(Alicia's eyebrow-growing incident is treated very differently than Hermione's very similar teeth-growing incident in Book 4, that's all I'll say)

Class # 13: “Remedial Potions” (Occlumency)

This is a very interesting class because Snape *can’t* do his usual ‘work in silence from the book/blackboard’ thing. He and Harry are are also now at a MUCH more equal power level. 

We start with a reminder of Snape’s reasonable-ness, which (as far as the framing is concerned) puts the reader in Snape’s court a little. 

 In a corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Harry — not without reason — of robbing.

Harry has to be reminded (twice) to call Snape ‘sir,’ and Snape snipes at him: 

“I can only hope that you prove more adept [occlumency] than Potions.”  “You have no subtlety, Potter,” said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. “You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker.”

BUT - this is also a great example of Unreliable Narrator Harry. He asks about Voldemort’s legilimancy abilities, and Snape pauses. Harry interprets this pause as something he does “apparently to savor the pleasure of insulting Harry.” Before Snape says this: 

“Only Muggles talk of ‘mind reading.’ The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter . . . or at least, most minds are . . .” He smirked. “It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so utter falsehoods in his presence without detection.”  Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind reading to Harry.

Snape has this big long explanation and Harry is just like. “So, it’s mind-reading. Like I said.” Fantastic.

And yes, Snape absolutely gets an insult in, but he’s not really focused on “the pleasure of insulting Harry” during this segment. He’s not really focused on Harry at all (probably why he’s missing that his explanation isn’t landing.) Snape is talking about - himself, basically. He’s talking about his own experience lying to Voldemort, which Harry does not realize. He's not picking up on the fact that Snape is actively afraid at this moment. It makes sense - he’s taking on a ton of risk in order to teach Harry this, and it makes sense that he’s thinking about how he’s going to lie to Voldemort the next time he sees him. This becomes even more explicit later in the scene, when Snape’s control on his own emotions starts slipping:

“Do not say the Dark Lord’s name!” spat Snape. There was a nasty silence. They glared at each other across the Pensieve.  “Professor Dumbledore says his name,” said Harry quietly.  “Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard,” Snape muttered. “While he may feel secure enough to use the name . . . the rest of us . . .”  He rubbed his left forearm, apparently unconsciously, on the spot where Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin.

But Harry is finally getting a lot of much-needed exposition about his psychic connection, and completely missing how uncomfortable Snape is. 

His first attempt to block Snape actually goes pretty well. Snape recognizes that Harry let off some accidental magic, and says “Well, for a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been.” Which is almost a compliment. Harry is still confused about what to do, and Snape does re-explain: 

"Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand.”  “I’m trying,” said Harry angrily, “but you’re not telling me how!” “Clear your mind, Potter,” said Snape’s cold voice. “Let go of all emotion . . .”

But then Harry relives Cedric dying, which seems to trigger Snape (it’s the Voldemort of it all.) He looks “paler” and starts speaking with exclamation points.

“Get up!” said Snape sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”

Honestly, I think he’s kind of projecting, and talking about himself here. 

 “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers!” 

That “wallow in sad memories” part… see, I would definitely say that’s more of a Snape thing. I wouldn’t describe Harry as gloomy and wallowing, especially in Book 5. If anything he’s sort of avoidant, and could do with processing his grief a little more. And while he is on this hair-trigger, Harry is also getting more and more difficult to provoke - as we’ve been seeing with Draco. In THIS exact moment, it’s Snape that’s being “provoked.” Harry’s got himself under tight control.

“I am not weak,” said Harry in a low voice, fury now pumping through him so that he thought he might attack Snape in a moment.  “Then prove it! Master yourself!” spat Snape.

They try a third time, Harry connects the black hallway of his dreams with the Department of Mysteries, says “I KNOW! I KNOW!” - then Snape lifts the spell, which - responsible. Clearly something unusual is happening, and he needs to make sure nothing went wrong.

The lesson ends and Snape tells Harry to practice. He won’t. 

“You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep — empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?”  “Yes,” said Harry, who was barely listening.

Harry’s Voldemort experiences will start to get more frequent and worse, something which he (incorrectly) attributes to Snape’s lessons. What is actually happening is that Voldemort has become aware of their mental connection, and is looking for a way to get in. 

STUDENTS INSULTED: Again, vague. I’m not sure whether to include “fools” and “weak people” because I think Snape is actually insulting himself in those moments. HOWEVER, Harry definitely interprets “Weak” as an insult, so in that respect it counts. And something like “I can only hope that you prove more adept [occlumency] than Potions” - is true, but definitely said in an insulting way. There’s enough subtle asides like that, that I think half a point is fair.  3.5  

(TOTAL - 1, 15)

(“lamentable potion-maker”) 

(“or at least, most minds are”)

(“weak”) 

(“I can only hope that you prove more adept [occlumency] than Potions”)

Class # 14: Occlumency, Again

Things are reaching a breaking point. Snape pulls a lot of memories of Dudley’s bullying out of Harry’s head, but the one he focuses on is one of Harry’s Voldemort-memories. (Looking through Voldemort’s eyes at Rookwood kneeling at his feet.) Harry says that this image is just “a dream” - and Snape uses some legilimancy to confirm that Harry is lying. At which point Harry lies again, about how many Voldemort dreams he’s been having.

This is where the two of them have a pretty substantial misunderstanding. Harry is frustrated with his lack of progress in Occumency - and yes he’s not doing the independent work, but also Snape doesn’t know that he’s a horcrux, and that’s the reason he and Voldemort have this intense mental connection. At the end of Book 5 Harry will essentially invent his own way to kick Voldemort out of his head (using grief and love.) I’m not sure Snape’s “clear your mind” method is something Harry can do.

Harry is also frustrated that no one is telling him anything, which is why he does his detective thing and picks over the Voldemort dreams with Ron and Hermione. Snape misinterprets his motives: 

“perhaps you actually enjoy having these visions and dreams, Potter. Maybe they make you feel special — important?”

He's projecting James’ motives onto Harry (Snape does this a lot) and never seems to quite put together that Harry actively dislikes being the center of attention. He’s a little more on-the-money with his second guess, however:

“You are neither special nor important, and it is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death Eaters.”  “No — that’s your job, isn’t it?” Harry shot at him. He had not meant to say it; it had burst out of him in temper. For a long moment they stared at each other, Harry convinced he had gone too far. But there was a curious, almost satisfied expression on Snape’s face when he answered. “Yes, Potter,” he said, his eyes glinting. “That is my job.”

Harry seems to mean “that’s your job” as more of an insult - (ie “I don’t trust you”) - which is why he feels like he might have gone too far. But Snape is “satisfied” - so he’s taking this as validation, maybe a one-up on Sirius. Maybe he’s pleased that Harry is finally thinking about things from other people’s perspective. Maybe there's even a little “he’s finally getting it" here. Because on the next attempt, Harry actually does really well. He breaks into Snape’s mind, and sees some memories from when Snape was a little boy.

Snape was shaking slightly, very white in the face. The back of Harry’s robes were damp. One of the jars behind him had broken when he fell against it. (...)  “Reparo!” hissed Snape, and the jar sealed itself once more. “Well, Potter . . . that was certainly an improvement . . .”  Panting slightly, Snape straightened the Pensieve in which he had again stored some of his thoughts before starting the lesson, almost as though checking that they were still there. “I don’t remember telling you to use a Shield Charm . . . but there is no doubt that it was effective . . .”

Like - for the first time (maybe ever) Snape is pleased with Harry. That’s two compliments. We later learn that the reason the Pensive is here is because Snape is using it to store all the memories he doesn’t want Harry to see. But he's apparently fine with Harry seeing:

Tobias Snape yelling at Eileen Snape while a very young Severus cries

Severus bored in his bedroom sniping flies with his wand.

Severus not doing great on a broomstick.

If their places were reversed, these are all memories Harry would have problems with Snape seeing. Harry hates listening to people fight, he has a lot of trauma surrounding being bored in his room, and has a lot of self-worth attached to riding a broomstick. But while Snape absolutely does have triggers, they just aren’t any of these things. He’s not upset right now, which is confirmed later on when he IS upset by Harry’s voldemort-memory.

For some reason, Snape seemed even angrier than he had done two minutes before, when Harry had seen into his own memories. 

But… Harry doesn’t know that.

Harry felt a thrill of dread: He was about to pay for what had just happened, he was sure of it.

Harry has another Voldemort memory, and actually makes it into the Department of Mysteries this time. 

“Explain yourself!” said Snape, who was standing over him, looking furious.  “I . . . dunno what happened,” said Harry truthfully, standing up. There was a lump on the back of his head from where he had hit the ground and he felt feverish. “I’ve never seen that before. I mean, I told you, I’ve dreamed about the door . . . but it’s never opened before . . .”  “You are not working hard enough!” (...) “You are lazy and sloppy, Potter, it is small wonder that the Dark Lord —”  “Can you tell me something, sir?” said Harry, firing up again. “Why do you call Voldemort the Dark Lord, I’ve only ever heard Death Eaters call him that —”

I think the answer to that question is that Snape calls him “The Dark Lord” because he’s afraid of him, and he respects him, and maybe thinking of him that way makes keeping his cover easier. But Harry is responding to Snape’s insult with one of his own: “You can’t be trusted.” 

But this whole interaction is Harry legitimately feeling kind of vulnerable, which Snape doesn’t pick up on. And then Snape feeling a little vulnerable (again, scared of Voldemort.) Which Harry doesn’t pick up on. 

Luckily, class is cut short by Trelawney’s firing.

STUDENTS INSULTED: 2 (TOTAL - 1, 17)

("dim though you may be")

("You are lazy and sloppy")

Class # 15: Snape’s Worst Memory

Harry shows up late, fuming about Marietta’s betrayal and lying about having practiced occlumency. Luckily, Draco comes in with an emergency - Montague has reappeared after having been stuck in the Vanishing Cabinet. This sets up Draco’s Vanishing Cabinet plot in Book 6, and also that Draco and Snape have some kind of relationship outside of class. (Snape calls Draco by his first name, which is the kind of thing we see with Harry and Hagrid + Harry and Dumbledore, not Harry and McGonagall.) 

Snape leaves, and Detective Harry wants to investigate “information about the Department of Mysteries that Snape was determined to keep from him.” Interestingly, even though he’s in heavy Anti-Snape Mode, Harry thinks he’s going to have enough time to do this because Snape is a conscientious head of house who cares about his Slytherins:

Would he come straight back to his office afterward, or accompany Montague to the hospital wing? Surely the latter . . . Montague was Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Snape would want to make sure he was all right. . . .

Or - at very least cares about the Slytherin Quidditch team getting its captain back in one piece.

Harry witnesses the James Potter pantsing incident, and Snape comes back, and absolutely loses it. 

“So,” said Snape, gripping Harry’s arm so tightly Harry’s hand was starting to feel numb. “So . . . been enjoying yourself, Potter?” “N-no . . .” said Harry, trying to free his arm. It was scary: Snape’s lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared. “Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?” said Snape, shaking Harry so hard that his glasses slipped down his nose. “I — didn’t —” Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard onto the dungeon floor. “You will not tell anybody what you saw!” Snape bellowed.  “No,” said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could. “No, of course I w —” "Get out, get out, I don’t want to see you in this office ever again!” And as Harry hurtled toward the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. 

