#(this may have something to do with atmosphere and familiarity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reidmarieprentiss · 1 month

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Short Shorts & Long Hair

Summary: Spencer does NOT want to go to physical therapy, but the pretty physical therapist might make it not so bad.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x PT fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: injury, suggestive content (16+), alcohol consumption, insecurities, rejection, use of Y/N

Word count: 11.6k

a/n: i went through pt with a huugggeeee crush on my physical therapist ,, wish they were single :(((

main masterlist part two

After Spencer Reid is shot in the thigh during a case, the last thing he wants is to endure the grueling process of physical therapy. The thought of being touched, poked, and prodded by a stranger, let alone being intensely monitored, fills him with dread. Convinced that he can handle the recovery on his own, Spencer drafts a fake doctor’s note claiming he’s fit to perform his own therapy. Unfortunately for him, neither Hotch nor his orthopedic surgeon finds the attempt amusing. Despite his protests, Spencer is left with no choice but to attend physical therapy sessions, which also means being grounded from fieldwork and unable to join his team on cases.

—

The atmosphere in the room was thick with a tension that only Spencer Reid seemed oblivious to as he sat at his desk, meticulously writing out what could have passed as an official-looking note. His expression was one of deep concentration, brow furrowed in that familiar way as he carefully crafted each word, determined to convince anyone who might read it that he, Dr. Spencer Reid, was fully capable of managing his own recovery.

"To whom it may concern, Dr. Spencer Reid is fully capable of performing his own physical therapy regimen. As a medical professional and an expert in several fields, he does not require the services of an external physical therapist. Please excuse him from any mandated sessions."

He read over the note once more, satisfied with his work, before folding it neatly and tucking it into an envelope. It was the perfect plan, he thought after all, who knew his body better than he did? He could research the most effective exercises, monitor his own progress, and avoid the discomfort of being intensely scrutinized by someone else. The thought of a stranger's hands on him, manipulating his body and injured leg, made his stomach turn. Spencer was resolute—he could handle this on his own.

But just as he was about to place the envelope on Hotch's desk, ready to hand it over with the casual nonchalance of a doctor delivering a prescription, the door to the office swung open. Aaron Hotchner stepped in, his usual stoic expression firmly in place. He caught sight of the envelope in Spencer's hand and the somewhat guilty look on the younger agent's face.

"Reid," Hotch said, his voice even but with a hint of curiosity, "what's that?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment, knowing full well that Hotch wouldn't be easily convinced by his little stunt. But he decided to try anyway. "It's, um, a note. From me. For me. You see, I don't think I need to go to physical therapy. I’ve written a statement explaining that I can handle my own recovery. It’s all very professional."

Hotch's brow arched slightly as he reached out, taking the envelope from Spencer's hand. He opened it and quickly scanned the contents, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he looked up, meeting Spencer's eyes with a look that was both stern and almost amused.

"Spencer, you can't write your own doctor's notes. And even if you could, this isn’t a joke. Physical therapy is a necessary part of your recovery, and it’s not something you can just skip or handle on your own."

"But, Hotch—" Spencer began, his voice tinged with frustration. "I know what needs to be done. I don’t need someone else to tell me how to stretch or exercise. I can do the research, follow the protocols—"

"That’s not the point," Hotch interrupted, his tone firm. "Physical therapy isn’t just about the exercises. It’s about having a trained professional guide you through the process, ensure you’re doing it correctly, and adjust your treatment as needed. It’s about having someone to push you when you’re too tired or in too much pain to push yourself. You’re not invincible, Spencer."

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Hotch’s eyes stopped him. There was no room for negotiation.

"And," Hotch continued, "I know your orthopedic surgeon would agree. I spoke with them earlier today. They were very clear that you need to attend every session if you want to make a full recovery. This isn’t optional."

Spencer felt the weight of Hotch’s words settling over him, heavy and unavoidable. He hated the idea of being in a clinical setting, of being vulnerable in front of someone else, of having to admit that he needed help. But he also knew that Hotch was right. Skipping therapy wasn’t just about avoiding discomfort—it was about jeopardizing his recovery and potentially his career.

"But if I go to therapy, I won’t be able to fly with the team," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, the frustration giving way to a sense of helplessness.

Hotch’s expression softened, just a little. "I know. And I know how hard that is for you. But your health comes first. You’ll still be a part of the team, but you need to take care of yourself. We can handle things in the field until you’re ready to come back."

Spencer nodded, though the idea of being left behind still gnawed at him. He could already imagine the isolation, the endless hours of exercises and stretches, the frustration of not being able to work cases with his team. But there was no getting around it. This was his reality now.

"Alright," Spencer finally said, his voice resigned. "I’ll go to the therapy sessions."

"Good," Hotch replied, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder in a rare gesture of support. "It’s the right decision. And remember, we’re all here for you, no matter what."

Spencer gave a small nod, appreciating the sentiment even as the prospect of therapy loomed over him like a dark cloud. He watched as Hotch left the office, the door clicking softly shut behind him. The room seemed quieter now, and Spencer sat there for a moment, the now-crumpled note still in his hand.

The first session was scheduled for tomorrow morning, and Spencer could already feel the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He wasn’t ready for this—not physically, not mentally. But it was happening, whether he liked it or not. And as much as he wished he could write himself out of it, this was one situation where even Spencer Reid had to admit that he couldn’t do it all on his own.

—

The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains as Spencer reluctantly eyed the outfit his surgeon recommended. Loose-fitting clothes were manageable, but the shorts—revealing his pale, scarred leg—were far from his usual style. They made him feel vulnerable, a stark contrast to the comfort of his usual slacks and cardigans. With a resigned sigh, he slipped into the shorts and a loose t-shirt, feeling exposed.

Crutching out of his apartment, every step reminded him of his injury, amplifying his discomfort. The short drive to the physical therapy center only heightened his anxiety; the building felt more like a fortress than a place of healing.

Once inside, the overly cheerful receptionist bombarded him with questions, each interaction grating on his nerves. Finally, he was led to a private room—a sterile, clinical space that made him feel even more on edge. As he gingerly lowered himself onto the padded table, his leg throbbing slightly, Spencer’s mind raced with thoughts of the upcoming session, dreading the inevitable discomfort and the loss of control. The door would open soon, and a stranger would take charge, leaving him with no escape.

At last, a small knock echoed through the room before the door creaked open, revealing a young woman who couldn’t have been older than her mid-20s. Spencer’s breath caught for a moment—she was gorgeous, even in her casual athletic wear, her presence both striking and unexpectedly comforting.

“Hello, Spencer Reid?” you asked with a warm smile that seemed to light up the room. “I’m Dr. Y/L, but you can call me Y/N.”

"Hi, yes, I'm Spencer. Nice to meet you," he said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of politeness and underlying nervousness.

"Nice to meet you too, Spencer," you replied with a warm smile as you settled in front of the computer, pulling up his chart. "Let's see... you got shot in the thigh, ouch. How did that happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

Spencer shifted slightly, the memory still fresh. "Uh, no, that's fine. I was chasing an unsub. I work for the FBI."

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Oh wow! That's cool... and painful. I'm sorry about that."

He gave a small shrug, trying to downplay the severity. "It comes with the job."

"I suppose it does," you said, nodding thoughtfully. "Anyway, let's get some basic info about how you're doing since surgery."

Together, you went through the routine baseline questions, Spencer answering each one with careful honesty. His responses were detailed, though you could sense a certain reluctance in his tone, as if he was holding back from fully engaging in the process.

"And finally, Spencer... what is your mobility like? Can you bend your knee?" you asked, glancing up from the computer to observe his reaction.

"Uh, a little," he replied, his discomfort becoming more evident as your attention shifted to his exposed leg.

"Can you show me, please?" you asked gently, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then slowly bent his knee, his movements tentative. Your eyes followed the motion, taking note of the stiffness and the clear effort it required.

"Okay, good… now, how far can you bend your other knee? In fact, do you mind if I measure? That way, we can compare later down the line to see the progress you're making," you explained, keeping your tone encouraging and professional.

"Mhm, fine," he murmured, giving a small nod of consent.

You moved closer with a measuring tool in hand, your focus entirely on ensuring accuracy. Spencer, on the other hand, felt his cheeks flush slightly under your scrutiny. The vulnerability of the situation, coupled with the physical closeness, made him acutely aware of every small movement.

"Alright," you said after taking the measurements, offering him a reassuring smile. "We'll track these numbers as we go, and you'll be able to see just how much progress you're making. It might not feel like it now, but you'll get there."

Spencer nodded again, his nerves calming slightly at your supportive demeanor. Despite his initial reluctance, he was starting to see that this process, uncomfortable as it was, might just be what he needed.

"Okay, for today, we don't have to push you too far," you began, your tone gentle yet encouraging. "We'll just start with some easy movements to get a baseline for where you're at. How does that sound?"

"That's fine," Spencer replied, his voice steady, though there was still a hint of tension beneath the surface.

Together, you guided him through a series of basic movements, carefully observing how his injured leg compared to his non-injured one. Spencer followed your instructions with quiet focus, doing his best to move as much as he could without aggravating the injury. As you made your way down the list, you noted the differences in flexibility and strength, mentally preparing a plan for his recovery.

When you reached the last item on your list, you looked up from your notes. "Alright, Spencer, I'd like you to try flexing your quad. This is important because you'll need to be able to engage those muscles when you're ready to start walking again."

"I know," Spencer said, his tone tinged with resignation and a touch of impatience, as if he was more than aware of what was expected of him but still not entirely comfortable with the process.

You nodded, acknowledging his understanding. "Oh, okay, yes, well..." you hesitated for a moment, wanting to ensure his comfort. "Can I put my hand on your leg, Spencer? It'll help me gauge the muscle engagement."

Spencer looked at you for a brief moment, the vulnerability in his eyes evident. But he gave a small nod, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, that's fine."

You placed your hand gently on his leg, just above the injured area, making sure your touch was as light and non-intrusive as possible. "Alright, go ahead and flex for me."

Spencer did as you asked, and you could feel the slight tremor in the muscle as it tried to respond. It was clear that the road ahead would be challenging, but this was a crucial first step.

"Good job, Spencer," you said softly, your voice filled with genuine encouragement. "This is the start, and we'll take it one step at a time. You'll get there, I promise."

"Thanks," Spencer muttered, his tone clipped but not intentionally rude. He was struggling to keep his frustration in check—not with you, but with the entire process. The vulnerability, the slowness of his progress, it all grated on him. But he couldn’t help but notice how kind and patient you were, never once letting his mood affect your demeanor.

You offered him a gentle smile, recognizing the weariness in his voice. "Alright, what do you say we call it a day?"

"Sounds good," Spencer replied, a bit of relief seeping into his tone. The session had been necessary, he knew that, but it was exhausting in more ways than one.

You helped him settle back into a comfortable position, gathering your notes and preparing to leave. "You did well today, Spencer. It's not easy, but you're making progress, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

He gave a small nod, appreciating your words even if he didn’t fully believe them yet. As he watched you head for the door, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of gratitude.

—

The next day, as Spencer made his way into the office, he immediately spotted Aaron Hotchner across the bullpen. Hotch was engaged in a conversation with another agent, but the moment he noticed Spencer, a subtle, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Spencer felt a mild irritation bubble up within him; he could already sense what was coming.

As he approached his desk, Hotch walked over, his expression that infuriating blend of concern and amusement. "Morning, Reid," Hotch greeted, his voice carrying that signature calm authority. "How did your first physical therapy session go?"

Spencer’s eyes narrowed slightly, detecting the faint smugness in Hotch’s tone. "It was… fine," he replied, trying to keep his voice even, though his annoyance was evident. He could tell Hotch was fishing for details, and it was clear that Hotch knew exactly how uncomfortable the whole experience had been for him.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing just a bit. "Just fine? No major complaints?"

Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No major complaints," he echoed, though the look on his face said otherwise.

Hotch nodded, clearly enjoying this a little too much. "Good. Just remember, Reid, it's important to follow through with these sessions. They'll make all the difference in your recovery."

"Yes, I’m aware," Spencer replied, his tone a touch sharper than he intended. He knew Hotch was right, but that didn’t make the process any less frustrating.

Hotch chuckled softly, not unkindly, and gave Spencer a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Hang in there, Spencer. You'll be back to chasing down unsubs in no time."

As Hotch walked away, Spencer let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. He knew Hotch meant well, but that didn’t stop him from being mildly annoyed at the subtle smugness in his boss’s demeanor. It seemed that, for now, Spencer would just have to endure the teasing—along with everything else this recovery was throwing at him.

—

At his next physical therapy session, Spencer walked in with a bit less tension in his shoulders, though he was still undeniably on edge. The familiarity of the setting, coupled with the fact that he knew what to expect, made things slightly easier. But the apprehension hadn’t fully dissipated. There was still the uncomfortable vulnerability that came with each session, the persistent reminder of his injury.

However, without the overwhelming cloud of nerves and frustration that had dominated his first visit, Spencer found himself noticing something different. As you greeted him with that same warm smile, guiding him through the initial check-in process, he couldn’t help but take in just how pretty you were. The realization caught him off guard, stirring a new wave of anxiety that he hadn’t anticipated.

It wasn’t just your appearance—though that alone was enough to make his pulse quicken—but the way you carried yourself, the gentle confidence in your movements, and the patient way you spoke to him, even when he was less than cooperative. It was disarming, to say the least.

As the session progressed, and you asked him to move through the exercises, Spencer felt his heart rate increase—not just from the physical effort, but from the proximity, the way your hands occasionally brushed against his skin as you guided him. He tried to focus on the mechanics, on the steps you were instructing him through, but his mind kept drifting to the fact that you were so close, your attention entirely on him.

When you gently placed your hand on his leg to help him flex his quad, Spencer’s breath hitched slightly, the warmth of your touch sending a jolt through him. He knew it was purely professional, that you were just doing your job, but it didn’t stop the nervous flutter in his stomach.

“Doing okay, Spencer?” you asked, your voice soft as you glanced up at him, concern flickering in your eyes. You could sense the shift in his demeanor, though you weren’t sure what had caused it.

“Uh, yeah,” he stammered, his voice a little unsteady. “I’m fine.”

You smiled, giving his leg a light pat before continuing with the session. “You’re doing great.”

Spencer nodded, trying to steady his breathing. But the truth was, having your hands and eyes on him, especially now that he was fully aware of how attractive you were, was even more nerve-wracking than the physical exercises themselves. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious, worried that his unease was obvious.

As the session came to a close, Spencer felt a mix of relief and lingering nerves. He knew he’d be back, but the thought of facing these sessions with you—someone who was not only skilled and kind but also strikingly beautiful—added a new layer of complexity to an already difficult process.

—

As the weeks passed, a sense of familiarity began to settle between you and Spencer. It was inevitable, really—spending an hour together every week, working through the same routines, sharing small talk to fill the silence. The initial awkwardness had started to fade, replaced by a growing ease in each other's company.

Spencer was still nervous around you, but it was a different kind of nervousness now. His crush had developed into something undeniable, and though it made his heart race whenever your hands brushed against him or you smiled in that particular way, he had learned to manage it. He even found himself engaging in playful conversation, something that had felt impossible during those first few sessions.

Today, as you guided him through another set of exercises, the conversation flowed naturally, the rapport between you evident.

“So, Spencer, any big plans this weekend?” you asked, your tone light and casual as you adjusted his leg for the next stretch.

Spencer, who had been concentrating on following your instructions, looked up with a faint smirk. “Yeah, I thought I might go skydiving,” he replied, deadpan, though his eyes twinkled with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the playful tone. “Hmm, sounds thrilling—and very safe,” you responded, matching his sarcasm.

He chuckled softly, a sound that was becoming more frequent as he grew more comfortable with you. “Yeah, I figured, why not? Might as well add another injury to the list, right?”

“Perfect plan,” you teased, giving his leg a gentle pat as you moved to the next exercise. “Just make sure to tell your orthopedic surgeon first. I’m sure they’ll love the idea.”

Spencer laughed, the tension in his body easing further with each passing moment. “I’m sure they’ll have a lot to say about it. But really, I’ll probably just catch up on some reading. Nothing too exciting.”

“Well, that sounds more like the Spencer I’ve come to know,” you said with a smile. “Anything interesting you’re reading?”

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should share, but your genuine curiosity encouraged him to open up. “Actually, I’ve been revisiting some classic science fiction—Isaac Asimov’s *Foundation* series. It’s been a while, and I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

You nodded, impressed. “That’s a great choice. I’ve always admired Asimov’s ability to weave complex ideas into his stories. You’ll have to let me know what you think when you finish.”

“I will,” Spencer promised, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of the session. These moments of connection, however small, were becoming something he looked forward to—a bright spot in what had been a difficult and frustrating process.

As the session wrapped up, Spencer found himself lingering a little longer than usual, reluctant to leave the comfortable rhythm you had developed together.

—

During one of your sessions, as you guided Spencer through another set of stretches, the conversation drifted into more personal territory. Spencer, his curiosity getting the better of him, asked, "How old are you?"

You couldn’t help but tease him a little, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady her age?"

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he immediately started to apologize, stumbling over his words. "Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to— I just thought you looked so young."

You laughed, deciding to let him off the hook. "Why, thank you!" you said, exaggerating your response by pretending to flip your hair over your shoulder. "But I was just teasing, Spencer. I’m no lady," you added with a wink, enjoying the way it made him chuckle.

He relaxed a bit, his laughter easing the moment. "Well, now I’m even more curious."

"Alright, alright," you conceded with a grin. "I’m 26."

Spencer nodded, processing the information with a slight smile. "You’re younger than I thought… but somehow, that makes sense."

"Yeah? And how old did you think I was?" you asked, genuinely curious, your eyes fixed on him as you waited for his response.

Spencer shrugged, his expression thoughtful but with a hint of mischief. "I don’t know, maybe 50?"

You stared at him for a moment, deadpan, before replying with a sarcastic sweetness, "That’s so sweet of you, Spencer. Now tell me, am I supposed to push my thumb directly into your wound or just squeeze around it?"

His eyes widened in mock horror as he quickly backpedaled. "Neither! I’m sorry!" he laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "You don’t look 50!"

"Yeah, well, you’re going to after I’m done with you," you shot back, a grin spreading across your face as you leaned in, pretending to consider where to apply pressure.

Spencer laughed, the tension melting away as the playful banter flowed between you.

—

During another session, you glanced over at Spencer, who was carefully stretching his leg. "Okay, Spencer," you began, your tone encouraging, "let’s see if we can get a little more range of motion in your knee today. How’s it feeling?"

Spencer shrugged slightly. "Stiff, but manageable," he replied. "I’m trying not to overthink it."

You nodded in approval, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Good strategy. Just remember, slow and steady wins the race."

He met your gaze, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I’ll keep that in mind… though I’ve never been very good at pacing myself."

—

Today you greeted him with a warm smile. "How’s the leg holding up today? Ready for some more fun?" you asked, your tone light and encouraging.

Spencer met your gaze with a playful grin, the tension from previous sessions now mostly replaced with a sense of friendship. "If by ‘fun’ you mean more quad exercises, then I can hardly contain my excitement," he quipped, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his response, enjoying the banter that had developed between the two of you. "Don’t worry, I’ll make it as enjoyable as possible," you teased back, a mischievous glint in your eye. "We can always spice it up with some trivia."

At that, Spencer’s expression brightened even more. "Trivia? Now you’re speaking my language," he replied, clearly intrigued. "Just don’t go easy on me."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in your voice as you responded, "Wouldn’t dream of it. Get ready, Spencer. I hope you’ve been studying."

—

"Alright," you began, today there was a hint of mischief in your voice as you glanced at him . "Let’s see if we can get a little more flexibility out of that knee today. I know it’s your favorite part."

Spencer’s lips curled into a grin, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "You’re really starting to understand my love for torture," he quipped, his tone laced with sarcasm, though there was a softness in his expression that suggested he didn’t mind the challenge as much as he pretended to.

You couldn’t help but laugh, playing along with a mock-serious look. "Well, if it helps, I think I’m getting better at dishing it out. But seriously, you’re doing great," you added, your voice turning more sincere as you looked at him, hoping to convey how much progress he had truly made.

Spencer tilted his head, the teasing glint in his eyes growing stronger. "Flattery will get you everywhere," he remarked, clearly enjoying the banter.

With a playful wink, you replied, "I’ll keep that in mind."

—

“Okay, Spencer, this one’s going to be a bit tougher. Ready?” you asked, glancing at him with a hint of challenge in your eyes during this session.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” you replied, your smirk matching his. “But I promise, if you make it through this, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Spencer’s other eyebrow joined the first, his interest piqued. “A bribe? How very professional of you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Hey, whatever works. Besides, I know your weakness for good coffee.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. “You’ve been paying attention. I might just have to hold you to that offer.”

“Deal,” you said with a playful wink, moving closer to guide him through the tougher exercises. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got, Dr. Reid.”

—

As Spencer walked into the therapy room for his session, he was greeted with a warm smile and a familiar, teasing tone. "How’s my favorite patient doing today?" you asked, your voice light and welcoming.

Spencer couldn’t help but return the smile, a playful glint in his eye as he replied, "Favorite? I’ll try not to let it go to my head."

You grinned, the banter between you both becoming second nature by now. "You’re lucky you’ve got that charm. Otherwise, I might make you do extra reps."

"I’ll remember that next time I’m tempted to be difficult," Spencer quipped, his tone just as playful, though there was a genuine warmth beneath it.

"Good plan," you said with a nod, before your expression softened slightly. "But seriously, you’re making great progress. Pretty soon, you’ll be back to chasing down unsubs."

Spencer’s smile grew a bit wider, the teasing still evident in his voice as he responded, "And I’ll be sure to tell them all about my excellent physical therapist."

A soft chuckle escaped you, and you met his gaze, your voice gentle as you said, "I’ll be waiting to hear that story."

—

While the team was out on a case, Spencer and Penelope found themselves working together in her Bat Cave, the hum of computers and the click of keys filling the otherwise quiet space. It was a rare moment of calm in their usually hectic lives, and Spencer appreciated the company, even if the work they were doing was still demanding.

“How’s Kevin?” Spencer asked, breaking the silence as he glanced over at Penelope.

Penelope paused for a moment, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard before she responded. “He’s… fine. We haven’t been on a date in a while.”

“Oh, why’s that?” Spencer inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“I’m not sure. We’re both busy, it’s not a big deal,” Penelope replied, her tone making it clear she didn’t want to delve too deeply into the subject. It was unlike her to brush off a topic so quickly, but Spencer respected her boundaries and decided not to press further.

Instead, Penelope shifted the focus, a mischievous glint in her eye as she asked, “How is your love life, Boy Wonder?”

Spencer snorted at the question, shaking his head. “Non-existent.”

Penelope’s eyes sparkled with a mix of sympathy and determination. “Do you want me to set you up with someone? I have single friends!”

“No, thank you, I’m okay,” Spencer replied quickly, his voice firm but kind. The last thing he needed was to be thrust into a blind date arranged by Penelope, well-meaning as she was.

Penelope pouted slightly but didn’t push the issue. “Okay… but think about it!” she added, her tone playful, though there was a hint of genuine concern behind it.

Spencer just smiled, appreciating her efforts but knowing that his mind was already occupied with someone else—someone who made him look forward to his weekly therapy sessions in a way he hadn’t expected. But that was something he wasn’t quite ready to share, not yet.

—

“Ow!” Spencer winced as a sharp pain shot through his leg, catching both of you off guard.

“Oh, shoot. I’m sorry, Spencer. I didn’t mean to push too far. Are you okay?” Your voice was filled with concern as you immediately eased the pressure, your hands hovering just above his leg, ready to help if needed.

Spencer forced a small, embarrassed smile, trying to downplay the discomfort. “Yeah, hah, I’m fine,” he said, though his flushed cheeks told a different story.

You offered him a reassuring smile, sensing his unease. “It’s okay if we need to take a break.”

“Okay… maybe a little one,” he admitted, feeling a bit sheepish but grateful for the pause.

“For sure,” you said with a nod, standing up. “I’ll go get you some water.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, watching as you left the room. He let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort.