(the exploding jar is presumably Snape doing accidental magic.)

The last time Snape lost control like this was at the end of Book 3, when he is positive that Harry helped Sirius escape, and Dumbledore is gaslighting him. I want to compare these two segments: 

[Dumbledore] looked as though he was quite enjoying himself. Fudge appeared angry. But Snape was beside himself “OUT WITH IT, POTTER!” he bellowed. “WHAT DID YOU DO?” “See here, Snape, be reasonable,” said Fudge. “This door’s been locked, we just saw —” “THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!” Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth.  “Calm down, man!” Fudge barked. “You’re talking nonsense!”  “YOU DON’T KNOW POTTER!” shrieked Snape. “HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT —” “That will do, Severus,” said Dumbledore (...) “Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I’m afraid I don’t see any point in troubling them further.”(..) [His] eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward.  “Fellow seems quite unbalanced,” said Fudge, staring after him. 

So, a similar level of emotion (although Snape is talking in CAPSLOCK in PoA and not in OotP.) We get the same word (“bellowed”) But… the episode in Book 3… like it’s framed as kind of funny/satisfying right? Dumbledore certainly thinks it’s funny, with all that eye twinkling and “quite enjoying himself.” The comedic set up is that Snape, who has spent the end of Book 3 being a problem for Harry, is getting told off by two authority figures who normally tell Harry off. Fudge is an over-dramatic character, so it’s funny to see him call Snape over-dramatic. And Dumbledore knows that Snape is correct… but is still taking Harry’s side. This is supposed to feel like comeuppance for all the “Be quiet you stupid girl” and “Maybe the dementors will have a kiss for him too” that we get near the end of Book 3. 

But Snape’s emotional outburst after Harry sees his memories is handled differently. Snape is scary, Harry is scared. Physical violence and the threat of physical violence is very much there, and when talking about it later on Harry says “he’d kill me! (...) You didn’t see him when we got out of the Pensieve —”

This is just generally something I’ve noticed about Book 5. The narrative voice wants us to take Snape seriously, understand where he’s coming from, maybe even kind of side with him over Harry sometimes. He’s very different from the comic villain of books 1-4, who exists to a problem for Harry, and pretty much nothing else.

Class # 16: Invigoration Draughts

Snape… I mean he obviously ends Occlumency classes, but he doesn’t react as badly as he could've, to be honest.

Meanwhile [Snape] seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon’s favorites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape’s desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an E. He had just turned away when he heard a smashing noise; Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter. Harry whipped around again. His potion sample lay in pieces on the floor, and Snape was watching him with a look of gloating pleasure. “Whoops,” he said softly. “Another zero, then, Potter . . .”

I think it’s unclear who exactly did the housecat thing and swiped Harry’s potion off the desk. Might have been Snape, might have been Malfoy. Either way, Snape does seem to be enjoying himself. 

Don’t know quite what to do with this one though. Don’t have a category for “uncategorized petty BS.”

Disciplinary Action #10: Harry vs Draco

The battle of the Department of Mysteries has just gone down, and Harry and Draco are not doing well.

“The dementors have left Azkaban,” said Malfoy quietly. “Dad and the others’ll be out in no time . . .”  “Yeah, I expect they will,” said Harry. “Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now —”  Malfoy’s hand flew toward his wand, but Harry was too quick for him. He had drawn his own wand before Malfoy’s fingers had even entered the pocket of his robes.  “Potter!” The voice rang across the entrance hall; Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office, and at the sight of him Harry felt a great rush of hatred beyond anything he felt toward Malfoy. . . . Whatever Dumbledore said, he would never forgive Snape [for not helping]. . . never . . . “What are you doing, Potter?” said Snape coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them.  “I’m trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,” said Harry fiercely. Snape stared at him. “Put that wand away at once,” he said curtly. “Ten points from Gryff —” Snape looked toward the giant hourglasses on the walls and gave a sneering smile. “Ah. I see there are no longer any points left in the Gryffindor hourglass to take away. 

McGonagall reappears, gives Harry points for fighting Voldemort, and Snape takes away his ten. But this is absolute prime Little Shit Harry - he doesn’t care that he’s giving Snape “cheek,” and he's actively threatening Draco. Actually, the way the scene’s staged - Draco and Harry don’t even both have wands out. We have Harry pulling a wand on Draco (who didn’t even insult him this time.) Draco has also been written unusually sympathetically, calling Lucius the warmer “Dad” instead of the more typical “Father.” So, I think the framing is actually putting us on Snape's side here, or at least making the encounter balanced.

POINTS TAKEN: -10  (TOTAL:  - 10, -10, - 167)

STUDENTS INSULTED: (TOTAL - 1, 17) 

DETENTIONS GIVEN:  (TOTAL - 2, 4)

 CRYING STUDENTS - TOTAL - 3)

Snape is very important to this book, and of course to the next one (it is named after him.) The way he’s written reflects this. The main way I would describe Book 5 Snape is that he’s much less cartoonish than Book 1-4 Snape. He’s still a petty bastard... but he’s more complicated now, there’s subtext to his actions, there’s clearly a lot more going on under the hood.

I don’t think I can attribute this to Harry getting more emotionally mature, because the place where he’s the least emotionally mature is with Snape. The text has a lot of fun telegraphing how Harry is actively missing things during interactions, and misinterpreting things Snape will say or do. It plays with the framing in a lot of subtle ways to get us on Snape’s side. He’s more reasonable now than he was during the early books. He’s got more in the way of excuses and plausible deniability when he favors Malfoy and the other Slytherins. He’s no longer making people cry or bullying Neville. When he insults Harry, Harry insults him right back. Snape has also been given some positive traits (his students do well on their OWLs, he’s a conscientious head of house, he makes jokes that are actually funny...) Snape’s just been made into an all-around more complex character. Let's see if this trend continues.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

The assistant

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this one shot of Lewis x assistant, ngl I was blushing so hard writing the last part. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The moment I stepped into Ferrari’s Maranello headquarters, I knew my life was about to change. The air buzzed with a mixture of history and ambition, the scent of oil and polished metal filling my lungs as I hurried down the halls, clutching my tablet and notepad close to my chest. Today was my first official day as Lewis Hamilton’s new assistant, and I was determined to make a good impression.

It still felt unreal. Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion, the man whose posters had covered my childhood bedroom, was now my boss. I had been warned—he was meticulous, demanding, and didn’t suffer fools lightly. The fact that I was young, inexperienced, and admittedly not the brightest when it came to all things technical probably didn’t help my case. But I was dedicated, eager to learn, and I refused to let anyone down, least of all him.

I reached his office and knocked twice, heart hammering in my chest.

“Come in,” came his deep, smooth voice.

I stepped inside, nearly tripping over my own feet in the process. “Good morning, Mr. Hamilton!” I chirped, a bright smile plastered on my face.

His eyes flicked up from his laptop, sharp and assessing. Even seated, he radiated effortless charisma. The Ferrari red suited him, adding a new edge to his presence that was almost overwhelming.

“It’s just Lewis,” he corrected, leaning back in his chair. “And you are?”

“Oh! Right. I’m Y/N. Your new assistant.” I held out a hand, which he shook briefly, his grip warm and firm.

His lips twitched. “You seem… enthusiastic.”

“I am!” I nodded eagerly. “I won’t let you down. I have your schedule ready, your coffee order memorized, and I even took the liberty of organizing your inbox.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. “Organized my inbox? That’s ambitious.”

“I color-coded it,” I said proudly.

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Alright, Y/N. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The weeks passed in a blur of early mornings, frantic note-taking, and adjusting to the fast-paced world of Ferrari. Lewis was… intense. Every meeting, every training session, every interview had to be managed with absolute precision. But he was also patient in his own way, never raising his voice even when I fumbled through things or had to ask the same question twice.

What I hadn’t expected was how easy it was to be around him. Beneath his disciplined exterior, there was a warmth, a dry sense of humor that surfaced when we were alone. I found myself looking forward to our moments between obligations—the brief exchanges of banter, the way his lips curled when I made a silly mistake, his teasing remarks about my tendency to trip over my own feet.

And then there were the looks.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. The way his gaze lingered a second too long when I handed him his morning coffee. How his eyes darkened when I absentmindedly chewed on my pen during meetings. The barely-there smirk whenever he caught me flustered, which, unfortunately, was often.

I told myself it was nothing. He was Lewis Hamilton—he could have any woman he wanted. Why would he be interested in his clueless, bumbling assistant?

But then, one evening, he shattered all my illusions.

It was late. The Ferrari offices were nearly empty, the only sounds coming from the hum of overhead lights and the occasional rustle of papers as I went through the last of Lewis’s schedule for the following day.

He leaned against his desk, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.

“You don’t have to stay this late, you know,” he murmured.

I glanced up, blinking. “Oh, I don’t mind! I just wanted to make sure everything is perfect for tomorrow.”

He exhaled, a hint of exasperation in his gaze. “You work too hard.”

I grinned. “So do you.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. The silence stretched between us, thick with something unspoken. Then, in a move that sent my pulse skyrocketing, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, tracing lightly along my jaw.

My breath caught. “L-Lewis?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, his eyes dark, unreadable. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”

I swallowed hard, my thoughts a jumbled mess. “I—um—I don’t—”

His fingers ghosted down my arm, slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Every time you walk into a room, all sweet and eager to please, I have to remind myself you’re off-limits.”

A shiver ran down my spine. My mouth was dry. “Am I?”

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening just slightly. “I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.”

“But?” I whispered, emboldened by the way his breath hitched at my voice.

His eyes flicked to my lips, then back up. “You make it very hard to be good.”

A flush spread down my neck. My heart pounded against my ribs as he took a step closer, the air between us crackling with tension. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his cologne mixed with something unmistakably male.

He sighed, raking a hand through his curls before stepping back. “Go home, Y/N. Before I do something we both regret.”

I bit my lip, nodding as I gathered my things, but as I walked out, I knew one thing for certain: resisting this temptation was only getting harder for both of us.

Next part

[camzeecorner]

𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦

Everyday was repeatedly the same. It felt like it never got better. Getting worse each day. It felt like a time loop he couldn’t be freed from. Having no way out. He dreaded being there. He hated going through it, suffering all of the pain alone. He hated waking up being himself. Wishing he could change everything. He wasn’t perfect in any way, he couldn’t change the fact that he was stuck. Wishing to be someone different. Wishing he wasn’t Chris Sturniolo.

He had no control over his life. He didn’t even have control over his own mind. Threats rung in his ears barely able to ever escape them. He could never get help. Everyone hated him. It made him miserable. He hated the fact he couldn’t just be better. No matter how hard he tried. He was a loser with no life. He had no one.

Sitting in the back of the class, chris sat silent. Trying as hard as he could to not draw any attention to himself, nibbling softly on his bruised lip as he wrote sloppily over his paper. His body shook slightly at the cold air, making it harder to focus. Lost in his deep thoughts he was interrupted by the slight noise of a cough from above. Looking up through his eyelashes his eyes landed on his teacher.

Clearing his throat he spoke. “I-im sorry.. I’ll focus now. Was just thinking about some stuff, didn’t mean to distract myself.” He spoke quickly, over sharing as usual. As he rambled he looked down at his worksheet. Seeing as he only had about half of the notes he needed he sighed. “Mr.Sturniolo I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to daydream after school. In my class you listen! I simply don’t care what it is you have going on, you pay attention.. do you hear me?” He teacher scolded him in front of his whole class. Hearing little laughs and snickers from each corner. He had humiliated himself again.