When you returned, Spencer couldn’t help but notice how stunning you looked today—though, in truth, he thought you looked gorgeous every day. But something about today caught his attention more than usual. Your pants were form-fitting, hugging your figure in a way that made it hard for him to focus on anything else. And your top… well, it clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve, every roll, and, in this chilly room, every… bump. The air conditioning was doing its job a little too well.

Spencer quickly averted his gaze, feeling his face heat up, and hoped you hadn’t noticed the direction of his thoughts. He took the water you offered with a grateful nod, trying to distract himself from the sudden rush of awareness that had flooded his senses.

“Here you go,” you said, handing him the bottle with a warm smile. “Take your time, okay? We’ll go at your pace.”

“Thanks,” Spencer murmured, taking a sip of the cool water, though it did little to calm the warmth in his cheeks. He was still focused on recovering, but now there was an added layer of distraction—one that made the idea of these sessions both thrilling and terrifying.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay, doctor?” you asked, noticing the bright flush on Spencer’s face. Your concern was evident, your eyes searching his for any sign of discomfort beyond what he’d already admitted.

“Yes, doctor,” Spencer teased back with a small, sheepish grin. “Why?”

“Your face is really red,” you pointed out gently. “You can tell me if we need to be done for the day.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I promise,” he insisted, though the blush on his cheeks only deepened as he realized you’d noticed. He quickly tried to redirect the conversation.

“Okay,” you said, still watching him carefully. “Let’s just rest for a bit. Can I sit?” You gestured to the patient bed where Spencer was currently resting.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, starting to scoot over to make room, but you plopped yourself down on the opposite end anyway, your casual movement making him relax a bit.

“So, um, do you have any fun plans for the weekend?” Spencer asked, eager to keep the conversation going and to steer it away from his embarrassment.

“Yeah, actually! I’m going to a new club with some friends,” you responded with a bright smile, clearly looking forward to it.

“Nice,” Spencer said, though internally, he had no idea what going to a club entailed. It wasn’t exactly his scene. Still, he was trying to be polite and keep the conversation light. “Will your boyfriend be going?”

Your brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but there was a playful glint in your eyes. “Who told you I have a boyfriend?”

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat, a pang of regret hitting him as he fumbled for words. “Uh, I just, um, assumed…”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, no, he’s not going. He’s not allowed in.”

“Oh,” Spencer said, confusion and curiosity in his voice. “Why?”

“They frown upon bringing dogs into clubs,” you replied with a grin, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Spencer blinked, processing your words, before a wide smile spread across his face. “You had me there for a second.”

“Good,” you teased back, your laughter light and infectious. “I’m single, Spencer. Just me and my dog.”

Spencer’s heart, which had momentarily broken at the thought of you having a boyfriend, slowly pieced itself back together. The relief he felt was palpable, though he tried not to show it too much. “Well, your dog sounds like great company.”

“He is,” you agreed, still smiling as you settled more comfortably on the bed. “But it’s nice to have human company too.”

Spencer nodded, his own smile lingering as the tension between you two melted away, replaced by an easy, comfortable rapport that made him feel just a bit braver. “I’ll, um, have to think of something fun to do this weekend too.”

“Well,” you said, giving him a playful nudge with your foot, “if you need ideas, you know where to find me.”

—

Spencer had spent the weekend mentally preparing himself, trying to muster up the courage to take a step outside his comfort zone and maybe even visit the club you had mentioned. But as the days passed, the idea of loud music, crowded spaces, and unfamiliar social dynamics became more daunting than exciting. In the end, he stayed home, retreating to the familiar comfort of his books and routine.

However, something had shifted in him after your last conversation. The way you had laughed, the playful teasing about your “boyfriend,” and the easy, comfortable rapport between you—it all made Spencer feel like maybe, just maybe, his attraction to you wasn’t as one-sided as he had feared. That small spark of hope ignited something in him, and by the time his next session rolled around, he was determined to push the boundaries of your interactions, just a little.

As soon as he walked into the room, he could tell there was a different energy in the air. You greeted him with your usual warm smile, but there was something in your eyes, a glint that made his heart race just a bit faster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you said, your voice bright as you guided him to the usual spot. “How was your weekend? Did you end up finding something fun to do?”

Spencer hesitated for a split second, then decided to go for it. “Well, I thought about going to that club you mentioned,” he began, watching your reaction carefully.

“Oh really?” you asked, clearly intrigued. “What happened? Did you chicken out?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “But I figured if I was going to do something that bold, I’d need a good reason. Maybe some company?”

Spencer's confidence had been steadily growing throughout the session, especially after the playful banter you shared earlier. But when you leaned in just a bit closer, your eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief, and said, “Company, huh? I’m sure you could find someone to go with you,” he felt a sudden drop in his stomach.

He tried to keep the conversation going, hoping he hadn’t misread the situation entirely. “Yeah? Do you know anyone?” he asked, forcing a smile to mask the uncertainty creeping in.

You tilted your head, a teasing grin on your lips as you replied, “I can’t say I do, but if I find someone who screams ‘Spencer Reid,’ I’ll send them your way.” You finished with a wink before turning your attention back to the session.

Spencer’s heart sank. Had he completely misjudged the situation? Maybe his earlier confidence had been misplaced, and the connection he thought was there was just friendly banter after all. As you continued guiding him through the exercises, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of defeat, the playful atmosphere from earlier now tinged with doubt.

Later in the session, you left the room to grab one of the measuring tools you needed, leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts. He leaned back on the patient bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to shake off the disappointment gnawing at him.

That’s when he heard voices in the hallway, one of them unmistakably yours. He wasn’t the type to eavesdrop, but curiosity—and maybe a bit of desperation—got the better of him. He strained to listen, his heart beating faster as he realized you were talking about him.

“You think he was going to ask you out?” said another female voice.

“I don’t know, it seemed like it,” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of uncertainty. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. Had he been that obvious?

“Isn’t that good? I thought you said he was cute and funny,” the other voice continued, sounding encouraging.

There was a brief pause before you responded, your voice a bit softer. “He’s my patient, it doesn’t matter. That can’t happen.”

Spencer’s heart sank further. So that was it. The connection he felt was real, but there was an undeniable barrier between you two—one that you weren’t willing to cross.

“You’re right. Just be nice,” the other voice advised.

“I always am,” you replied, your tone resigned but still kind.

A moment later, the door to the room opened, and you reentered with the measuring tool in hand. Your expression was as warm and professional as ever, but Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment that had settled in his chest. He forced a smile, trying to act as if he hadn’t overheard anything, though the knowledge weighed heavily on him.

The rest of the session continued, but the lightheartedness from earlier was replaced by a quieter, more subdued atmosphere. Spencer kept up the conversation as best he could, but there was a lingering sadness beneath his words. It wasn’t just about his injury anymore—it was about the realization that, no matter how much he might want it, there were some lines that simply couldn’t be crossed.

—

“Hey, Penelope?” Spencer’s voice carried a hint of hesitance as he approached her workstation, trying to muster up the courage for what he was about to ask.

Penelope swiveled her chair around, her bright eyes instantly lighting up at the sight of him. “Yes, my love?” she replied, her usual affectionate tone bringing a small smile to Spencer’s face.

“Do you still have a friend you could set me up with?” Spencer asked, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. He wasn’t sure what had pushed him to ask, but after the recent disappointment, he figured it might be worth a shot.

Penelope’s reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward, her hands clasped together in excitement. “Are you serious? You’re being for real? You’re not just messing with me?”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head at her enthusiasm. “I’m being very serious.”

A squeal of delight escaped Penelope as she practically bounced in her seat. “Yes! I have the perfect friend for you! Oh em gee!!!” she exclaimed, her excitement palpable.

Spencer chuckled, feeling some of his earlier doubts melt away in the face of Penelope’s infectious energy. Maybe this wasn’t what he had originally hoped for, but seeing her so happy about helping him made him feel like he was making the right choice.

“Tell me everything!” Penelope demanded, her fingers already flying across her keyboard as she began to plan out every detail. “What are you looking for? What should I tell her about you? Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

Spencer smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. It wasn’t the path he had initially imagined, but maybe this new direction would lead to something just as fulfilling. “I trust your judgment, Penelope,” he said with a grin. “Just… make sure she’s okay with a guy who’s a little bit of a nerd, and on crutches.”

Penelope beamed, her heart bursting with joy at the prospect of playing matchmaker for her dear friend. “Spencer Reid, you’re in the best hands. She’s going to love you.”

—

The night of Spencer's blind date had arrived, and his nerves were running rampant. Despite trusting Penelope’s judgment, he couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at him. She had insisted that he fully embrace the blind date experience, right down to not even knowing the woman’s name. All she had told him was that he should look for a woman in a red dress.

Sitting at the table in the cozy, dimly lit restaurant, Spencer tried to steady his breathing, his fingers drumming nervously against the tablecloth. The uncertainty was overwhelming, and he found himself glancing at the door every few seconds, half-expecting to make a quick exit if things went south.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, and with every passing moment, his heart beat faster. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of deep red fabric. He turned, his breath hitching as he saw the back of a woman at the host's stand, her figure silhouetted perfectly in the elegant red dress. Even from behind, she looked stunning, and for a brief moment, Spencer felt a flicker of excitement, his nerves momentarily forgotten.

But as she turned to scan the room, her eyes searching for him, Spencer’s heart nearly stopped. It was you.

All the blood seemed to drain from his face as he sat there, frozen in place. His mind raced, trying to process what was happening. Of all the people in the world, Penelope had set him up with you—his physical therapist, the woman he had been crushing on for weeks.

You spotted him almost instantly, your eyes widening in surprise, and for a moment, you looked just as shocked as he felt. But then your expression softened, and a small, tentative smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

Spencer swallowed hard, his anxiety now mixing with a sense of disbelief. He hadn’t expected this at all. What were the chances? He could barely keep his thoughts straight as you walked toward him, your movements graceful and confident, though there was a hint of nervousness in your eyes that mirrored his own.

“Spencer?” you said softly as you reached the table, your voice laced with surprise and something else—something warm, perhaps even hopeful.

He managed to nod, still struggling to find his voice. “Y-Yes… it’s me,” he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest. “I didn’t… I had no idea…”

You chuckled softly, the sound doing wonders to ease the tension between you. “Neither did I,” you admitted, settling into the seat across from him. There was a playful glint in your eye as you added, “I guess you work in the BAU at the FBI, huh?”

Spencer nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. “I do. How do you know Penelope?”

“We do wine and painting together every month,” you explained with a fond smile, recalling the origins of your friendship. “After a few classes, we started sitting together, and the rest is history.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he let out a small laugh. “I can’t believe you’re my blind date.”

“And you’re mine,” you replied, matching his smile with one of your own.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before asking, “Is that okay? I know I’m your patient…”

You tilted your head slightly, considering his words before replying with a hint of teasing in your voice. “Well, technically, I’m not supposed to see my patients outside of PT… but I’ll make an exception for tonight.”

“Right, tonight,” Spencer echoed, relief and excitement coursing through him. He could hardly believe how the evening had unfolded, but there was something undeniably thrilling about it.

The two of you shared a moment of quiet understanding, the reality of the situation settling in. Despite the unexpected turn of events, the chemistry between you was undeniable, and the restrictions that had once seemed so daunting now felt less significant in the warm glow of the restaurant's soft lighting.

As the evening progressed and the initial surprise wore off, the conversation between you and Spencer flowed effortlessly. There was a natural rhythm to your interactions, a playfulness that neither of you could resist indulging in.

“So, Spencer,” you began, taking a sip of your wine and meeting his gaze over the candlelit table, “what’s it like being a genius? Do you just know everything, or do you still get surprised sometimes?”

Spencer chuckled, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I wouldn’t say I know everything,” he replied, his tone modest but with a teasing glint in his eye. “I get surprised plenty—like tonight, for example.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “Surprised in a good way, I hope?”

“Very good,” Spencer admitted, his eyes flickering to yours, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “I mean, how often does someone get set up on a blind date with someone they already know—and like?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, the pink tint spreading across his cheeks as he looked at you with wide eyes. "Oh, you like me, do you?" you teased, your voice light and playful, but with a hint of something more beneath the surface.

"Was that not obvious?" Spencer stammered, his blush deepening further, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he was.

"It was plenty obvious, Doctor. Don’t worry," you reassured him, leaning in just slightly to close the distance between you.

Spencer let out a small, relieved laugh. "Oh goodie! I was worried I wasn’t making a fool out of myself."

"You weren’t," you said softly, your smile growing as you watched him. There was something so genuine about Spencer, something that made it easy to be honest with him. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Absolutely," Spencer replied, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned in closer, mimicking your earlier movement. "I might tell everyone I know, but you can still tell me."

You giggled at his response, the sound light and full of warmth. "Amazing," you said, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I don’t have to touch you as much as I do during our sessions... I just really like how your legs look in those shorts."

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he seemed completely caught off guard. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came out. Finally, he managed to stammer, "You… you what?"

"I like how your legs look," you repeated, your tone playful yet sincere. "And those shorts you wear? They make it hard to keep things strictly professional."

Spencer’s blush, which had just started to fade, flared up again in full force. He let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I had no idea… I mean, I didn’t think—"

"You’re cute when you’re flustered," you interrupted gently, reaching out to place a hand over his. The gesture was simple, but it sent a jolt of warmth through both of you. "And just so you know, you’re definitely not making a fool out of yourself. In fact, I’m really glad Penelope set this up."

Spencer looked down at your hand on his, then back up at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and affection. "Me too," he said softly, his voice carrying a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. "More than you know."

—

As the waiter poured the wine, the atmosphere between you and Spencer lightened even more, the earlier nerves melting away with each sip. You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched Spencer take a tentative sip from his glass, his expression one of cautious appreciation.

"How’s the wine, Doctor?" you teased, raising your glass to him with a playful grin.

Spencer chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass like he was trying to remember some long-forgotten etiquette. "I think it’s good," he said, though his tone was more curious than certain. "I’m not exactly a connoisseur, but I think I could get used to this."

"Oh, I bet you could," you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And who knows, maybe by the end of the night, you’ll be an expert."

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. "Are you planning on getting me drunk?"

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice as you replied, "Maybe just tipsy enough to loosen you up, Doctor. You’re pretty cute when you’re not overthinking everything."

He laughed, a sound that was becoming more frequent as the evening went on. "Is that so? Well, in that case, maybe I should order another bottle."

"Oh, I see how it is," you giggled, raising your glass to take another sip. "Trying to get me drunk so I’ll spill all my secrets?"

Spencer leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. "I don’t need wine for that. You already admitted you like how my legs look in those shorts."

You laughed, the sound bubbly and warm, and you playfully nudged him with your foot under the table. "Guilty as charged. But don’t get too cocky, Doctor Reid. I’ve got plenty more secrets I haven’t shared yet."

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with intrigue, and he leaned back in his chair, giving you an appreciative once-over. "Now that’s something I’d like to hear more about," he said, his tone flirtatious but with a genuine interest that made your heart flutter.

You smirked, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, you’ll have to earn those secrets, Spencer. I don’t just give them away."

"Challenge accepted," Spencer replied, his grin widening as he clinked his glass against yours. "But I warn you, I’m pretty good at uncovering secrets."

"Is that so?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe I’ll have to keep you on your toes, then."

"I think I’d like that," Spencer said, his voice softening as he held your gaze, the playful banter giving way to something a bit more serious, but no less exciting.

The wine continued to flow, and with it, the conversation grew flirtier, the two of you slipping into a comfortable rhythm that was as intoxicating as the wine itself. The night felt like a blur of laughter, teasing words, and shared glances, each one charged with a growing connection that neither of you could deny.

As the glasses emptied and the night wore on, Spencer couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something new—something wonderful. And by the way you were looking at him, your smile bright and your eyes full of promise, he had a feeling you were thinking the same thing.

—

You held the door open for Spencer as you both exited the restaurant, then hailed a cab with practiced ease. Spencer couldn’t help but notice the way you held the door open for him once more, a small gesture that felt both kind and distant at the same time.

“One stop or two?” the cab driver asked, his voice breaking through the quiet night air.

“Two,” you responded, offering Spencer an apologetic smile that made his heart sink just a little.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, Spencer started to get the sense that this night—this connection—was slipping away, becoming nothing more than a fleeting exchange.

“This isn’t going to continue, is it?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with the disappointment he was trying to keep at bay.

You sighed softly, placing your hand gently on his, your expression filled with genuine regret. “Spencer,” you began, your voice tender but firm, “I’m your physical therapist. You’re my patient.”

“But we like each other,” Spencer pressed, his heart pounding with the desperate hope that maybe, somehow, you could make this work.

“So much,” you agreed, your eyes softening as you met his gaze. “But I can’t cross that boundary.”

“We already did,” he argued, his tone filled with frustration and a touch of disbelief. “We’re more than just patient and therapist.”

You nodded, your expression pained. “We’re friends, and we had a meal together,” you said gently. “But I’m sorry, Spencer. I can’t let it go beyond that.”

As the cab pulled up outside Spencer’s building, he gave you a look that was filled with hurt, disappointment, and a sense of finality. “Maybe Penelope isn’t as good of a matchmaker as I thought,” he muttered, his voice heavy with emotion. Then, without waiting for a response, he slammed the door to the cab shut, the sound echoing in the night as he moved away.

You watched him go, a heavy weight settling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him—far from it. But the lines had been drawn, and you knew you couldn’t cross them, no matter how much you wished you could. As the cab pulled away, you couldn’t help but wonder what might have been, even as you tried to convince yourself that you had done the right thing.

—

“Spencer, baby!” Penelope’s voice rang out the moment he stepped into the office the next morning. She rushed over to him, her eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. “How was your date? Did you love her? I know you did!”

Spencer’s expression was flat, his usual warmth replaced by a cool detachment. “I did not,” he replied, his tone clipped and final.

Penelope’s face fell instantly, the excitement draining from her features as she looked at him in shock. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “But… what happened? I thought it was going to be perfect.”

Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to find the right words. “It wasn’t what I expected, Penelope. I… we had a nice time, but she made it clear that it couldn’t go anywhere.”

“But… but why?” Penelope stammered, clearly upset. “I thought she was perfect for you! I mean, I was so sure…”

“She was,” Spencer admitted, his voice softening. “She’s great, really. But she’s my physical therapist, and she didn’t want to cross that boundary.”

Penelope’s shoulders slumped, guilt and sadness flooding her eyes. “Oh, Spencer… I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I just thought… I just wanted you to be happy.”

Spencer gave her a small, sad smile, trying to ease the tension. “I know, Penelope. And I appreciate it. You were trying to help, and I’m grateful for that.”

Penelope nodded, tears welling up in her eyes as she reached out to hug him. “I’m really sorry, Spencer. I never wanted to make things harder for you.”

Spencer hugged her back, his voice gentle as he reassured her. “It’s okay. You didn’t know, and it’s not your fault. I’m glad you care enough to try.”

Penelope pulled back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just… I just want you to find someone who makes you happy.”

“I know,” Spencer said, giving her another small smile. “And I will. Just… not this time.”

Penelope nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of unintended consequences. She wanted so badly to make things right for him, but now she could only hope that time would help heal the disappointment she had inadvertently caused.

—

“Y/N, you have a new patient today,” your supervisor informed you as you glanced up from the paperwork on your desk.

“What about Spencer Reid?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual, though the question carried more weight than you intended.

“He’s seeing a different therapist,” your supervisor replied, flipping through the schedule without much thought.

“Oh…” The single syllable lingered in the air, heavy with disappointment. You hesitated for a moment before asking, “Can I ask why?”

Your supervisor looked up, her expression indifferent as she explained, “Something about your schedule not fitting his anymore.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process the news. “Okay, that’s—” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, “that’s fine.”

But as you turned back to your paperwork, the reality of the situation sank in. It wasn’t just about schedules or convenience; this was the consequence of the boundary you had enforced, the one that was meant to protect both of you. Yet, knowing that Spencer was now in someone else’s care left a hollow ache in your chest that you hadn’t anticipated.

The rest of the day felt a little off-kilter, your thoughts drifting back to Spencer more often than you’d like to admit. You couldn’t help but wonder how he was doing, whether he was okay, and if he understood why things had to be this way. It was the right decision, you reminded yourself, even if it didn’t feel like it.

—

“Penny, he dropped me,” you said, your voice heavy with disappointment as you leaned against the doorframe of Penelope’s kitchen. “He’s not even my patient anymore.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise, but then a grin spread across her face. “That’s great! You can date now!”

You sighed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple, Penny. He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Penelope’s expression softened, and she gave you a sympathetic look. “He’ll come around. He just feels rejected, that’s all. You could go explain yourself, you know.”

“I don’t even have his number,” you admitted, feeling a pang of helplessness. It wasn’t like you could just show up at his door and expect him to listen. The lines between patient and therapist had already been blurred, and now they were more complicated than ever.

“Uhh, don’t be silly, missy. I do,” Penelope said with a playful smirk, pulling out her phone and waving it in the air like it was the answer to all your problems.

You blinked, surprised by her quick solution. “You’d really give it to me?”

“Of course!” Penelope replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief and a hint of determination. “Spencer’s my friend, and so are you. If there’s a chance you two can work this out, I’m all for it.”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks, but the thought of not reaching out to Spencer gnawed at you. Maybe Penelope was right; maybe you needed to explain yourself, to let him know how you really felt.

“Okay,” you said finally, your resolve strengthening. “Give me his number.”

Penelope’s grin widened as she quickly typed on her phone and handed it over to you. “Go get him, girl.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of nerves and hope as you took the phone from her. “Thanks, Penny. I’ll try.”

—

Later that night, as you sat in the comfort of your apartment, the familiar hum of city life just outside your window, you finally mustered up the courage to dial the number Penelope had given you. Your heart pounded in your chest, each ring feeling like an eternity until you heard his voice on the other end.

“Spencer Reid, who is calling?”

“Hey… it’s Y/N. Your ex-therapist,” you said, your voice softer than you intended, trying to gauge his reaction.

There was a brief pause before he responded, “Oh.”

The single word carried a weight that made your stomach churn with anxiety. You took a deep breath, pushing forward despite the tension. “Yeah, I hope it’s okay I got your number from Penny.”

“Why?” Spencer’s voice was guarded, and you could tell he was still hurting.

“I wanted to talk to you. Can we meet up?” you asked, trying to keep your tone hopeful, though the uncertainty gnawed at you.

“When?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.

“Tomorrow? You could come over?” you suggested, hoping the familiar, private setting might make things a bit easier.

“Fine. Send me your address,” Spencer replied, his tone clipped but not completely closed off.

“Okay, see you—” you started to say, but the line went dead before you could finish. You stared at your phone, a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation swirling in your chest.

He was coming over. You had a chance to explain, to make things right. But now that the call was over, the reality of what tomorrow might bring settled in. You just hoped that when the time came, you’d find the right words to say.

—

Spencer knocked with perfect punctuality, 6 pm sharp, just as you were adjusting the final details in your apartment. The soft sound of the knock sent a flutter through your chest, a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

You opened the door to find him standing there, his expression unreadable, but his eyes softened as he took you in. “Hi,” you breathed, a bit of your earlier confidence wavering under his gaze.

“Hi, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and calm, though you could tell he was just as unsure as you were. Your beauty, as always, took him by surprise, rendering him momentarily speechless.

“Please, come in,” you said, stepping aside to let him enter.

Spencer stepped into your apartment, his eyes immediately scanning the space. The warm, inviting atmosphere of your home greeted him, filled with soft light from the setting sun filtering through the windows. The room was decorated with personal touches—lush green plants, carefully selected books lining the wooden shelves, and artwork that gave the space a cozy, lived-in feel. It was a reflection of you, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for how things had turned out.

“Can I pour you some wine? I found the one from the restaurant,” you offered, trying to break the tension and bring back a little of the familiarity you both shared that night.

“Sure, thank you,” Spencer replied, his tone polite but still holding a touch of reserve.

You moved to the kitchen area, retrieving the bottle of wine and two glasses. As you poured, you could feel Spencer’s eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look up just yet. There was so much unsaid between you, so much that needed to be addressed, and you weren’t sure where to start.

Handing him a glass, you finally met his gaze. “I’m really glad you came,” you said softly, your sincerity clear.