With a small ‘yes’ chris returned back to his notes, trying as hard as he could to focus. As the long minutes passed slowly, you began to pack your things ready for the lunch bell to ring. Hearing the loud chiming sound ring across the school you stood and hurriedly walked to your locker. Approaching your locker you seen your friends. It had became a common thing of meeting here after each class over the years.

“Hi guys!” You greeted them with a smile. Turning to your locker you began putting the code in, with a slight tug opening it. Placing your books in there neatly you checked your mirror making sure you still looked your very best. The last thing you ever wanted to do was be seen as ‘ordinary’. You couldn’t stand the idea of being the same as someone else. Almost gagging at the thought you shut your locker with a huff. Slinging your purse around your shoulder you began to make conversation with your friends.

“Hey!” Your friend shouted. You turned in his direction watching as he shouted from across the hall. You looked around trying to see what he was doing. Until you spotted him. Chris Sturniolo. His target everyday. You couldn’t blame him though, he was easy to get at. It didn’t bother you enough to ever correct him, it wasn’t your situation or place.

Watching as chris looked up slightly, he began walking faster trying to avoid the scene. “Hey! Fucking bitch I’m talking to you!” Your friend angrily shouted. You watched as he pushed chris, knocking him against the lockers. With a thud, chris slammed against the lockers. Wincing from the pain he sat up slowly feeling the ache in his back. Watching as your friend laughed, you rolled your eyes as a small chuckle escaping your lips.

“You think you can ignore me? Fucking freak.” Your friend angrily said. You watched as he got kicked, kneeling over clutching his stomach in pain. You saw as he had small tears forming in his eyes. Almost feeling bad you huffed looking to the side. By now a small crowd had formed around you.

Chris whimpered and cried as he got kicked over and over. Wishing for the torture to be over, he lied there. He gave up, there was no point to fight back. He knew he couldn’t win, so why try? Feeling his hair get pulled, his body came up. He had been dragged down the hall towards you, by the small tangled locks in his hair. You could see the small cuts and bruises and he was slammed down again.

“You fucking stink! Ever hear of a goddamn shower. Ugh!” Your friend pouted at him. Watching chris you felt bad for the first time. It never occurred to you before how mean people really were until now. The beatings never lasted long. It was just a casual game of toss between the two. Or more so with one.

You watched as the crowd slowly walked away, phones in hand recording. Hearing all of their laughter your gut felt weak. You almost wanted to cry. You couldn’t leave him here.

Chris sat in his own blood and tears. He had snot running down his chin as he wiped it with the back of his sleeve. You debated on helping him. I mean you wouldn’t want anyone to leave you, so it was only the right thing.

Crouching down you tapped his shoulder. He looked at you with a swollen lip. His eye had bruised into a dark purple, patches of his hair lay beside him. You could swear this was attempted murder. You frown at him as you sucked in a breath.

“Hey.. I’m sorry about him.” You began. You didn’t really know what you wanted to say, but you couldn’t stay silent anymore. Each day ate you away, you didn’t want to not help him. But what would people think if they say you with a person like him?

Chris cried silently as he gathered his items placing them back into his bag. He stood silently and began to walk off, leaving you and your discomforting words behind.

The next day chris arrived to school, he’d taken all the back hallways in hopes of avoiding everyone. He sat peacefully in the 3rd stall of the bathroom. Eating his lunch silently as he played with the small Lego figures he had in his pockets. Laughing with himself, he felt a small smile form on his face.

He was enjoying the quietness when he had been interrupted with a loud bang. Jumping slightly he panicked putting away all of his things, flushing his food. He pulled his feet up to his chest in hopes of hiding himself. “Come out freak we know you’re in here.” He heard the voice laugh. Looking down Chris gulped, scared of what he’d deal with today.

His breath was held in hopes to be as silent as he could. Feeling the pressure get to himself, he let out a sigh. “Found ya” he heard. He looked above as he saw the familiar face . Without another second he was covered in garbage. They laughed as they dumped garbage over him, remembering how it was weeks old from the kitchen. Spoiled milk stained his clothes as chunks of old food fell off of him.

Hearing cheering and laughter erupt, the bathroom door opened and closed. He waiting a few moments before bursting in tears. He cried and cried until he couldn’t. Feeling the pain overwhelming him. He struggled to breathe as he choked on his own sobs. Feeling the hot tears run down his face.

He burried his face in his hands as he tried to dry his face. Walking to the sink he grabbed multiple rolls of paper towels in hopes of removing as much trash as he could. Finishing he flushed the last of the towels and grabbed his bag. Leaving the bathroom his shoes squeaked as he walked on the hard tiles. He slid slighty, nearly falling. He sighed again and began to move more gently. He walked wherever he feet took him.

Minutes later he found himself standing in front of the door of his own home. Looking down he stared at the pavement. Just watching. He wishes he could have a day of freedom, he really does. Bringing his hand up he slowly turned the key unlocking the door. Pushing the big door open he walked in, being met with the silence.

It had been hours since chris came home. All he could do was lay hopelessly in his bed. Recounting the moments from his life. He’s never been so sad to the point where it got like this. Was it worth it? Will it ever get better? He thought long and hard, thinking as deep as he could. What could he do differently, he wanted nothing more but to fit in. Feeling the tears prickle his eyes he sniffed and ran a hand across his face.

With a soft knock at his door he turned around slowly. Staring at the wooden door, he pushed himself up. Walking painfully slow he reached the door opening it slightly. Being met with none other than his brother.

Of course his brothers didn’t know about his situation, that’s how he liked it. They were older, and they went to college. They had a future, a chance. He wanted nothing but to be perfect like them. They never would have to live through the hell he put up with everyday.

With a small smile Chris looked around, avoiding his gaze. He wasn’t sure if he had been crying hard enough to leave marks, so he better play it safe. “Hey..” he muttered lightly. Matt nodded, signaling a small gesture back. Clearing his throat his began speaking, “hey uh.. you okay? You seem really tired lately.” He asked sincerely.

‘No, Matt. I’m not okay. I’m not even close to being okay. Everyday I go through hell and torture, and I can’t escape it. It’s a long continuous fucking loop and I’m stuck. I can’t get out and I wanna scream. Oh my god all I want to do, is scream. But I can’t, and I don’t know if it’ll ever stop. I just want someone to listen to me and be there. Someone who wont beat me and spit on me. Someone to tell me it’s okay, and hold me tight. I’m so tired and limp I don’t know what to do with myself. Everyday I wake up with this hatred for myself wishing things could be different like I-I can change everything. But I can’t, and I’ll never be able to. So no Matt.. I’m not okay.’

Is all Chris wanted wanted to say. But if he admitted that out loud, it’d make him even more pathetic. With a small exhale chris nodded. “Yea I’m good. Just school, schoolwork is kicking my ass right now.” He lied. He let out a breathy laugh and he bit down on his lip. Matt chuckled lightly, nodding his head in agreement.

“Dude I feel you..” Matt spoke, patting chris on the shoulder in a jokingly way. “But uh hey I came up to say someone’s waiting for you. A classmate I think?” He stated in a confused tone. He pointed behind him as chris followed his direction towards the door. Chris gulped and thanked him. He shut the door walking down the stairs.

Who could be here? Hesitation washed over chris as he reached the bottom step. As he inhaled a sharpe breath he closed his eyes. As his hand reached out for the door he slowly pulled it opened.

“Hi” he heard. He opened his eyes slowly, seeing the girl standing in front of him. She was dressed in loungewear, the type you’d wear around your family or to bed. She had her hair brushed back in bun. He watched as she rocked on her heels. He blinked at her as she stood in front of him. Why the hell was she here?

“You’re probably confused why I’m here..” she chuckled softly. As she ran her hands down her sides as she fixed her sweater slightly. She had a small smile plastered on her face, looking off to the side. With a small nod from chris she laughed nervously. “Well.. you weren’t in school today, teacher asked me to bring you your assignments.” She stated with a small voice.

“Thanks” chris said blankly. She handed him the assignments, tucked neatly under her arm. As he took them from her he glanced over her face, just looking. As he began to turn away shutting the door she put her hand out stopping him.

“Wait!” She shouted. With quick movements Chris opened the door slightly, seeing her flushed face. “I was thinking, maybe we could study together. I mean I’m already here and I’d love to help you catch up.” She offered. She had a warm smile, always in pure bliss.

“You don’t have to do that.” Chris turned down. He nibbled on his lip slightly growing nervous under her trance. She shook her head slightly and smiled again. “No it’s fine I promise! I don’t mind.” She admitted.

With a second guess chris decided to go with it. After all he really did need the help. And he didn’t necessarily see you to be the type to fight, so he felt safe in this moment. Stepping to the side he led you in. Following him up the stairs, you admired all the wall paintings. Running your fingers over each one letting your fingertips dance and glimpse over the cold railing.

Chris turned his head slowly as he looked at her over his shoulder. Feeling his mouth go dry he swallowed. “Uhm.. we can study in here.” He spoke softly. No matter how hard it was for him to stay calm, he did a damn good job of not showing it.

You followed after him into his bedroom. It was an average room, a fairly big bed with a dresser across the room. He had posters on his wall, with small display cases lined against his wall. Besides the small piles of clothes on the floor his room was rather clean. It felt comfortable.

As you sat on his bed beside him you looked at him, admiring the beauty. You found beauty in everyone, everyone was so different it was unique.

As you both studied together, it became obvious that he was tired. Feeling bad you began to pack your bag silently. As you gathered all of your items you straightened out your clothes and stood.

“You’re leaving?” Chris asked softly. You stood in front of him for a moment, debating whether you really did want to leave. “Uhm, well you just looked a little tired.” You said softly. He looked to the side as he scratched the back of his neck softly. He began to tug at the small strands of hair. Growing nervous he bit down on his lip, a habit he’d grown.

“M’not tired.” He said plainly. He looked in your eyes almost pleading you to stay. It had been years since someone visited chris. He missed the comfort of company, the rush of joy he felt was unbelievable. Smiling softly you sat back beside him.

“Did you want to continue studying? Or we can just talk, doesn’t matter.” You said. You were so soft spoken, it was a mystery to Chris why you chose to surround yourself with people he found so evil.

“Uhm we can.. talk? I guess.” He asked hesitantly. You nodded at him. You looked down trying to think of something to converse about. “So uhm, how have you been?” He asked. You looked up, a small smile playing on your face. “I’ve been really good. Schools kinda stressful right now with all the work we’re getting.” You admitted. He nodded in agreement. “Yea.. school is hard.” He said lowly. You gulped as you recalled all the moments where he was bullied. Feeling bad, you bit your tongue.

“Hey.. I’m really sorry about them.” You said. Your voice cracked slightly as you fought back tears. You just felt so bad, you had been so silent. You could’ve helped him. Instead you watched it happen, everyday. And it killed you. He looked away, taken aback by the sudden shift. He huffed out, shutting his eyes briefly. “It’s fine, it’s not your fault.”

“I’d love to be your friend.” You replied nicely. You smiled at him, your cheeks forming into a rosy color. He watched as you fiddled with your thumbs. “You would?” He asked in disbelief. You nodded at him eagerly, a small giggle coming out. He smiled softly at you.