Spencer took the glass from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a jolt of electricity through both of you. “I wasn’t sure if I should,” he admitted, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance.

“I know,” you replied, taking a small sip of your wine to steady yourself. “But I’m glad you did. We need to talk, Spencer. I need to explain.”

He nodded slowly, his expression softening just a bit. “Yeah… we do.”

You gestured toward the comfortable seating area, and the two of you moved to sit down, the warmth of the room offering a bit of comfort as you prepared to finally have the conversation that had been hanging over you both.

Spencer settled onto the couch, his posture stiff as he tried to maintain a semblance of calm. The warmth of your apartment contrasted with the tension between you, and he took a slow sip of his wine, waiting for you to speak.

You sat across from him, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched for the right words. After a moment of silence, you decided to just be honest. “I’m sorry I rejected you,” you began, your voice soft but steady. “That was wrong of me.”

Spencer’s gaze flickered with surprise, but he remained silent, letting you continue.

“There are things we could have done,” you went on, feeling a weight lift slightly as you spoke. “Ways we could have moved around the rules, ways to handle it more delicately. But instead, I stiffed you and hurt you. I didn’t give us a chance to figure it out. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”

Spencer’s grip tightened slightly around his glass, his expression a mixture of emotions—confusion, hurt, and perhaps a bit of understanding. “It wasn’t just about the rules, was it?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You shook your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. “No, it wasn’t. I was scared, Spencer. Scared of crossing a line, of losing my job, of making a mistake that couldn’t be undone. But in trying to protect myself, I ended up hurting you… and that’s something I never wanted to do.”

He let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I understand why you were scared,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know,” you whispered, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “And I can’t take back what I did. But I want you to know that I care about you, Spencer. I really do. And if there’s any way we can move forward—whether that’s as friends or something more—I’m willing to try.”

Spencer looked down at his glass, his mind clearly racing as he processed your words. After what felt like an eternity, he finally looked back up at you, his expression gentler than before.

“I care about you too,” he said quietly. “And I want to move forward. But I need to know that we’re both on the same page, that this isn’t just something we’re doing because of… circumstances.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief that he was willing to talk about it. “I agree. I don’t want to force anything. But I also don’t want to walk away from something that could be real, just because it’s complicated.”

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, tentative smile. “I guess we’re both pretty good at making things complicated, huh?”

You chuckled softly, the tension between you easing just a bit. “Yeah, we are. But maybe… maybe we can figure it out together?”

Spencer took another sip of his wine, his smile growing a little more confident. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice warm and genuine.

And with those simple words, the gap that had formed between you began to close, replaced by the possibility of something new—a fresh start, built on honesty, understanding, and the connection you both knew was there all along.

Spencer’s tentative smile grew into something more playful as he leaned back slightly, the tension between you all but dissolved. “Does that mean free, private physical therapy sessions?” he teased, his tone light, though there was a spark of mischief in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing the last remnants of anxiety you had been holding onto. Leaning forward, you matched his playful tone, raising an eyebrow as you replied, “Only if you don’t wear any shorts.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then he laughed—a deep, genuine sound that filled the room with warmth. “I’ll have to consider that,” he quipped, the playful banter between you rekindling that familiar connection.

“Well, take your time,” you said with a grin, feeling the ease and comfort return between you. “But just so you know, I’m a lot stricter when it comes to private sessions.”

“Is that so?” Spencer leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. “Maybe I’m up for the challenge.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the flirtation now fully out in the open. “Well, Doctor Reid, I’ll be sure to make it worth your while,” you replied, your tone equally soft and playful.

For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other, the air between you charged with excitement and anticipation. The conversation had started with apologies and uncertainty, but now, sitting here together, it felt like the beginning of something new—something you were both more than ready to explore.

“Looks like we’ve got a lot to figure out,” Spencer said softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yeah,” you agreed, a warm smile spreading across your face. “But I think we’re off to a pretty good start.”

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tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece @dreamsarebig

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pygmi-cygni · 1 month

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writing tip - research

research is one of the pillars of writing. a poorly researched fic, essay, short story, novel, etc is immediately apparent because of several things:

lack of depth

stagnant plot or development

confusing or inconsistent setting

it doesn't matter what genre you write, if it's original or fiction, whatever. you need to research. depending on the relevance of your writing, the depth of research may vary, but it needs to happen. you do not know everything.

Fantasy

I see a lot of writers and authors use fantasy as an excuse to avoid research. Shut the fuck up. Every good fantasy is based on a real ocurrence or social dilemma. That's why we like it so much.

'but pygmi, fantasy is made up! it isn't real!'

SHUT UP. Even if you don't realize it, your story will have elements that readers are intimately familiar with. If you flub something, it will be noticed.

Besides, just because you make stuff up doesn't mean you can be inconsistent. You'll just have to fill in the cracks with made up stuff, which will even out to being about the same amount of effort. Pick your poison, either way you're gonna feel it.

Research is not everybody's favorite. I like it, personally, I think it's like going on little side quests for knowledge. But I understand if you wanna skip all the business and get to writing your baby. No shame.

Let me give you some pointers to make sure the time you spend researching is relevant and well spend.

Lists! God I love lists. after you have outlined your story and your characters and everything, make a list of all the things you need to have a deeper understanding of. This means determining priorities. - How important is The Thing? Will it majorly affect plot or character development? Is it a focal point of the setting? If the answer is yes to any of those questions, it's important. research.

Big picture, little picture. How important is The Thing (again)?. How much detail do you need to know? Especially when it comes to royalty or a hierarchal system, I see research being misguided. There are so many nuances to royal interactions that I could give a rat's ass. Big picture, general outline. I don't need to know everything, just basic courtesy, terms of address, appropriate convo. done. but if your MC is a coroner? might wanna put more detail into that; you'll be talking about the job a lot. determine how much the element will affect your story and go from there.

Don't fudge it for the plot. You'll have a preconceived notion of a certain job description, and then research it and think 'oh that's actually boring.' Don't muddle up the rules just to fit the aesthetic. It's sloppy, and your readers will notice.

To practice researching, pick your topic and after learning a bit about it, try teaching a powerpoint to your parents or friends. if you feel comfortable enough with that knowledge to do it successfully, I'd say you have a good enough understanding.

Setting

researching location is a big one that often gets overlooked. You don't always need to memorize maps, but get a general idea of the city/country layout so when you say "they drove 20 minutes from A to B" it makes sense, rather than having a reader think "Uh, A to B is closer to four hours, wtf?"

if you are making up your city, make a list of important streets and locations in relation to each other. This will help you keep it straight and organized in your head.

Get a feel for flora and fauna. Palm trees don't grow in Alaska. Don't write an Alaskan city with palm trees.

Weather? what's it like? Let me tell you, Portland doesn't get higher than 102F. rainy, cloudy, all that stuff.

Atmospheric details really add a lot, especially if your audience is from that location. It adds another layer of relatability. Also, use weather/plants/animals to your advantage! symbolism, possible curse, all that stuff.

Eras

Oh my god stop fucking this up. Baroque, Elizabethan, Edwardian, Middle Ages ARE DIFFERENT FROM EACH OTHER. STOP SLAPPING FANCY CLOTHES ON PEOPLE AND CALLING IT THE OLDEN DAYS.

get an idea of when electricity was widespread in homes. when was the refrigerator invented? did they use the word 'hella' in 1950? this kinda stuff is important for not breaking the illusion of a time difference. If you are writing a period piece and someone is chatting with a neighbor like it's 2015, we'll have some questions.

Unless it's doctor who. you guys can do literally whatever.

Plot and Character Development

If plot and characters are poorly researched, you are limiting the opportunities for growth. In researching your MC's occupation, you may discover a cool side effect that connects to a plot device. Stagnant, stale characters can be spruced up with a more developed backstory.

All in all, research is really important for your story. regardless of how professional it is, tumblr or the new york times. Do your research. As a writer, you are representing the community in your own way. Do us proud.

xox love you

#writing tips #writing advice #fanfiction #writing help #descriptive writing #fic writing #writer #research #research guide #tumblr writing society #writeblr #creative writing #writing community #writers on tumblr

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lizzieolseniskinda · 7 days

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TOM RIDDLE - soulmates don’t exist PT. 2

SDE MASTERLIST - x FEM!reader (POC!friendly)

(requests open)

SUMMARY: everything changes for you when snape gives you a certain memory. will you be able to do the task that dumbledore has given you?

WORD COUNT: 3725

GENRE: angst-ish (but not really)

CONTENT WARNING: soulmate & time travel au, english is not my first language

PROOFREAD - (24 SEP. 2024)

The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily quiet—almost too quiet in the early morning light. You wandered around Hogwarts, taking in the atmosphere. It was just how you remembered life before the war. But you had to act as if you didn’t know, act as if you didn’t know your way around Hogwarts. Your heart was still racing from the overwhelming disorientation of time travel. The walls seemed taller, the stones beneath you felt somewhat smoother. It felt the same but yet so different at the same time.

You had no clue what to do next. The task lay plain ahead of you—find Tom Riddle and alter the course of his life by becoming his great love. You shook your head; you knew how time travel could have a big effect on the timeline. You never took Muggle Studies—physics—but you knew what this could do. Once he saw you, it would be done. There would be no going back, well, it wasn’t like you could turn back whenever you wanted.

But, it was like Hermione said, ‘No one is supposed to see you.’ Only this time, it was different. If you didn’t change Tom Riddle for the better, you could make him even worse than he was in your time.

“I believe you may be a bit out of place, my dear.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, your heart almost leaping out of your chest. The voice was warm, kind, but still serious. You recognized the voice. You turned and saw Dumbledore standing there, a somewhat younger version.

You knew he was still a professor at this time. His auburn hair was tinged with a lot of strands of silver, his robes a deep shade of purple. His piercing blue eyes gleamed with curiosity and suspicion as he looked at you. He raised an eyebrow, and his lips curled into a gentle, knowing smile. You wanted to slap him, angry for making you do this, while telling you absolutely nothing.

“You look as though you've been wandering these halls for quite some time,” he continued, stepping toward you. “And yet, I don't recall seeing you in any of my classes.”

You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling for a good answer, but you came up empty-handed. Dumbledore's gaze was patient, waiting for you to speak.

“Uhh... I—” you began, your voice shaking softly, but you stopped. What could you say? What were you supposed to say? That you had just traveled back into the past to stop one of his students from becoming the biggest and darkest wizard of all time?

Dumbledore's eyes softened. “Why don't we take this conversation somewhere a bit more private?” he suggested, his tone gentle. “I have a feeling there's more to your story than a lost stroll through the castle.”

Without waiting for your response, Dumbledore turned around, motioning for you to follow him. You hesitated for a second, but the calmness in his demeanor somehow reassured you. Reluctantly, you followed him down the corridor, your footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the morning.

After a while, you arrived at an empty classroom, the large wooden door creaking as Dumbledore pushed it open. Sunlight entered through the tall, narrow windows, casting long shadows across the rows of desks. The air was filled with a faint scent of parchment and chalk, just like his.

Dumbledore gestured to a chair near the front. “Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

You did as he asked, feeling out of place in this familiar yet unfamiliar world. Dumbledore remained standing in front of your desk for a moment, studying you with those sharp, calculating eyes. “There is something... remarkable about you,” he said quietly, his voice kind. “You’re not quite where you’re supposed to be, are you?”

You looked at your shoes, realising you also didn’t quite look the part to simply be lost. “No,” you admitted. You knew lying to a man like Dumbledore would do you no good. “I’m... not?" you said, unsure.

Dumbledore nodded, as if he had expected that answer. “Time,” he mused, his eyes twinkling with understanding. “It has a peculiar way of bending when we least expect it.”

Your head snapped up, meeting his gaze. He knew. He definitely knew. “How?” you breathed, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself. “How did you—”

Dumbledore raised his hand to quiet you. “I have my ways,” he smiled. “But more importantly, it seems you have a very important reason for being here.”

You swallowed, feeling the enormity of your ‘mission’ pressing down on you, but in Dumbledore’s presence, it felt a little less overwhelming—though you were still angry he hadn’t told you anything sooner. He waited, giving you space to explain.

After a pause, you spoke again. “I was sent... to change something. Something that will affect the future,” you hesitated, unsure how much you were allowed to reveal. “It's about Tom Riddle.”

At the mention of Riddle's name, Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but you noticed the slightest shift in his demeanour. His gaze became more focused, and he leaned forward slightly.

“Tom,” he repeated softly. “Yes... I've always known there was something... special about that boy.”

Special? More like dangerous. You nodded. “If I don't change him, if I can't make him different... the world will fall into darkness. Everyone I love, my friends...” you stopped. Your parents. You hadn’t even thought of them. Your heart started banging in your chest. You wanted to go back. Tell them that you were grateful for everything, and that you were sorry for leaving them behind out of nowhere.

Dumbledore didn’t react with surprise. He nodded. “Do not worry about your friends or family.” He sighed softly. “You have been given a great responsibility. But changing the course of someone's life is no simple task, especially when that person’s soul is... so deeply marked.”

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

For a moment, Dumbledore was silent, his gaze fixed on you with empathy. “Nothing is impossible, but you must remember, even the darkest of souls have their choices. Tom Riddle's path has always been his own. You may be able to guide him... but ultimately, it is up to him who or what he becomes.”

His words hung in the air, a reminder of what you were facing. “Know that I will be watching, and if you ever need guidance, you know where to find me.”

Dumbledore had insisted on introducing you to the Headmaster as a transfer student, emphasizing that no one could know the truth. The fewer people involved in the truth, the better.

You made your way through the corridors of Hogwarts with Dumbledore. Students were scattered around, laughing, talking in hushed voices, completely unaware of the darkness that would be coming.

Dumbledore said the password to the Headmaster's office. It was the same as he had used. So original. The spiral staircase came into view as the gargoyles started moving. You followed your former Headmaster up the stairs. The office was filled with old books, a large desk, and a few moving portraits on the walls. It looked almost the same as Dumbledore's office.

Behind the desk sat Headmaster Armando Dippet, a tall, thin man with kind eyes. “Ah, Albus,” Dippet said, rising from his seat to greet him. “What brings you here?”

Dumbledore gestured to you. “Headmaster, I would like to introduce you to our newest transfer student.” He gave you a small nod to encourage you to take a step forward. “She's come from Beauxbatons and will be joining us for the rest of her schooling.”

Dippet's eyebrows rose in surprise. “A transfer from Beauxbatons? How delightful! We don't often have students join us from abroad.” He looked at you. “What is your name, my dear?”

You swallowed, your nerves tightening your throat. “Y/N L/N.” You smiled at the Headmaster. “I'm honored to be here.”

“It's always wonderful to have new students join us at Hogwarts. The castle can seem quite large and scary at first, but I'm very sure you'll grow accustomed to it in no time,” Dippet smiled at you.

You forced back a smile. Normally, you would love such pleasantries, but now? Absolutely not. It felt as if you wanted to throw up.

Dumbledore stepped forward. “Headmaster, I’ve already informed Y/N of the basic rules and traditions of the school, but I do believe the Sorting Hat will handle the rest?”

“Indeed,” Dippet nodded, motioning to a nearby shelf where the Sorting Hat was in its usual place. “No time like the present.”

Your heart raced when the Sorting Hat was placed upon your head. You knew what house you had once belonged to, but would it be the same here? In this time?

“Hmm...” the hat murmured after whining about who dared to wake him up. “Interesting... very interesting. You’re not like the others I’ve sorted. Ever.”

You held your breath.

“I see loyalty... with a lot of bravery,” the hat mused. “A fierce desire to do what’s right, even when it’s proven difficult. Courage, and there’s something more than that... something deeper…”

Did it know? You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, huffing out a breath.

“Ah,” it whispered. "But that is not for me to uncover. Your place, however, is clear.”

Another moment passed, and then the hat shouted, “Gryffindor!”

The word rang in your ears. You weren’t placed in the same house. Your former house was Hufflepuff. What changed? The house of loyalty, hard work, and kindness. Maybe this could help ground you. Most Hufflepuffs you knew were kind (mostly high as well) and helpful. There were always exceptions, but you were happy with that house.

Dippet clapped his hands together, clearly pleased. “A Gryffindor! A fine choice indeed. You’ll find good company there.”

Dumbledore’s expression remained calm. “It seems that your path is set,” he said quietly, his eyes twinkling with that wisdom he always had.

As the hat was lifted from your head, you stood up from the stool you had taken a seat on. Gryffindor. It was unexpected, but not wrong—or bad. In some way, it made sense for you. You needed to be brave to talk to Tom Riddle. So, what better house for that than Gryffindor?

The Headmaster waved his wand, and a piece of parchment floated over to you. “Here’s your timetable, Y/N,” he said, handing it over to you. "You’ll begin classes immediately. I’m sure the others will help you find your way.”

You took the parchment, scanning the schedule. You had loads of free periods, and as always, an Astronomy class at midnight on a Friday night.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” you said quietly, tucking the parchment under your arm.

Dippet smiled. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Y/N. I hope your time here will be both enlightening and rewarding.”

“I sure hope so,” you nodded. Rewarding. You could use the reward of going home.

You and Dumbledore left the office. Going down the staircase, the air felt cooler. Dumbledore walked beside you in silence.

“So, you’ve been placed in Gryffindor,” Dumbledore broke the silence. “A good choice. You’ll find a community of loyalty and bravery there.”

You nodded. “I didn’t expect it.”

“Sometimes,” Dumbledore said with a smile, “the unexpected paths are the ones that lead us exactly where we need to go. You have been given a second chance, in more ways than one.”

“And remember,” he said softly, “the fewer people who know your true purpose, the better. Riddle must never know why you’re really here.”

You nodded.

When you stepped inside the Gryffindor common room, you immediately felt the warmth. There was a soft red glow from the lanterns, and the walls were lined with rewards and books. The smell of fresh cookies hung in the air.

A group of students was clustered around a table and looked up as you entered. It was already early in the morning, and you wondered why most students were up at this time. The faces of the students were curious but friendly, and a wave of relief washed over you. Before you could take another step, a girl with curly dark hair and a wide smile broke away from the group.

“Hi!” she greeted enthusiastically, her eyes wide with interest. “You must be the new transfer student! I’m Maeve, Maeve Miller.”

You tried your best not to grimace as you forced a smile. “I’m Y/N L/N.” The realization of having to meet and make new friends dawned on you even harder.

“Professor Dippet had owled us. We were all curious, y’know? Transfer students aren’t that common. You’re lucky it’s the start of the school year!”

You smiled at Maeve’s happiness, but you were still baffled at how fast news spread in Hogwarts. I mean, you had literally just left Dippet’s office.

“I’ll make sure you fit right in. I’ll show you to the dormitory,” Maeve smiled.

You followed her to a spiral staircase. As you walked with Maeve, she chatted happily about the house traditions, the upcoming Quidditch match, and the best way to sneak extra food from the kitchen.

Once you reached the dormitory, you found yourself in a circular room with soft, warm lighting. You saw only one vacant bed — in the middle — with your belongings neatly placed beside it. A suitcase you recognized, though it felt strange seeing it here. You had basically come empty-handed, so how were all your belongings here already?

“ How...?” you trailed off, confused.

Maeve caught your confusion. “Professor Dumbledore’s pretty amazing, isn’t he? He made sure your belongings were here from yesterday evening. Must’ve used some magic to get your stuff here so quickly.”

You nodded, even more confused. You didn’t even know you had time-traveled yesterday. You had no idea how, and you didn’t want to think too much about it before it might drive you mad.

“So, obviously, that’s your bed,” Maeve pointed towards the bed with your belongings on it. “And this is mine,” she added, pointing to the bed next to yours. “We’ll be neighbors! Oh, and these are your other roommates.”

Two other girls approached, one with long red hair and freckles, and the other with short brown curls. They introduced themselves as Alicia and Lilith, both offering you warm, welcoming smiles.

“Nice to meet you,” Alicia said, while Lilith gave you a small, shy wave. “It’s so exciting to have someone new join us, especially in our fifth year!”

“I’m glad to be here!” you lied through your teeth.

“Well, we’re heading to breakfast in a bit if you want to join us,” Alicia offered. “But I’m sure you’ll want to settle in first.”

“Yeah, you guys go ahead, I’ll catch up with you in a while,” you replied with a nod and a smile.

As the girls made their way out, leaving you alone, you felt disoriented. This was all going too fast. You needed a moment to yourself. Normally, you would have already been in your last year. You made your way over to the small adjoining bathroom. The light was bright. You stepped in front of the large mirror, ready to see your face full of scars and dirt from the war.

But no, your fingers trembled slightly as you reached up to touch your face. Staring back at you was a younger version of yourself — exactly as you had looked in your own fifth year at Hogwarts. Your features were softer, untouched by the weight of the war. Your eyes looked brighter... they hadn’t seen the horrors that awaited. No pair of eyes should see a war go down.

It was all surreal, like looking at a stranger. It was clear the potion had not only sent you back in time, but also transformed you to match the age you needed to be.

For a moment, the reflection blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. You had been thrust back into your younger self, in a world you didn’t belong in. You took a deep breath, swallowing the fears and tears away. You could do this. You had to do this. For your friends and family.

The first day at Hogwarts felt surreal. The familiar sounds of students chatting in the Great Hall, the smell of freshly made food, and the sight of enchanted candles floating above made you feel like you had stepped back into a dream. You knew there was a big chance that Tom Riddle was here, in the same room as you.

But before you could worry about him, you had to get through your first day as just another transfer student.

You found yourself sitting at the Gryffindor table with your roommates and their friends. “So, what was Beauxbatons like? I’ve heard it’s incredibly fancy, with all those grand fountains everywhere,” Maeve spoke—a good friend from Lilith, you noted. You could see how she was the one who helped Lilith blossom open as a shy person.

You hesitated for a second, remembering Dumbledore’s warning to keep it simple. You gave her a small smile. “It’s different from Hogwarts. Especially since there are a lot more boys here than I'm used to.”

Lucas, a boy with a head full of black curls, looked up. “Hogwarts has its charm. Luckily you were sorted into Gryffindor. You seem like a cool person, and everyone knows it's the best house.”

Alicia was flipping through your timetable, trying to figure out if you had any classes with your Gryffindor friends. “We’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts first thing! I'm hoping for some practical lessons today. Spells, maybe,” Alicia's eyes widened with excitement.

Your stomach dropped slightly after Lucas mentioned there was a big chance you’d have a class with the Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws. Given Riddle’s obsessive interest in the subject, there was no doubt he would be in this class.

You offered a casual nod. “Defense Against the Dark Arts should be interesting…”

After the five of you finished breakfast, you gathered your books and made your way to your first class of the day. The halls were busy with students, most of whom paid little attention to you, though a few curious glances lingered.

Once you reached the DADA classroom, you found yourself standing at the doorway. You hoped for a normal teacher—when you were at Hogwarts before, every year there was a teacher with the weirdest background ever. The classroom was large, with desks arranged in neat rows, and the walls were lined with various defensive artefacts.

You let your eyes wander around the room. There, near the middle, sat Tom Riddle.

He was exactly as you had imagined—tall, dark-haired, and composed. His sharp features and cold eyes stood out even among your classmates. He exuded an air of authority and confidence. The other students around him seemed to ignore him. You wondered why. Were they scared of him, or did they think he was a weirdo?

You quickly tore your gaze away from the back of his head before he sensed you staring. “Come on,” Maeve whispered. “We don't want you to be late on your first day.”

You nodded and walked toward a vacant seat next to Lucas. The professor was a stern-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard. He immediately launched into a discussion of the most advanced spells, his tone brisk and matter-of-fact.

It was pretty hard to focus with the presence of Tom Riddle in the room. Every now and then, you dared to glance at him, watching as he listened intently, his expression focused and serious. You had no idea how you were supposed to change him. He already seemed so... unreachable.

Halfway through the class, the professor called for everyone to pair up for duelling practice. Maeve grabbed your arm, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Partners?” she asked eagerly.

“Of course,” you replied, grateful for the distraction.

You and Maeve moved to an open space in the classroom, pulling out your wands as the professor demonstrated a series of defensive spells. You followed along, trying to keep your movements smooth and controlled. Thankfully, the practice went well, and Maeve seemed impressed.