He felt more relaxed as the hours ticked by. His room could be heard of small giggles and loud words. You grew comfortable with chris the more you stayed. Not wanting to go home, you both planned a small sleepover. You’d both skip school tomorrow and spend the day together. You’d wanted to know chris. The real him.

You couldn’t lie to yourself and say chris wasn’t an attractive guy, because he really was. He had perfect teeth, a smile that could light up a room. He had beautiful blue eyes, they were so inviting. His perfectly natural hair. You weren’t sure what everyone else saw, but all you could see was the beauty in him.

“You’re cute, you know that?” You giggled. You tossed your head back laying down on the soft mattress. Turning your head you watched as he laughed softly, picking at his bottom lip with his teeth. His face grew red as he looked down. He shook his head slightly at you. “No im not, are you high?” You bursted into laughter at his comment. Bringing your hands to your face wiping the small tears as you laughed harder. “No no! I’m serious.” You stared at him.

“Come, lay down.” You patted the spot next to you. Watching as he moved upwards slightly, he lied down next to you. You both lay there, looking in each others eyes. You softly reached out tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. Smiling softly you ran your fingers over his cheek.

“I mean it Chris. You really are beautiful.” You spoke softly. Chris nervously smiled, taking in your words. Leaning his face into your palm he smiled. “Thank you. You’re really pretty.” You smiled, flashing your teeth at him.

You pulled your face closer to his, hovering your lips just above his. Inhaling his scent, it was almost intoxicating. Pulling him close, he felt his lips come in contact with yours. He melted at the soft touch. Pulling away slightly you ran your tongue over your lips.

Kissing him once more you cradled his face, now rolling to your side. You both shared a kiss that you’d both remember forever. The world stopped for a second, it was just you. Nothing else mattered.

You softly ran your tongue over his lips, feeling the peeling skin as he’d bitten at them so much. You felt his mouth open slightly you found your tongues tangled together. Moaning softly in his mouth, you slowly began to grind your hips into his.

As your lips fought together, you became more addicted to his taste. Pulling away slighty you trailed your fingers over his skin. Running your hand down his chest, you slightly pulled his shirt up. Running your fingertips across his bare skin, he sucked in a breath.

As you kissed along his neck he let out small whimpers, by now his cock had slightly hardened. It became harder to contain his noises as he sucked a breath in. Slowly you pulled your face back to his kissing his lips once again.

Slowly you began to climb on top of him, straddling his body. You felt as he ran his hands over your body feeling everything he could. You kissed him deeply inhaling his scent. You moaned in his mouth feeling your body push down. You slowly began to rock your hips, dry humping him.

You felt as his now fully erected cock pushed into your body, hitting your wet core. “Mmhm” you moaned slightly feeling the pleasure hit you. You peppered kisses along his jaw, trailing them down . You kissed each inch of his skin. Showing chris the love he deserved, you smiled at him.

“You’re so perfect.” You spoke in a low voice. Chris watched as you climb farther down, leaving a trail of wet kisses. As you reached his pants you looked up.

“Can I take these off?” You asked lowly. You bit your lip in anticipation, wanting nothing more but to give him pleasure. With a slight nod he gave you permission. “Yes”

As you slid his pants down, he kicked them off as they landed on the floor. Your hands slowly came up as you reached him. Slowly you gently pressed your palm against his cock, pushing down slightly as you ran your hand in an upwards motion.

Chris moaned at the contact as he slowly threw his head back. As you looked up to watch his reaction, you saw as his jaw hung slack as small moans escaped. Smiling at him, you slowly placed small kisses to his clothed cock.

Bringing your hands up your tucked you fingers in the waistband of his boxers. As chris watched you, he slowly saw as you tugged his boxers off slowly. Teasing him you stopped. You smiled at him, as you placed one kiss directly above his cock. You watched as he twitched feeling his body heat up.

Slowly you tugged his boxers down throwing them to the floor. Chris now grew nervous as he looked away. As you look down you stared in awe at his body. He was truly so breathtaking. “So beautiful..” you whispered.

Slowly bringing your hands up, you gently grabbed his cock wrapping your small hands around him. He was an average size, and he was neatly shaved. For a guy who looks like he wouldn’t have the best hygiene he was kept clean and smelled nice.

As your hands lingered on him he whimpered. He watched as you admired him, feeling loved. As precum dropped from his tip you slowly wiped it with your finger, using it as lube. Slowly beginning to jerk him, he lost himself in the feeling. Slowly his breaths grew heavier. Watching as you jerked him slowly he moaned loudly, the feeling too good.

As you tugged at him more it became harder to compose himself. Feeling his body twitch under your touch, his stomach caved in. As he felt hit stomach tighten his body grew stiff. Watching as ropes of white cum flew from him. He moaned, sighing slightly. He had small drops of sweat that made his hair stick to his forehead. As he huffed, his chest rose and fell rapidly.

Slowly you licked the remains of his fluids, tasting the sweet and salty mixture. You hummed at the taste as you licked every drop clean. Pulling yourself upwards you peeling your clothes from your body. Discarding them to the floor you returned to your original position.

As you laid beside chris, he pulled your body closer closing the small gap between you. Feeling his cock slowly push into you, you moaned. Letting out small babbles of incoherent words, you held onto his shoulder steadying yourself.

As your body laid beside him you slowly began to move your body, feeling his cock push into you further. As you let out small moans, he cradled your body. Pulling you closer he slowly rocked his hip, pushing himself in and out of you. Feeling your walls squeeze him.

He moaned softly against your neck, feeling his body sink further into yours. “Oh chris..” your words sending pleasure straight to his cock. You praised him though his movements, pushing him over the edge.

Feeling your walls clench around him you sucked in a breath. Feeling your gut turn your eyes rolled back. Lost in the feeling you felt yourself choke on the air, crying from the pleasure. 

With a couple more final thrust, you felt your stomach tighten and release. Watching as you painted his cock white he followed soon after. Pulling out of you, he came on your stomach. Moaning together you both looked at your mess, feeling happier than ever.

As you lay beside each other, you share another kiss. Pulling away you face grew hot. “I can’t believe we just did that..” chris spoke lowly. He was in pure shock. He never thought he’d lose his virginity to you. “I’m happy we did.” Your voice beamed. You smile at him, pulling his body as close as you could.

Grabbing a cloth Chris wiped your messes, leaving your body clean. As he sunk back into his bed he sighed letting out a breathy laugh. “Thank you.” He mumbled. You gently pressed your head to his chest as your eyes shut softly.

As you laid in bed your bodies tucked under the blankets, you cuddled your body into his. Savoring the warmth and love. You both felt the comfort that you had always wanted.

Tag list - @shaquilles-0atmeal @monroesturnns @blahbel668 @mattssluttywaist @jetaimevous @kayeeaa @ribread03 @meatballlover10 @mattslolita @sophand4n4 @riasturns @nickysturnss

@trevorsgodmother

dividers → @bernardsbendystraws

[boxofbadaddiction]

Something from Nothing

George Weasley x She/Her!Reader

Summary: George and Y/n are complete opposites. After striking up an unlikely friendship they refuse to admit their true feelings for one another... until tonight.

Warnings: Kissing. Don't go rolling around on cliff edges. That's it.

Prompts: 1 & 22

How you doin' // Why don’t you stop worrying about trying to sound smart all the time and just be yourself?

A/N: This is my first fic back from a 4 year-long hiatus, so please be kind.

Due to extremely stressful personal issues these past years, I haven't had the urge or passion to write like I did. I'm still not doing well but I'm hoping fanfic could be an escape again like it used to be. I'm going to start small, with some prompts from when I had only just started writing. See if we can't work our way up 🤞

Also, don't ask me how they got there idk I just wanted a different location.

This is a request from my F.R.I.E.N.D.S Prompt-list circa 2020-ish

George had a talent for trouble. Not the serious kind but just enough to make the teachers sigh and his classmates laugh. He was the guy who could talk his way out of detention and into the good books, who could turn a pop quiz into a game show. If there was a shortcut, he’d find it. If there was a risk, he’d take it. And if there was Y/n in the room, he’d make sure he was there to torment her.

Y/n was his opposite in just about every way. The girl had a planner for her planner. She colour-coded her notes. She studied for tests that weren’t even announced yet. She expected nothing less than perfection from herself — because anything less, to her, was failure.

And yet, somehow, George was her favorite person. And Y/n? She was his.

They’d been best friends since fifth year, when he’d “accidentally” tripped over her meticulously stacked pile of books and sent them flying down the hallway.

She, in return, sent George soaring to fetch them by use of a silent and precise casting of ‘Stupify’.

She’d marched up to his spread-out body on the hard stone floor. Shouting at him as he attempted to peel himself into an upright position. She called him a “walking disaster with a god complex,” and he’d responded with a sore but ever cocky smile, “You look good from this angle.”

Now, years later, they were still at it.

“George, have you ever actually tried at anything?” Y/n asked, flipping through her perfectly highlighted notes while he balanced his wand on his upper lip and rocked on the back legs of his library chair.

“Sure I have", he grinned, dropping himself heavily back on all four chair legs and scooting impossibly close to her side. “I try very hard to annoy you.”

“And yet, it seems to come so naturally,” she deadpanned.

He clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Y/n.”

“If only.” Y/n rolled her eyes.

It was always like that. The teasing, the insults wrapped in laughter. But underneath it, something unspoken wove itself delicately between them. Something soft… something real. Like a sweet perfume that lingers in the air from a passerby.

Neither acknowledged it.

George, for all his recklessness, never let Y/n push herself too far. When she stayed up studying until her eyes burned red, he’d show up with comfort foods from the kitchen elves and force her to take a break. When she got so caught up in her own expectations that she forgot how to breathe, he’d drag her outside and remind her that life wasn’t all a test.

Y/n, too, for all her self-doubt, never let George believe he was just the class clown. She saw through his jokes, past the playful smirks, into the boy who wanted to be enough but never felt like he was. When he got quiet, when he doubted himself, she was the one who reminded him, commonly with a sarcastic quip, but sometimes just by showing up. Reassuring he was worth more than just a cheap laugh.

They never talked about it. The pull between them. The way his hand would linger a second too long when he passed her an inkwell. The way she’d say his name like it meant something more to her than anyone else. The way their eyes would meet across a crowded room, and it felt like a secret only they understood.

And then, one night, nothing became something.

It was late. Too late. She was exhausted, her brain fried from studying, her nerves frayed from trying so hard. George had dragged her out to clear her head, "a public service,” he called it, “for the sake of your rapidly declining sanity.”

They ended up on the cliffside of the Castle, above the First Year entrance. Legs dangling over the edge, the Lake stretched out below them. Alive in the breeze, a mirror for the stars.

Y/n let out a breath, hands fiddling with the delicate vines of ivy beneath them. “Sometimes I wish I could be like you,” she confessed to the comfortable silence between them.

George looked at her, into her. “And sometimes I wish I could be like you.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, right. You’d die if you had to study as much as I do.”

“And you’d die if you had to wing it like I do!” He nudged her shoulder, eliciting the sweet melody of her subtle laughter. “Maybe that’s why we work.” He contemplated.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Do we?”

George’s usual smirk softened into something else. Something serious. An unfamiliar expression to the girl. “Y/n/n... why don’t you stop worrying about trying to sound smart all the time and just be yourself?” He’d meant it genuinely, though it came across as taunting.

She turned to him, her brows furrowing. “Wow, thanks! That’s a really poetic way of calling me stupid.”

He grinned. “No, I mean it. You’re good enough as you are, you know that, right?”

Y/n opened her mouth then closed it. ‘He always does this’ she thought. Always followed up something genuine within a joke, so it didn’t feel quite as heavy. Only this time she didn't fancy hearing whatever joke he had lined up next.

So she did what she always did. She deflected.

“Well, if you like me so much, why don’t you just date me?” She threw herself back to lay amongst the thick carpet of ivy. She phrased it like it was a joke, but the way her voice wavered gave her away.

George didn’t miss it. His grin turned softer, eyes warm in her glow.

“Maybe I would,” he murmured, resting his weight on his palm by her shoulder and tilting his head over her. “If you asked me properly” he crooned.

Y/n swallowed. Her heart thundering in her chest. He was too close. Or maybe not close enough.

“George…”

His grin was back, wickedly so, but there was something softer beneath his stare. A temptation he'd toyed with submitting to.

She inclined her chin, a quiet request he hadn't dare let himself dream of, laid and waiting before him. He gave in.

Their lips met in a tentative embrace. Both nervous, not knowing where this road may lead. The feeling of her so intimately against him made George melt, desperate for more he pressed down into her further. His wanting for her clear. With each pass of their lips across the others the kiss deepened, each taste more ravenous and wanton than the last. Soon they were pulled tight to each other, chest to chest, encased in one another's arms as tight as possible though somehow still not close enough.

George, reluctantly, broke the kiss. Forehead pressed to hers as they gasped for breath. Y/n whined at the loss, and he crashed into her again, not strong enough to resist her. This was years of hopeless pining in the making and it was worth it.

Minutes passed and the heat between them calmed. Gentile touches and sweet broken kisses remained. Smiles seemingly permanently etched to their faces. George pushed back from her, only slightly. Enough to see her face.

“Hey” he spoke softly. And she echoed, "Hey."

“How you doin’?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

She groaned, shoving his shoulder and sitting up. “Unbelievable.”

“Youuu love it!”

And she did. She really, really did.

They sat there for a moment, both of them hovering on the edge of something more.

Y/n sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

She bit her lip. “Fine. George… will you go out with me?”

George grinned, leaning back on his hands. “Oh, I dunno, I’m a very busy guy. Gotta schedule to keep you know. School, Quidditch, my daily attempts to ruin your life... and it's just so sudden! We barely know each other...”

She smacked his arm. He caught her hand before she could pull it away, holding it to his chest.

“Yeah,” he said finally, quieter this time. His free hand sweeping a stray hair from her face. “Yeah, I will.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

For once, perfection wasn’t something she had to chase. With George, it had already found her.

[ruwriteshours]

CHASING PAVEMENTS (PART I) 𓇼 (P.JS)

✎ PAIRING: park jisung x fem! reader

✎ GENRE: angst, smut, brother's best friend trope

✎ WARNING: !!sexual content!! (minors dni) fwb relationship, jisung is slightly an asshole, reader is naive, ambiguous ending, might do a part two???

✎ SUMMARY: In which jisung's derived thoughts leads him to an unlikely arrangement with chenle's sister, where he fucks up (quite literally) when he realises how deep in the feels he has for the girl he is suppose to show disinterest to, in honour of 'BRO CODE'.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: since a few of you guys voted for jisung fic, here it is! it def took longer than i expected but i hope you like this one! <3

part two

PARK JISUNG HAD NO BOUNDARIES.

A man with desired sexual hormones isn't one to back down on steamy hook-up sessions, especially ones which are deemed promising. However, he didn't exactly knew how to draw the line when he began banging his best friend's sister.

(He thanked the heavens that Chenle had gone out that night to not witness the sinister act.)

But to be fair, the male didn't exactly plan to go black-out drunk at their usual dorm party on that particular Saturday night just to wake up naked with his best friend's sister on his side of the bed.

Especially since it's the same girl who had a thing for the said boy since their childhood, so much so that it was excrutiating for Jisung to watch her poor attempts at making a move on him. Even Chenle was used to it and was completely fine with your lovesick crush for his best friend, from the way you would stutter around the boy or the fact you used to give him flowers every Valentine's day, knowing deep down that your little feelings would fade away eventually.

But now, it's different because it's no longer a one-sided pining from you, rather a completely mutual friends-with-benefits situation. Though, it's far fetch to consider you and Jisung to be friends. He was always disinterested in you and even with this new arrangement, he only seemed content with finding a buddy he could released his pent-up sexual frustations with. Despite this, Jisung wouldn't initiate anything other than sex, making it clear that his intention with you is strictly for his selfish desires. His dirty little secret to be kept from Chenle.

You, on the other hand, couldn't be more happy than to pass up the only opportunity to be closer to Jisung. It was silly for you to expect anything more, but this was better than nothing. Jisung had fuck boy tendecies, it was nearly impossible for you to make him stay committed. However, a part of you was determined to make him fall for you.

No matter how wrong it was, it seemed that both of you can't get enough of each other.

Which is how Jisung ended up in your dorm room on Wednesday night, currently his cock buried deep inside of you as you suppress your moans. His hand digging your inner thighs as he lift you up to get a better angle, half of your body up in the air.

Grunting in frustation, his hair glued to his forehead from the layers of sweat. Rounds and rounds of endless pleasure. You could tell his anger that was built up a moment ago, was slowly dissipitating from the way his thrust begins to slow down, pausing briefly to brush the strands of his hair back. The view making you squeeze around him tighter.

"S-Shit. Do that again." He demanded, his hand coming up to grab onto your tits harshly as he pushed himself further inside you.

Squeezing once again, you made an attempt to wrap your hands around his neck only to have it shoved aside. His hands clutching your wrist to prevent you from touching him.

"I'm close!" You mewled, hip trusting against his as you made an attempt to inch closer towards him— if that was even possible.

"Me too!" He groaned.

With one powerful thrust, the both of you reached the awaiting orgasm. His breath close to your face as you stared into his eyes, entranced with the way he looks. Biting your lips, you lean in for a kiss only to have his warmth ripped away from you. Standing up to get himself dressed, much to your disappointment.

"You're leaving, already." You asked, not wanting to sound too desperate.

The male could only give a brief nod, "Yup, I have to get back before Chenle suspects something's up."

But you knew it was bullshit. Chenle didn't care if his best friend didn't show up to their dorm late at night. It was normal in a college settings. You knew that he was coming up with an excuse to not indulge further and as much as that should give you a blaring warning in your ears, you were still as stubborn as ever.

"Okay! Get back safely." You said cheerily, watching as he quickly buttons up his shirt.

Getting nothing but a hum of acknowledgement as he made his way out of your dorm, not even glancing back.

Laying down on your dishelved bed, you could only have the same feeling of regret wash over you. You wonder why you would let yourself seek love from someone who clearly could not care less about you. It had been four months of never-ending sneaky hook ups and there was still no hope that he was semi into you. You were stupid for thinking like a child.

Perhaps, you could let this go once again.

Again.

WEEK ONE.

Sitting from afar, you watch in subtlety at the disgustingly appaling view from a couple feet away. There stood, Jisung smiling with such admiration towards NingNing, a girl whom he was talking to. Her giggles echoed through the cafeteria as his friends were teasing him from the side. The sight of the sweet interaction made your heart clench, ultimately feeling defeated as you had once again expected too much of Jisung to reciprocate his feelings.

Too indulged in your thoughts, you didn't bother taking notice of the pity looks you were received by your friends. Chaeryeong glared at the audacious boy while Yunjin patted your shoulder comfortingly.

"You should move on." Yunjin mumbled.

"Yeah, you deserve way better." Chaeryeong chimed in.

You could only offer a meek shrug, "It's probably nothing, guys."

But even your own voice couldn't believe the words, knowing well enough that it was hopeless to string onto a thread that was never held onto on the other end.

It was evident from your persistence that you were determined to hold onto the shred of hope that maybe, just maybe it could work. That those years of pinning would be worth it.

"You know the guy from Econ is totally into you." Yunjin spoke up, redirecting the topic.

You perked up but remained an uninterested expression.

"Oh, come on. I'm not asking you to fuck him or anything." She said. "Maybe try get to know him, he's really sweet."

"Are you talking about that guy that helped her carry her stuff to class." Chaeryeong voice raised excitedly.

"Seungmin? He's nice to everyone." You justified, dismissing your friend's exaggerated story.

"But he's more nicer to you." Yunjin rebutted, earning an agreement nod from your red-haired friend.

"And I may or may not have heard him talking to Hyunjin about wanting your number." She added.

You scoffed playfully, "Thanks but no thanks. The last thing I need is another migraine from boys."

That was the end of the conversation. Luckily, your friends didn't push you further, allowing the three of you to eat in peace before the bell rang.

Bidding 'goodbyes' to each other as you parted ways to your assigned schedule. In some twisted way, you were glad that you were sharing this one particular class with Jisung. Both of you having similar major. Feeling the excitement rush through you as you made your way to the class. Students swarming in, looking for seats as you watched around in hopes of spotting the black haired boy.

To your luck, he was seated near the window with an empty seat beside him. In queue, you made a beeline towards his direction, only to have another bag placed itself against the wooden desk. Slightly flinching from the sudden intrusion, you looked up and saw the same girl at the cafeteria. Her sun-kissed face contorted into confusion.

"Oh, did you plan sitting here?" NingNing removed her stuff, "I can mo-"

"No!" Jisung interrupted abruptly, standing up to hold onto her wrist. "Sit here."

You couldn't help but watch with dull eyes as Jisung completely ignored your presence. His eyes gazing onto the girl as both of them shared a look of something that held a cruelly familiarity; a look of mutual liking.

"I-It's okay, I can find another seat." You stuttered, turning around quickly and grab onto a chair that was available and plopping down on it without looking back.

Biting back your tears, you didn't notice that the whole interaction was being observed by your classmate. Some whispered among themselves while others ignored it as if it was some normal occurence. You didn't have shame left to be bothered by their comment.

It wasn't news that your crush for Jisung was evident. Everyone knew, and you didn't bother to hide it because you were happy to admit it. You would broadcast to the whole street for your undying love for the boy and not a glimpse of embarassment would overcome you. However, Jisung would only continue to ignore you, of course, only on the outside. Afterall, it would ruin his pride for the class to know what he did to his best friend's sister behind close doors.

Staring distractedly at your unwritten paper, it was as if today wasn't one of your best when your lecturer had called you out, waiting for your answer.

Gulping nervously as you looked around to see students watching you, wanting nothing more than to burn a hole through the ground.

Just as you were about to utter your response, a hand swiftly moved a piece of paper towards your table, giving you a chance to catch the answer, making you read it aloud.

Your lecturer gave you stern look, as if reprimanding you before moving on to the next portion of the lesson. You sigh in relief, turning your head to the side to thank the person who helped you.

Seungmin chuckled at your flustered state, waving off as if it was nothing. He went back to his notes, scribbling down a couple of words before sliding it back to your desk.

'You okay?'

You smiled and began writing down before handing it back to him discreetly.

'I'm good :)'

He stared at the note for a moment before writting down a couple of sentence. You glanced slightly towards him, not wanting to make it obvious and pretended to focus on the lecture. Not a second later, the same yellow note slid itself towards your desk.