“You're really good!” she said after successfully blocking one of your spells. “You must have had excellent teachers at Beauxbatons.”

You smiled and nodded at her praise. As you practiced with Maeve, you couldn’t help but notice Tom a few spaces away, duelling effortlessly with a Slytherin boy. His movements were precise, fluid, as if he had been born with a wand in his hand. It was clear to anyone watching that he was far more advanced than most students his age.

Finally, when the class came to an end, you packed up your things, trying to avoid looking at him as you left the room with Maeve, Lilith, Alicia, and Lucas.

“Next up is Transfiguration,” Alicia said, checking her timetable as you all walked down the corridor. “I’m actually looking forward to that one.”

The rest of the day passed in a similar blur. Transfiguration was more manageable—Professor Dumbledore, who taught the class, gave you a small, knowing smile when he saw you, though he treated you no differently than the other students. You worked on basic transformations alongside your friends, though your mind kept drifting back to Defense Against the Dark Arts and the presence of Tom Riddle.

Potions came next, with Professor Slughorn as the teacher. He welcomed you to the class with open arms, making sure you had everything you needed. It was weird since you'd already met him, just when he was a bit older. Lucas was quick to show you around the room, helping you find ingredients and sharing tips for the potion you were brewing.

“Slughorn’s a bit of a collector,” Alicia whispered as you carefully added a pinch of powdered unicorn horn to your cauldron. “He loves students with… potential. But he’s nice, at least.”

“He’s even got a club,” Lilith quipped quietly.

By the time you reached your last class of the day, Charms, the exhaustion of trying to keep up appearances had settled deep in your bones. Yet, your new friends kept the energy alive. Alicia was quick with jokes, and Lucas had a dry, witty humor that balanced Maeve's enthusiasm. And Lilith was just there, enjoying her friends’ energy.

a/n: quick chapterrrr, part three will be coming out next week (probably or sooner)

my little taglist <3

@optimisticsandwichgladiator

@artistadistrada2002

@hueanhdang

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inkyajax · 3 months

Text

something ‘bout you

character: professor!alhaitham

genre: smut ; modern university au set in teyvat

notes: waaaah it’s finally finished!!! i have no idea how this piece got to be as long as it did but alas, here we are. this has got to be the longest blow job i’ve ever written ehehehe. as always, please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: dangerous woman by ariana grande

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, praise, professor/graduate student relationship, sir kink, face fucking, cum swallowing, a teeny tiny bit of manipulation, lying via omission, reader is a film and linguistics student, a bit of academic jargon but nothing crazy or crucial, dom/sub dynamics

words: 8k

synopsis:

Your hand moves entirely of its own accord, touch tiptoeing up his thigh in invitation, inching toward the half-hard lump in his trousers. He catches your wrist just before you reach his cock, slim fingers braceletting your arm and squeezing once in warning. “Are you sure you want to go down this path, sweetheart?” Hooded teal observes you closely, irises shaded into a deep navy, glimmering under the chandelier lights. The question drips from his lips in a dark, decadent murmur, simultaneously an enticement and a warning, his thumb idly stroking your skin as he awaits your response—an action that brings some semblance of comfort, despite the dangerous thrill sparkling in his eye. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Despite speaking to him for the duration of the night, you don’t know this man—don’t know his rank in the department or his status among his peers and how that may impact you in the future. On all accounts, it most definitely is not a good idea. He seems to know so, too, if his timbre of caution is anything to go by, but that ray in his eye flares, begging you to say yes. “I want you,” you admit instead.

The banquet hall is small yet elegant, beige walls warmed by the fuchsia beams of the setting sun, streaming in thick strips through the floor-to-ceiling crystal windows. Silverware clinks delicately against fine china, glass champagne flutes clacking with front teeth as lips wrap around the edges, daintily mingling with the soft murmur of voices blanketing the room.

Such is the life of a University of Sumeru elite.

Classes don’t officially begin until Monday, but the entire graduate faculty of the Department of Linguistics had been invited to a prefatory mixer held at one of the grand hotels in the city.

It is a long-standing tradition, the email invite had informed you, that the professors and supervisors of the department throw the graduate students—new and old—an intimate yet extravagant start-of-the-year dinner.

It’s mostly meant for new students—only five accepted into the program per year—to introduce themselves to their colleagues and supervisors, becoming familiar with the faces they’ll be seeing for the next one-to-five years of their lives.

You had been special enough to receive an acceptance letter into the PhD program, travelling from your Masters program in Liyue to the city of Sumeru to study under some of the most renowned scholars of the subject.

And so now you stand, lingering near the immaculately organized table of hors d’oeuvres and fidgeting with the crystal flute between your palms, index finger absentmindedly tracing the rim as eager, interested eyes sweep across the room again, soaking up the atmosphere.

You have worked so hard to get here, to get to this point, to stand in this room with the gilt-edged supremes of the scholastic world and be one of them—a part of this exclusive, highly-coveted club composed of the outstanding, the superior, the royals of academia.

A large, smooth hand yanks you, rough and abrupt, from your appreciative daydream, blinking rapidly as you stare up at the man who is unexpectedly talking to you—talking at you—as if he knows you well, already mid-sentence about the legend of King Deshret by the time your shock dissipates, concentration tuning into his frequency.

“—And that’s why he went mad.”

Teal eyes hold yours, steady and intent and willing you not to look away, the fingers wrapped firmly around your bicep flexing the moment your stare begins to stray, watching through your peripheral vision as a man with white hair and rust eyes passes by, features set in hard stone.

It is only after the man is out of earshot that your captor relaxes, fingers loosening but not fully releasing their grip on your flesh.

“Thanks for that,” he says, suddenly sounding disinterested and distracted, gaze flitting around the room.

“Was that true?”

“What?” he looks back over at you, as if he’s surprised you just spoke to him.

“Was that true?” you repeat. “I thought that since Nabu Malikata had warned him of the repercussions of the ritual prior to them performing it that he knew she’d die—that he knew she had chosen to die—and went mad with guilt due to him choosing his own selfish desires over the love of his life.”

He shakes his head, swallowing a mouthful of his scotch. “A common misconception, often due to mistranslations and the incorrigible feelings of the translators themselves. Romantics, you know,” he shrugs, head tilting as he observes you, bright yet sharp eyes studying your face in slow, excruciating detail, as he he’s trying to divest your thoughts through your features. “Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you around the department before.”

Razored teal glints like a scalpel as it attempts to dissect you, his scintillating gaze carefully shaving away at any pretences.

“I am,” you confirm with a nod, struggling to suppress the pride tugging at the corners of your lips as you introduce yourself. “One of the three lucky souls to have been accepted as a PhD Candidate.”

“Nice to meet you,” the man murmurs, giving your arm another little squeeze in greeting before finally releasing it. “I’m Haitham. Alhaitham, if you want to be formal, but Haitham is fine.”

His body relaxes, shoulders no longer pinched, muscles no longer coiled as he gets more comfortable, leaning against a large column, his stance becoming permanent.

“So, tell me. Where did you complete your Masters?”

Your heart thumps against your ribs, pushing hard breath up your throat, nerves suddenly buzzing beneath the swelter of his intense stare, fighting the urge to shrink away from his fulgurous attention.

“Liyue,” you say. “I studied under the guidance of Professor Zhongli.”

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow in lazy intrigue, notes of condescension glazing his tone, a small smirk adoring his lips. “That’s impressive.”

“You know him?”

“Everybody in the academic world knows him, sweetheart. I’m sure you know that, as well.”

Bashful heat seeps into your cheeks, tingling little pinpricks of embarrassment sprouting beneath your skin.

“Well, I just—”

“Please,” Alhaitham cuts your off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The man is a master in several subjects; there’s not a chance anyone who is a true scholar hasn’t encountered and studied his work. What did you study beneath him?”

“Um,” you begin, wincing at how idiotic it sounds, a corner of his mouth quirking up. “I wrote my thesis under his supervision. During my undergrad I majored in linguistics and specialized in cinema studies, so naturally my thesis aimed at analyzing and dissecting the role and importance of language in film—more specifically, how particular language conveys meaning and impacts the psychology of the viewer, as well as how particular language influences, dictates and affects the way a viewer derives meaning from the piece.”

“Wow,” Alhaitham breathes, and for the first time tonight he sounds genuinely impressed, sincerely interested, notes of intrigue imbuing his tone. “I’d love to read it, if you’ll allow me.”

“Of course,” you preen, the pressure on your lungs letting up a little beneath his praise. “It took me nearly two years to complete, and under Professor Zhongli’s supervision I was even able to conduct field studies and experiments to gather information and data.”

“Is that so?” his smirk grows into a lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling with supercilious amusement. “Like what?”

“As I’m sure you’re well aware of, how a certain character speaks and the words they use says a lot about who they are and where they hail from, but that’s only half the equation. The other half depends on the viewer themselves—their own background, upbringing, experiences, beliefs, and intelligence all influence the way they will perceive and derive meaning from an individual film. The research concluded that, based on these factors, two individuals from separate classes more often than not arrive at substantially different meanings of the information provided from the same film.”

“Well done,” he murmurs, appreciative, and you can’t help but glow beneath his words, his commendation a beam of nurturing sunlight, drawing you closer to his heat.

“Thank you,” you say, bowing your head respectfully. “And what about you? Are you a student?”

He laughs, bright and warm, almost as if your mistake is cute.

“No, no, I am a Professor.”

“What do you teach?”

“Syntactic Patterns in Ancient Runes, and Advanced Morphology,” he says easily. “Speaking of which, will you be TAing any classes this year?”

“I will! Though I have not yet been approved to teach my own class, only tutorials for the first years. Understandable, I guess, since I’m a new student and all.”

Your disappointment is palpable, hanging thick and heavy in the air, and his demeanour softens a little, a warm hand clasping over your shoulder.

“Cheer up,” he says. “I’m positive they’ll give you your own lecture the moment you hit your third year—those positions are usually reserved to upper-year PhD’s.” The tips of his fingers press into your muscles in a comforting massage, and you can’t help but lean into his touch a little, body deliquescing. “Which class will you be TAing for?”

“Intro to Linguistics: Sentence Structure and Meaning,” you make a face, the thought sobering you slightly. “By the way, would you happen to know who’s teaching that class this year? There’s no professor listed on the website yet, but if they’re here I’d love to introduce myself.”

Something darkens his eyes, his smile turned wolfish, a shock of unease unravelling slow and sticky in the pit of your belly.

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” he says dismissively, though there’s a shard of something submerged in teal irises, sharp and dangerous, glimmering beneath crystal lights. “He’s a jackass anyway. Antisocial, selfish, you know the type. Introducing yourself to him wouldn’t make much of a difference—he isn’t a fan of those overeager polite types, not unless they’re genuine.”

“Oh,” you frown, deflating a little, ignoring the ice prickling at the base of your spine. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to be on good terms with him.”

“I don’t think anyone’s on good terms with him,” Alhaitham mutters dryly, eyes narrowing as they sweep across the room, almost accusing in manner. “But who knows,” he says as he looks back at you, hard gaze palliating just a touch. “You might be the one to change that.”

Confusion sprouts across your face, features crinkling as you draw in a breath to inquire, but a booming voice cuts you off, briskly announcing that it is time for dinner and requesting everyone take their seats.

“Here,” Alhaitham murmurs as slim fingers cuff your wrist, leading you. “Come sit with me.”

The dinner is several courses long, but you hardly remember any of them, too caught up in teal eyes and a velvet voice, in the hand that has found it’s way onto you knee, thumb stroking the bone in rhythmic motions through your tights, in the ankles currently tangled around your own, tightening every so often and hauling you a little bit closer—any time you say something that procures that amused little sound, playing on the back of his tongue; any time you say something that raises his brows and leaves his eyes shimmering, head tilted cutely in curious study.

The conversation flows seamlessly as the night passes, as servers bring and remove plates, as guests mingle around the ballroom, arriving to and departing from your table—but the two of you don’t dare move an inch, entirely captivated by your intimate discussion; heads bowed, legs locked, words murmured between the steadily dissipating space between your mouths.