'Good enough to give me your no?'

You giggled silently at his bold flirting before deciding to give him your number. It was harmless, anyways. You thoughtlessly scribbled down. Little did you know, your little interaction didn't went unnoticed by the black-haired boy at the back of the class, who had been glaring holes behind you unknowingly. A sudden vision of green clouded his mind, a feeling that he hated deeply.

Jealously.

Pounding furiously against you as you were pressed up against the door to the janitor's closet. The cleaning tools were left scattered on the floor as he kept pushing himself closer to you, his hands snaking itself around your neck making your hips arched towards his cock.

Jisung moaned deliciously at the contact as he began placing love bites down your throat, slowly turning you around only to hoist you up by the thighs. You gasped at the new position, your legs wrapping around his slim waist, his hand coming to find itself in your hands, trapping you completely.

Just as you were about to release, Jisung completely removed himself away from you. His hands made is way to the zipper of his pants as he tidied himself up, you were left shocked as you watched him crossed his arms, as if waiting expectedly.

"Finish yourself for me. I want to see how you make yourself cum." He demanded, his demeanor not changing even for a moment.

You were hesitant with your moves, which only angered the male above you. Grabbing your wrist as he guided it towards your wet cunt, you maoned at the harsh contact before he lets go. His eyes urging you to continue.

If it was any other day, you would have felt shameful but considering he had denied you pleasure, you were more than eager to finish. Quickening the pace on your fingers as you shoved it deeper, scrunching your face in pure bliss, watching the way Jisung eyes were trained onto yours. His hard-on was evident yet he was more focus on the view in front of him, not bothering to fix his big issue.

Just then, the sense of euphoria came and your hand were painted with the colourless liquid. As you were about to wipe away, his hands held yours, stopping you. Inching his face closer to your cum-covered hands, he stuck out his tongue to lick it clean off. Your eyes widened at his actions, not expecting him to act so scandalous.

Once he was done licking like it was some popsicle, he gargled the remaining liquid and swallowed it down as if it was something tasteful, letting out a content sigh. Without saying a word, he left the room to leave you in a confused mess.

WEEK TWO.

Ever since that incident, you were only fueled by the same feeling in your stomach, the heart-fluttering butterflies aching your vulnerable heart. That had been the most intimate he's been and you were only craving more for his affection which, unbeknownst to you, was only the beginning. His texts were now more engaging and he seemed to want to make time whenever he would get. Despite your friend's disapproval, you were blinded by Jisung's false hope. You had even forgotten about Seungmin, ignoring his message on whether you would be available to hang out. All your mind could think of was Jisung.

Only getting disappointment when he would go back to a cycle of ignoring your existence and talk to NingNing on campus.

Oh well, it's a progress at least.

Though that meant that you were playing a very dangerous game when Chenle began suspecting the marks on your neck that were very prominent. Thankfully, he wasn't one to be nosy, passing off insults before walking off.

"Yo, could you stop staring at Jisung." Your brother snapped you out.

You had conveniently left your keys inside your dorm room and your roommate was not able to come back home as she was visiting her parents, which only gave you the only option to bunk in with your brother and his roommates. You would've slept with your friends, if it weren't for the fact that the both of them hadn't been home as well, making plans with their boyfriends. Luckily though, the boys had been kind enough to set up a room for you, which in exchange, meant that they were all sleeping outside to avoid any awkward circumstances. Hours had passed and you were getting bored with their loud cheering in the living room, struggling to tug yourself to sleep, you decide to observe the commotion.

Even without facing your way, his gaze focused on the video game in front of him, he could sense your unbearing stares for his best friend. Chenle groaned when he lost against Jisung, Mark offering the younger a high-five while Haechan cackled at Chenle's frustatated expression.

"Could you like, not be so weird around my friends." Chenle turned towards you, his friends watching you as you blushed deep red, walking off in a rush.

"Your sister's kinda hot." Haechan spoke up, earning a smack from Mark.

"What! It's the truth. Jisung, you're kinda lucky."

Chenle gagged, "Don't make me throw up. She's a nightmare."

"Well, you're saying that 'cause it's your sister. If any one of us has a hot sister, you would've totally went for it."

"I'm not having this sick conversation." Chenle dramatically declared before making his way to the kitchen, Mark following suit to grab a snack.

"You're lying if you're not in the slightest bit interested." Haechan whispered, taking extra precaution despite being away from their earshot.

"Of course not." The younger denied.

"Sure." Haechan's voice dragged on, indicating that he wasn't convinced. "So you wouldn't be bothered if she was talking to someone else, right."

Haechan provoked, smirking when he noticed that Jisung's hand tightened around the console. Despite his calm appearance, the older knew he was bothered by that thought.

"Less of a headache for me then." Jisung focused his gaze on the screen, not wanting to give Haechan the attention.

The older, of course, didn't like that. "So, if Seungmin were to make a move on her. You would be fine."

"No!" He blurted out.

That was when he could see the older's smugness through the screen, backtracking himself. "I mean— yes, I don't care! Why are you so worked up over this." He accused trying to keep the facade that was already cracked.

"Yeah, like I'm the one with the beet red face." Haechan fired back, finding humour in his reaction, happy that he has successfully got through him. "Dude, you know Chenle would be okay with it, right?"

"Shut up!"

Jisung rolled his eyes before throwing his console towards the older, facing the screen in a attempt to cover up his embarassed face. His heart accelerating from getting caught by a loudmouth like Haechan.

Luckily his embarassment was cut off short when Chenle and Mark came back in with snacks on their hand.

"So, you guys going to Sunwoo's party next Friday." Mark munched on his chips.

The sudden silence as the group checked their schedule.

1:56 am

"Oh, shit! We should probably stop soon."

"Yeah, soon!" Haechan mumbled, too engrossed in his game.

"But you guys are going, right?" Mark confirmed.

Earning a collective hum before the four of them went back to their video game, reminding themselves that it was only one game and that they would go to sleep afterwards.

Newsflash: It wasn't one round of gaming.

Which is why the three of them ended up being knocked up in the couch, Mark's loud snoring annoyed Jisung as he twisted his body back and forth, groaning when he realised he couldn't sleep.

Suddenly, a devious plan came to mind. Removing the blanket off of him, he tip-toed towards the closed door. Luckily, you were still wide awake, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. You perked up when you heard the sound of the door opening, Jisung's head peeking in. Stepping inside, you knew what he was in for...

Morning soon kicked in, rubbing your eyes. You wrapped the blanket around your bare body tightly, looking to the side to find Jisung no longer by your side. Groaning from the slight ache, you made your way to the bathroom, which was thankfully connected to the room, sparing you the intrusion.

All of your classes were in the afternoon, which gave you time to prepare breakfast. It didn't take long for you to find some ingredients, which was thankfully, not expired, knowing how lazy Chenle would get in cleaning up his stuff. The smell of freshly cooked pancakes awakened the boys. Yawning aloud as they sat down, as if awaiting for their meal. You rolled their eyes before setting a stack in front of them.

"Mm, you're the best." Haechan moaned dramatically, taking a bite. Mark humming in agreement.

"Don't you guys brush your teeth?" You asked in disgust, ignoring his compliment.

"We usually brush after."

"Gross."

A noise of protest erupt, which made you laugh. Just as you were about to make another one, in came Jisung. The last to be awake.

"Ji, come try this. She's such a good cook!" Haechan praised.

"It's just pancake." You humbled yourself.

"Yeah, you can chill out. This taste like ass." Chenle called out, which made you glare at your brother.

"Well, give me then!" You held your hand out.

Chenle only took the plate further from your reach, sticking his tongue out in mockery. Annoyed, you grabbed the spatula and whacked him across the face. Mark and Haechan laughed as Chenle began to chase you around, threatening you with a string of profanities escaping his mouth. You retaliated further by shoving him away. The sight of bickering between the siblings made Jisung smile, finding you adorable... wait, what?

"No thanks." He mumbled, quickly changing his mood back before you noticed.

"Oh, by the way, you should check your phone. NingNing's been texting you." Mark informed.

You tensed at the mention of the girl, pausing you actions briefly.

"Oh, right. I'll check it later." He said dismissively.

"So, what's your status with her?" Chenle asked, panting slightly from exhaustion.

You pretended to busy yourself in the sink, tuning in into their conversation without making it obvious.

"I don't know." He replied dryly.

"Oh, come on. She probably likes you, you've been pinning her since, what, last year?" Mark prodded.

You didn't want to hear the rest as you quickly excused yourself, telling them you had to meet your friends. Grabbing your stuff as you dashed out, in a hurry.

"Dude, we totally forgot your sister likes Ji. Oh, she's gonna be crushed." Haechan pointed out, his eyes widened comically as he pointed at the younger.

Chenle was the one to speak up, shrugging, "Who cares? She'll get over it." Chenle patted Jisung's shoulder, "Besides, we should be more worried about helping him ask the hottest chick out."

Jisung awkwardly chuckled.

"Right."

The day passed by unusually fast and Jisung still hasn't gotten a text from you. Don't get him wrong, he hated when you would get too clingy and risk the both of you getting caught but you would have usually been online by the time he opened his messaging app. It was rather impressive that you would be able to know the perfect moment to predict when he would text you. However, this time, Jisung saw that you were active three hours ago. He didn't think too much of it and switched off his phone, redirecting his attention back onto the lecture. Passing by the day as per normal.

Little did he know, that you were sulking on the other side of campus. Chaeryeong and Yunjin sitting on either side of you as you began to overthink.

"I thought we were doing okay." You mumbled, pulling your hair out in frustation.

"It's not you. You know what Jisung is like, you can't blame yourself." Chaeryeong scolded.

Just then, you watched as NingNing made her way towards campus. Her head hung low as she was focused on her phone. You could see her smile brightly, indicating that she was probably texting someone. For some reason you knew exactly who it was from how giddy she was acting. A part of you felt guilty for being selfish.

"Do you guys think I should really move on?" You asked meekly.

The both of them shot you a deadpanned look, as if ridiculing you for asking a dumb question. But the they didn't get to answer when you sat up straight, as if a lightbulb appeared on your head. "You know what?" You stood up, "I am going to move on!"

"Really?" Yunjin asked excitedly, standing up as well.

"Yes! Afterall, he only arranged this ordeal to get over his one sided crush." You waved off.

"What!" Both of them yelled in unison. "Yeah," You shrugged as if it was nothing. "He even moaned the wrong name in bed but that's besides the point."

"And you're only telling us this now?!"

You looked confused, "I thought I told you guys already."

"Uh, no you didn't. You said you guys hooked up accidentally and that's what made him want to do it again." Grabbing your shoulders, shaking them vigorously as if she was trying to wake you up, "You didn't tell us he was blatantly using you as a rebound." Yunjin said in fury, having been shocked by the sudden discovery. Chaeryeong, on the other hand wanted to punch the boy whenever he is on sight now.

"I mean, at least he got what he wanted now." You smiled, "It's totally fine, I should be happy for him."

Your friends looked at you in pity as you try to remain cheerful, not wanting to break down.

"I say we should forget about him completely."

WEEK THREE.

A few days went by and you were out hanging with your friends. Though, it would be a lie to say you weren't tempted when Jisung were to text you. It has been days without your usual sessions but he wouldn't really push the matter further, making you think that he didn't really care. In fact, you swore you saw him walking with NingNing on campus the other day. That thought had lessened the heartbreak and you soon got better at ignoring him completely.

Little did you know that Jisung began to worry about your absence. Growing more annoyed when you refuse to look at him whenever the both of you crossed paths in the hallway, even when you shared the same class, you weren't as eager to sit beside him. In fact, choosing a seat that was far from where he could see you. But in Jisung's classic way of dealing things, he ignored it, thinking that he might be exaggerating and that you were probably busy, opting to wait for you to approach him. Like you've always have.

Which was why you were fine with going to a party with your friends, knowing that if Jisung were there, he wouldn't even make an attempt to be near you.

But boy, were you wrong.

To say you were uncomfortable was an understatement, but to be fair, you hadn't had the best experience with parties. The first time you had gotten black-out drunk that you threw up all over Yunjin (you apologised later on, of course) and was forced to go back home earlier, with a massive hangover the next day. The next couple of times were consists of awkward mingling, considering you weren't one to be social. You vow to never attend a party ever again. Of course, until a few circumstances had changed.

Now, here you are, standing awkwardly while your friends were having the time of their lives. They were quite experience with the whole lifestyle, while you, on the other hand, just watched with a forced smile and they greet other college students. The liquid in the red solo cup was left untouched in your hands.

Walking through the crowds, you had lost your path with your friends, leaving you alone. As you frantically look around you, a hand clasped onto your shoulder. Turning around, you saw a beaming Seungmin.

"Didn't know you'd be here."

"Never really thought this through." You laughed awkwardly, "I didn't know why I bothered coming here."

"Parties are not your thing, huh?" He concluded, grabbing your hand as the both of you went to a more quieter area.

You didn't answer because if was fairly obvious, instead asking him back. He looked away before giving you a cheeky smile, "My friend dragged me here."

"The one making out with that girl." You pointed, watching his blonde-haired friend, Hyunjin, getting handsy.

"Yup. That's him." He scratched his head.

A moment of silence takes place before you decided to speak up, "I'm sorry for ghosting you, by the way."

He perked up, "It's alright."

"No, I'm serious. An asshole move on my part."

"Well, I can't blame you. You seemed pretty smitten with Jisung." He said, taking a sip of his drink.

"Yeah." You admitted, "But I'm over him now, well— in the process of."

He smiled, "Finally finding dignity for yourself, huh?"

"Hey!" You hit his arm, taking an offense at his words.

His laughter fueled in your anger but you soon find humour as you too, laughed along with him. And just like that, you spent the whole party talking to Seungmin.

That view alone made both of you appear to look like a couple, which was harmless. But in Jisung's eyes, it is deemed as a threat. Having had arrived an hour prior to the party, his gaze like a hawk as he eyed the both of you laughing away, ignoring Chenle's ranting.

"What have you been staring at?" Chenle moved his head towards the male, trying to match his view.

Just as Chenle eye's landed on your figure, he hummed in amusement, "Guess she finally got over you."

He joked, patting the male. But Jisung couldn't pick up on his words, not when he was fuming in anger.

Luckily though, Chenle got distracted by Haechan calling out to him, which served as a great escape for him to march towards you.

"You want to go outside?" He heard the voice of the sickening male, Seungmin's hands carressing your arms.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take you away.

Which was what happened, because the next thing you could register was a sudden pull on the arm, dragging you away. It happened to quickly that not even Seungmin could utter in protest, which resulted you getting sucked into the mysterious hand. You didn't put up a fight though, knowing deep down the hand that it belongs to.

You sigh, getting tired of Jisung's mixed signals and wanting nothing more than to end the madness once and for all.

He pushed you towards an empty room before making his way in, locking the door while he slammed it shut. His back was turned towards you and you could only let out a grumble of complaint.

"So you dragged me here to give me the silent treatment." You provoked, "If you want to fuck me, just get it done and over with."

He turned around, facing you with eyes you could never read. Jisung was hard to understand and you couldn't figure out what he was thinking at the moment.

"That's not what I want to do."

"Then what is it, surely it isn't to talk. We never talk anyways, we just fuck." You scoffed, "So, try again." You scoffed, taking a step towards him.

He grabbed his hair in frusatation, "I don't know— fuck! I don't know, okay!"

"No! It's not okay because I'm sick of you treating me like a side piece. You got yourself a girlfriend now so why the hell are you still with me!" You yelled out.

"Because I like you too!" He blurted.

You widened your eyes at the sudden confession. "I like you, okay? I always have since we were kids too and I got scared so I tried to get over you by talking to her. I didn't realise how far I have gotten."

You shook your head, "Well, that's the thing. You don't think, you just do. I have made it clear from the start about my feelings but you just use it against me to fuck! You have never liked me so don't you dare fucking lie to me!"

"I'm not lying." He took a step forward, which only made you back away in disgust.

He didn't made an attempt afterwards, his eyes pleading as he watched you shuffle away.

"Well, isn't that a fucking useful information." Your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fuck me then."

"What."

"You heard me, I said. Fuck. Me."

For the first time, it felt that you had the upper-hand. From the way Jisung seem to be more intimidated by your voice. You wanted him to feel the pain that you felt. Used like how he used you. You wanted to get back at him.

"If you don't, I'll leave."

That seemed to set a fire alarm in his ears because he was quick on his feet. His hand coming up to harshly grip onto your shirt to pull it off. You obliged, moving your hand to his neck to wrap it around his neck. With a quick tug, you pulled Jisung onto the bed, his back landed on the soft matress as you straddled his hips.

He groaned when you hastily reached his zipper, pulling down his cock. which slapped against his stomach in an instant. Veiny and red.

He was about to lean in for a kiss before you covered his lips, pouting slightly at your refusal. A smirk played on your lips as you whispered against his ear. "It doesn't feel nice, does it?"

He was about to utter your name when you began pumping his length harshly, causing him to let out loud moans.

"How pathetic, I haven't even started putting my pussy inside." You mocked.

Sliding your panties to the side, you guided his hardened cock towards your wet slick, quickly slammed your hips against him once it was slid in smoothly. Both of you moan at the contact.

Bouncing against him with such speed, you could only struggle to let out few whimpers as he held tightly onto your hips, urging you to move faster.

You could tell he was nearing from the way his grip tightened. You were sure that it would leave bruises the next day. However, that was the least of your worries as you removed yourself away from him. He groaned in frustation at the sudden loss of contact.

"Why did yo— ah!" He was interrupted when you began sucking him without warning. His noises began to grow increasingly louder, which only made you shove your throat deeper, determined to take him in completely.

He moaned aloud your name in ecstasy, finally being able to release. His load painting your mouth as you swallow it clean.

He was panting from the pure bliss, having had one of the best blow jobs he had ever gotten.

He watched as you began to clean yourself up, slowly putting on your clothes. "Wait— where are you going?" He asked, grabbing your arm to stop you.

"We're done here." You said coldly.

"But—"

"You got what you wanted. I hope you're happy so don't ever contact me again." You began, making your way towards the door.

"Consider this our last session."

And with that, Jisung was left shock. Sitting alone in a stranger's bed as he was left defeated with the fact that you were never going to feel the same way for him again.

He knew he had fucked up. Badly.

©ruwriteshours

[mikaylathenerd5]

Open Arms - Chapter 1

authors note: Hi! This is my first time writing a fanfiction on here. A little bit nervous about this. If there are any cw/tw's as this story comes along, please let me know and I can add them as soon as possible.

The banner is kinda crappy. So I do apologize!

SZA - "Open Arms" Words: 3.2k

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The hum of fluorescent lights echoed off the concrete walls, a sharp contrast to the distant roar of the crowd beyond the curtain. Backstage at a WWE event was a world of controlled chaos - wrestlers passing by in a blur of muscle and adrenaline, and the constant shuffle of boots against the floor.

It wasn’t your world - not by a long shot - but here you were, standing in the middle of it with your laptop clutched tightly to your chest.

Isla Sage Navarro

A name that once echoed through classrooms and libraries - not arenas. 

But you weren’t here for the cheers or the flashing lights. You were here for the work.

You adjusted your backpack, the weight of your laptop pulling down the strap on your shoulder. Your fingers fidgeting with the frayed edge of the Georgia Tech Keychain dangling from the zipper. The one your grandmother gave you when you got accepted - her way of reminding you that no matter how far you went, home was always with you.

Home.

It tasted like saltwater and sun - like the small beach town in Florida where you grew up. A place where the sand was a second skin and the ocean had been your confidant, listening to your whispered dreams when you thought no one else would. Your grandmother used to say the water carried your secrets farther than you could ever imagine. 

It carried your determination too.

You were never the loudest voice in the room - never the girl who demanded attention. Shy was the word most people used. Quiet. The one who stayed late after school for academic team practice or Robotics Club instead of going to the beach with friends, the one who spent weekends studying for competitions while others worried about prom.

But you didn’t mind.

You weren’t just doing this for yourself.

Your mother, a teacher at the local high school, was your rock. She worked tirelessly, balancing lesson plans and grading papers while still making sure you had everything you needed. You admired her more than you could put into words.

Your father? More like sperm donor. He was a different story.

He was from Panama, a man who slipped in and out of your life like a shadow. His visits were fleeting, promises made in passing - things he never kept. You never got to know him in a way other girls did their fathers. By the time you’d gotten old enough to understand, he already left, again. Your mother never spoke ill of him, but the absence was undeniable.

But you had her.

You also had your grandmother, who worked at the same beachside diner for over thirty years. She used to tell you stories about her dreams of education and living the American dream. Those same stories are what fueled your journey.

Now your cousin on the other hand was the total opposite of you. Your cousin, Camila, was your closest confidant. Camila, who was like a sister to you, always had your back, especially when it came to making decisions. Growing up, she’d been the outgoing, daring one - the one who dragged you out of your shell, even if just a little. But you were always the studious one, too focused on academics to have much of a dating life. Your world was about proving you could make it on your own. Camila often teased you for not dating, saying you’d be too busy reading books or coding your latest project when you should be living life.

After college, when you weren’t buried in work or volunteering for projects, you spent your time with Toby, your Siamese cat - a creature who demanded little, just your attention and love. Camila used to joke that Toby was your “only man,” and you couldn’t help but laugh. The truth was, you simply didn’t have the time for romance.

But that changed one night when Camila, after hearing about the WWE job offer, practically dragged you into taking the opportunity. “Isla, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance,” she insisted. “WWE is huge, and this is the kind of challenge you’ve been looking for! You’ve got the skills, the education, and the work ethic. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Her words were enough to spark something in you - and so, you did it. You applied. You knew it would be a risk, but it felt like the kind of risk you were ready to take.

The job that would, hopefully, lead to a new chapter of your life.

You wanted more.

And now, here you were - in a world you never thought you’d be part of, standing backstage at a WWE event.

The offer felt like a glitch in your system -  a recruiter reaching out through LinkedIn, saying they’d heard about your work on a recent security breach for a streaming company. Apparently, WWE’s new online platform was riddled with vulnerabilities - glitches, data leaks - and they needed someone who could fix it.

You weren’t a wrestling fan - not the way others were. Of course, you knew the names. John Cena. The Undertaker. Roman Reigns. The larger-than-life superstars who dominated TV screens.

But their world wasn’t yours.

And yet…the offer was too big to ignore.

So now, at 27 years old, you were here - at your first live event - running system checks and patching bugs, doing your best to blend into the background of this chaotic, testosterone-fueled universe.

You passed by crew members, wrestlers, and production staff with purposeful steps, though your heart raced. Despite the chaos, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. You kept your head down, focusing on the laptop in your hands, trying not to think too hard about the fact that this was WWE - the glitz, the glamour, the superstars.

This was Roman Reigns’ world.

A name you had heard for years - even if you weren’t the biggest wrestling fan. Still, his reputation preceded him. He was everywhere: on TV, in commercials, and in the media. He was in many ways, everything you weren’t. Loud, proud, and always in the spotlight.

But you weren’t here for Roman Reigns. You were here for the work. Tech support. You’d spent the past several weeks troubleshooting the company’s online platform and fixing vulnerabilities. They needed someone with your skills, your background - and you had the chance to prove yourself.

As you walked past one of the dressing rooms, you froze. Roman Reigns was standing there, a conversation with a few crew members underway. His broad shoulders were barely visible behind the door, and you had to force yourself to look away, lest you get caught staring.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know who he was. Roman Reigns, The Tribal Chief, The Head of the Table, The Big Dog. The man was an icon, someone who seemed to exist in an entirely different world from yours. You had admired his career from a distance, even if you weren’t the typical wrestling fan. His work ethic was legendary - something you could respect.

But the idea that you might have to talk to him? That was a different story entirely.

You shook your head, focusing on your task. 

It was working - until it wasn’t.

As you rounded the corner, you heard a deep voice catch your attention.

“Hey, you lost?”

You froze again, your heart leaping into your throat. The deep, smooth, and commanding voice sent a jolt down your spine.

You knew that voice.

You turned slowly, forcing your eyes to meet the person standing before you. The words catching in your throat when you saw him.

Roman Reigns.

He was a living legend - Joseph Anoa’i - the Georgia Tech football star who left a legacy on the field. His jersey number, 96, had been retired long before you stepped onto campus. His name was spoken in hushed tones in locker rooms, and you’d often hear coaches refer to him when speaking of athletes who managed to balance sports and academics. But by the time you arrived at Georgia Tech, he already moved on to his wrestling career, his name splashed across headlines and TV screens.

His eyes were dark, intense, but there was an unspoken kindness in them. His tall frame towered over you, yet the way he looked at you didn’t feel threatening. His gaze softened, and his posture relaxed slightly.

Towering at 6’3”, his broad frame filled the narrow hallway, every inch of him as intimidating as he was magnetic. His long black hair was damp, framing a chiseled face set with dark, intense eyes. The championship belt draped casually over his shoulder, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. It wasn’t just an accessory - it was a symbol of his power, his success. His presence - that quiet, simmering authority - that pinned you in place.

He wasn’t here to make you feel small. No, instead, he seemed…interested.

You swallowed nervously, trying to steady your breathing. “I-I’m not lost,” you stammered. “I’m just…here for the server.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, looking at you with curiosity. “Tech support?” he asked, the words laced with a mixture of disbelief and intrigue.

You knew what you looked like - a Nike Sportswear jacket, Air Force 1’s, and a black pullover sweater beneath it. You didn’t exactly scream Cybersecurity specialist.

You nodded quickly, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Yeah. I’m working on the code for the online platform.”

Roman’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Well, that’s one way to spend your night. How’s it going?”

You cleared your throat, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny. “Good. I’m just checking a few things before the show starts.”

“Sounds like a lot of responsibility for someone so…quiet,” he said, the teasing tone in his voice pulling you out of your shell, even if just a little. His eyes softened, almost as if he recognized the discomfort you were trying so hard to hide.

“It’s….it’s nothing,” you said, hoping you didn’t sound like you were rambling. You felt awkward, your shyness holding you back from truly expressing yourself. “I’ve been doing this for a while. Just…another day at work.”

Roman gave you a slow nod, as though he were considering your words carefully. The silence stretched for a moment before the sound of laughter echoed from behind him. The Usos - Roman’s cousins - had arrived, their presence immediately lightening the mood, but your anxiety only deepened.

“Yo, Uce! What’s going on here?” Jimmy asked, his voice filled with that familiar camaraderie you’d seen in interviews.

Roman turned his attention toward them, but not before glancing back at you. “Just getting ready to open the show,” he said with a shrug. “You guys ready for tonight?”

The Usos both smirked. “Ready as ever, Uce,” Jey said, his gaze flickering to you with a glint of mischief. “And who’s this? Your new techie friend?”

“Jey, Jimmy, meet… uh,” Roman glanced at you, waiting for you to fill the blank.

You managed a shaky smile, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. “Isla,” you said softly, still feeling the weight of their attention.

“Isla?” Jey repeated, grinning like he’d won a prize. “Nice to meet you. What’s a pretty girl like you doing fixing codes instead of… I dunno, enjoying the show?”

You stammered, unsure how to respond. “I… I’m just here for the work,” you said quickly, hoping they wouldn’t push further.

Roman’s sharp glaze flickered between you and his cousins.” She’s here to help,” he said, his voice firm. “She’s doing a damn good job,” he said, the weight of his words making your heart skip. It was one of the first times someone in the industry - someone with as such status as him - had recognized your work so openly.

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at your lips.

Jey raised an eyebrow at his cousin. “Whoa. Uce, you’re defending the tech girl now?”

Roman didn’t flinch. “She got the skillset we need, and she’s been working her ass off. We don’t take that lightly around here.”

You blinked in surprise at his defense. No one had ever really spoken to you like that before, and certainly not someone of Roman’s stature. Especially with the fact that you just met each other a couple of minutes ago, and he is already speaking so highly of your work. You felt both a surge of pride and a wave of nervousness.

“Don’t worry,” Roman added, his tone softening just a bit. “We’ll see you around, Isla.”

As they walked away, you couldn’t help but stare after them. Your heart was still racing, and your mind was reeling. Did that really just happen? Did Roman Reigns just stand up for you?

You shook your head, trying to clear the thoughts swirling inside. This wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about the fame or stardom. You were here for the work. You could do this. 

You belonged here.

The hotel room was too quiet. Too empty.

The hum of the air conditioner filled the space, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the thoughts racing in Isla’s mind.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, her laptop pushed aside after another failed attempt at distracting herself with work. Her phone rested in her hand, thumb hovering over the call button.

This was routine. Every time she left home—whether for college or work—she called. Her mother expected it. Her grandmother depended on it. And Camila? Camila would just make fun of her if she didn’t.

Still, something about today made it different.

Maybe it was the overwhelming environment of WWE, the sheer chaos of it all. Maybe it was the feeling of being an outsider in a world that didn’t quite seem to have a place for her.

Or maybe it was the fact that Roman Reigns had looked her in the eyes and spoken to her like she belonged.

With a sigh, she hit the call button.

It barely rang twice before her mother picked up.

“Isla! Mija, how was your first day?”

The familiar warmth in Mariana Navarro’s voice should have comforted her, but instead, it made Isla’s chest tighten.

“Hey, Mom,” she said softly. “It was… a lot.”

Before her mother could respond, another voice cut in—one that was impossible to miss.

“Oh, please. You’re just overthinking it like you always do.”

Isla groaned. “Camila, why are you on the call?”

“Because I love you, and I knew you’d call Mom,” Camila said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Now spill. How was it? Did you meet any hot wrestlers?”

Isla rolled her eyes. “I’m not there to meet anyone.”

A beat of silence. Then Camila gasped.

“Wait. WAIT. That means you did.”

“I didn’t say that!” Isla protested.

“Yeah, but you didn’t say no,” Camila said, practically vibrating through the phone. “Oh my God, who was it? No, don’t tell me. Was it Roman Reigns? The Tribal Daddy himself?”

Isla nearly dropped the phone. “Camila!”

Her cousin erupted into laughter. “No way! You met him? What happened? Did he hit on you? Did he acknowledge you?”

“Camila.”

“Does he smell as good as he looks?”

“Oh my god, stop.”

Mariana sighed. “Camila, let her speak.”

Isla exhaled, rubbing her temple. “I just ran into him backstage, that’s it. It was nothing.”

“Uh-huh. And?”

“And… he was nice,” Isla admitted reluctantly.

Camila let out a dramatic gasp. “He defended you? Oh, girl, you’ve already got him wrapped around your finger.”

“Camila, it wasn’t like that,” Isla said, face burning. “His cousins were just teasing me, and he told them I was working hard, that I was helping the company.”

Camila snorted. “Please. You’re telling me Roman freaking Reigns took the time out of his day to defend the new girl just because? That man is surrounded by people 24/7. If he noticed you, it means something.”

“It means nothing,” Isla argued. “It was just… unexpected.”

Unexpected because Roman Reigns had been nothing but polite. Because he had looked at her—not through her, not past her, but at her. As if she belonged there.

Mariana’s voice softened. “Mija, it’s normal to doubt yourself. But you’re there for a reason. They chose you because you’re talented. And if this is about stepping out of your comfort zone, maybe that’s exactly what you need.”

Isla chewed her lip. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” her mother assured her. “And you don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Just be yourself.”

“Yeah, and if all else fails,” Camila added, “just seduce Roman Reigns. Problem solved.”

“Goodnight, Camila.”

Laughter echoed through the line, followed by a softer, more familiar voice finally speaking—one filled with the weight of years and wisdom.

“We are proud of you, mi cielo,” her grandmother, Esperanza, said gently. “No matter what.”

Something in Isla’s chest unclenched at those words.

“Thanks, Abuela.”

She glanced at the foot of the bed, where Toby, her Siamese cat, would normally be curled up, his tail flicking in irritation at all the noise. She hadn’t been away from him for more than a few days in years.

“I miss Toby,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

Camila cackled. “Your cat is fine. Honestly, I think he’s thriving without you. He’s probably sleeping in your bed right now, stretched out like a king.”

Mariana chuckled. “He has been sitting by the front door a lot, though.”

That made Isla smile. At least someone was missing her.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“We’ll be waiting,” her mother said warmly.

“Make sure to give us all the juicy details about your next Roman encounter,” Camila added.

“I am hanging up now.”

Camila’s laughter was the last thing she heard before the call ended.

Isla set her phone down, staring at the ceiling for a moment. She still wasn’t sure if she had made the right choice, still wasn’t sure where she fit in this new world.

But at least, no matter what, she had them.

And for tonight, that was enough.

The call had helped. It always did. But even after hanging up, Isla still felt the weight of the day pressing down on her.

She had expected this job to be challenging—technically, at least. But she hadn’t expected to feel so out of place.

And then there was him.

Roman Reigns.

She wasn’t naive—she knew who he was, knew how much larger-than-life his presence was even before meeting him. But standing there, with his full attention on her, had been something else entirely. It was intimidating. Overwhelming.

And maybe… just a little intriguing.

Not that it mattered.

She wasn’t here for that.

Besides, guys like him didn’t notice women like her. Not really. He had been polite, maybe even a little curious about her job, but that didn’t mean anything.

And even if it did—what was she supposed to do with that? She barely had a history with dating. Between school and work, romance had never fit into the equation. And now? Now, she was supposed to navigate this world—one full of confident, outspoken people who had no problem taking up space—while she barely knew how to exist in it?

No.

She was here to do her job.

And that was exactly what she was going to focus on.

Please let me know what you guys think. Thank you for reading!