He tells you about his most recent excavation into the long lost tomb of a prince, about the runes he found intricately engraved on the gorgeous sarcophagus, about what they said and how they fit into his most recent collection of essays—highly coveted information, he had mentioned, sure to note he hadn’t told anyone about this; not until tonight, not until you, his voice taking on a slight air of incredulity, as if he can’t believe he just revealed such information so easily.

You tell him about the research Zhongli personally funded after you were nearly expelled from the program for sneaking into the film reel archives despite being explicitly denied access—all in the pursuit of knowledge, of course, you had bristled with a roll of your eyes, insisting that such important pieces should not be so inaccessible to scholars—and of the many trips your valued Professor took you on, traversing film festivals across the whole of Inazuma.

He tells you about his childhood in Sumeru, about what got him interested in semiotics and linguistics, about the first language he learned—and about how his grandmother taught him, eyes gone soft with fondness for the since passed woman.

You tell him about your childhood in Fontaine, about scraped knees and local theatre and sparkling blue water, about your favourite Fontainian film movements and how they first sparked your passion for the performing arts.

“I don’t know anything about Fontainian Neorealism or the Fontaine New Wave,” he admits, “but I do know that Sumeru has a flourishing arts and culture sector—and I assume that’s why you’ve chosen to study here. Am I correct?”

“You are,” you nod with a small smirk, sipping on red wine. “It is exceptionally difficult to study Sumeru’s robust art history without actually being here. All I know are the things I’ve read in books—which are not nearly a suitable substitute for experiencing it with your own eyes.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “Let’s make a deal, then.”

“A deal?”

“A trade, of sorts,” he begins, smirking when you blink twice in curiosity. “I’ll take you to a performance at Zubayr Theater, and you take me to see a Fontainan film. Sound fair?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

A small smile graces his lips, wispy at the edges, a peculiar sentiment sparkling in his gaze. “It’s a date, then.”

And you can’t help the fizzy feeling that starts to froth in your veins at the word, at the promise of seeing him again, of spending more uninterrupted time with him, just the two of you.

It must show on your face in some way, must be evident in the sweet, girlish giggle that bubbles uncontrollably past your lips, because his smile stretches, still soft, and he chuckles gently, nothing more than a huff of breath on his tongue.

“I’m looking forward to it, too.”

The palm cupping your knee is hot and heavy, his grasp flexing with his response, staying itself for a moment before it slides up your thigh, slow and careful and appraising, thumb stopping a millimeter shy from the hem of your short black dress.

Keen teal eyes stay trained on your face, focused in their evaluation, ready to analyze any slight change in expression his action may elicit.

But you only lean closer, legs spreading an inch or so wider, shuffling to the edge of your seat, a silent plea for more.

A silent plea that does not go unnoticed by Alhaitham, as indicated by his small smile, sharp eyes dulling a little with their inquisition and fingers sinking into plush flesh, grip strengthening before relaxing again, the tip of his thumb stroking the material of your dress.

All without a single hitch in his words, swiftly and smoothly moving onto the next topic.

And you only fall further.

You can’t manage to keep your hands to yourself, either, it seems, touch vying and voracious for more of him: playing with the gold bangles encircling his wrist; twisting the gilded jade class ring pressed firmly against his second knuckle; drifting over the back of his hand, a single fingertip outlining the bones and veins contouring his flesh.

He doesn’t appear to mind, though, flipping his hand over to gift you more access, allowing you to trace the lines of his palm with a manicured nail, his fingers spreading wider, presenting more of himself to you as you vividly discuss Metz and how he built his cinematic semiotics theory off of structural linguistics.

His hand is nearly in your lap now, your thighs cushioning one another’s, knees bumping clumsily against the edge of each other’s chairs as you subconsciously try to inch closer, caught up in every fucking thing about him; his viscous voice, cascading over you like melty syrup; his vivid stare, so bright and full of passion it’s practically glowing; his magnificent mind, gears churning at a rapid yet efficient pace, producing ribbons of wisdom, flowing smooth and fluid from his lips, confident and self-assured.

You’re drowning in him, submerging yourself further and further into his presence, more intoxicated by his aura than the wine roiling warm and sweet in your belly. It produces something insatiable, a starved clawing at your chest that grapples for more and more and more of him, every fragment of information you manage to extract doing nothing to satisfy the hunger, instead exacerbating the craving.

You’ve never met anyone like him before; never met anyone so blunt and real and unabashedly themselves, never met anyone so sincerely scholarly, so dedicated to their studies, so zealous in their never-ending pursuit of knowledge.

It’s inspiring; it’s intoxicating.

Alhaitham’s mind is brilliant, beautiful, an ornate maze of thoughts, each one leading to something new, each one unravelling like the petals of a lotus, sparking further debates, remarks, ponders.

You could get lost in here forever, you think—stumbling your way around sharp corners and down twisting corridors, consistently in awe of the next thing you discover.

You must murmur it out to him, dreamy and wine-drunk and wrapped up in him, sentiments streaming seamlessly from your brain to your lips without your permission, because he laughs, the sound mild and tender, his gaze softening.

“Is that so?”

“Mm,” you nod, lazy and languid. “It’s so beautiful, Haitham.”

“I’ve never had anyone call my mind beautiful before,” he muses. “But I think it might be my favourite compliment to receive yet.”

Bubbles of pride tingle behind your ribs, and your chest puffs out a little, spine straightening beneath his praise, murmuring out a little self-satisfied, well, then, you’re welcome.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” he teases, though the notes infusing his voice are playful, his eyes shining as he studies you, cataloging your expressions.

“Yes, Sir,” you confirm. “You’re a hard man to please.”

“Oh, am I?” he snorts, head tilting in question.

“S’not a bad thing,” you continue, words slurred just a touch, heavy with admiration. Dainty hands find his own, your fingers beginning to toy with his, idle and absent-minded as they curl and straighten knuckles.

“No?” he smirks, pinky catching yours in a swift hook. “I mean, you seem to be doing a pretty good job so far.”

“I could do better, if you want me to.”

It’s bold, brash, and entirely unbefitting, but the offer slips from your mouth without thought or consent, startling you in it’s veracity, a jolt of desire zipping through your veins.

Your hand moves entirely of its own accord, touch tiptoeing up his thigh in invitation, inching toward the half-hard lump in his trousers.

He catches your wrist just before you reach his cock, slim fingers braceletting your arm and squeezing once in warning.

“Are you sure you want to go down this path, sweetheart?”

Hooded teal observes you closely, irises shaded into a deep navy, glimmering under the chandelier lights.

The question drips from his lips in a dark, decadent murmur, simultaneously an enticement and a warning, his thumb idly stroking your skin as he awaits your response—an action that brings some semblance of comfort, despite the dangerous thrill sparkling in his eye.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Despite speaking to him for the duration of the night, you don’t know this man—don’t know his rank in the department or his status among his peers and how that may impact you in the future. On all accounts, it most definitely is not a good idea.

He seems to know so, too, if his timbre of caution is anything to go by, but that ray in his eye flares, begging you to say yes.

Because the desire is too strong, a potent drug infusing your blood and hazing your brain, overwhelming your senses and overriding your better judgement, and you find yourself unable to resist, easily placing blame on the wine and the party and the undeniable allure of this stranger, instead of your own ravenous craving.

“I want you,” you admit instead, the confession oozing from between pouted lips, stark with it’s honesty, unapologetic with your longing.

Alhaitham laughs, low and smooth, watching you through thick, fanned lashes.

“How do you want me?”

He’s playing with you now, a hawk toying with his food between razored talons, forcing his prey to go exactly where he wants it to.

You can’t find it in yourself to care.

“However you’ll give you to me,” you respond, brazen but sincere, glassy eyes wide and captivating his own.

Teal searches your face for a moment, pries apart your features in search of falsities and finds nothing but unadulterated candour, so sheer it boarders on pathetic.

“All right,” he finally says, hand smoothing along your wrist to press your palms together, lacing your fingers with his and giving a gentle tug. “Come.”

You tread behind him like the sweetest little kitten, inebriated galaxies swirling in your irises, desperate and obedient and eager for your treat.

But you’re just a touch too impatient, it seems.

Because he barely makes it to the washroom, free hand on the doorknob, intending to throw one last glance back at you—one final confirmation, are you sure? written in the motion—before you’re surging forward, soft palms cushioning a defined jaw, dainty fingers hooking behind the hinges and yanking, crushing his lips to yours.

It isn’t graceful in the slightest, a rough mangle of tongues and teeth, incisors catching on lips and canines scraping slick muscle, but Alhaitham recalibrates quickly enough, large hands curling around your hips and pulling you to his form.

The door to the men’s washroom swings open as your knotted bodies fall through it, hinges loose and creaky, the metal handle slamming against the tiled wall, the resounding bang! bouncing throughout the room.

The stumbling of your footsteps echoes around you, obnoxious smacking of lips and slurping of tongues amplified by the open space as you gulp down his breathy little chuckle, the sound warm and tingling as it spills down your throat.

A tangled mess of legs and limbs, you fall into the first available stall, rickety door whacking off the side, the lock jingling from the force.

He allows you to crowd him into a corner, hinges of the flimsy door tinkering again as your legs slotting together and your tongues grind, tips teasing each other in curling little licks, catching one another and then slipping away, tracing the ridges of teeth, burrowing into the divots of cheeks.

A strong hand stays wrapped around your neck, nails just barely nipping your skin as he grips you in place, his other hand busying itself with a palmful of your ass, fingertips planting bruises into soft flesh.

A responding hiss slithers from your mouth into his, the sound massed on his tongue, the muscle folding around it and sucking, savouring your pain until it melts into his flesh.

Your hands are indecisive, traversing the buttons of his shirt and the loops of his trousers until, finally, they find his belt, fingers eager and vying as they pick at the heavy buckle, and he snorts.

“It’s cute, how utterly desperate you are,” he mumbles into the kiss, slippery mouths sliding together, leavings streaks of saliva painted across chins.

You are desperate, too desperate, and if you were of sound mind you’d be rightfully embarrassed of such behaviour, pawing at him like some impatient teenager, pathetically aching for more of him.

But the wine and the glamour and Alhaitham’s intoxicating taste—cedar wood and mint, cloaked by expensive scotch—has cast a murky cloud over your brain, stuffing your skull full of nothing but ardour, dulling all of your senses, honing all of your needs, to him, him, him.

The thigh wedged between your own, sculpted from strong, lean muscle, flexes twice, hitching up further into your core, a pitchy mewl spilling onto his tongue as a reward. You can feel his cock, hot and hard and pressed tightly against your hip, rutting into you in small, uneven little motions, dense heat sprawling, slow and sticky, in the pit of your tummy.

“God, you’re already making such a fucking mess,” he nearly moans into your mouth, thigh tensing again in emphasis, cotton doused in slick arousal. “And I’ve barely even touched you. I guess you really do want me, don’t you?”

And although his words are teasing, imbued with notes of playful mocking, his tone is sweet, almost as if he’s in awe of how honest you were.

“S’bad,” you whimper, tongue sketching out the curve of his cupid’s bow. “So bad.”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he pants, a hand wreathing around your jaw, keeping your stare trapped in his. “Tell me what you want.”

The demand is damp as it drifts across your face, scalding little pinpricks erupting beneath your skin, paired with a low whine of embarrassment. His gaze is too vehement, eyes wide and unblinking as they impel you, your own lids squeezing shut in the face of such fervour.

“Ah!” the hand clamped around your jaw tightens. “Open them. Look at me, and tell me what you want. You’re a big girl, I know you can do it.”

It almost hurts to look at him, another bout of humiliation flushing through your veins as you squint, features twisted up in a wince.

“C’mon,” he goads, fingertips thrumming against you cheek once in a fluent wave. “Where’s that big beautiful brain gone now? You were so eloquent at dinner.”

“I—I wanna ride your cock!” you nearly sob, the profession a stringy plead shoved from your tongue, tangled in threads of saliva. “I really wanna ride your cock.”

“Aw, how precious,” he clicks his tongue, as if it’s such a shame, words filtered through a slight faux pout. “Too bad naughty girls don’t get to ride my cock.”

“Wh-What?” you blink, tears beading at the corners of your eyes, just barely caught in outer lashes. “Naughty?”

And, oh, the smile that spreads across his cheeks is downright sinister, eyes flashing with levity.

“Do good girls put their hands all over a stranger’s cock?” he tilts his head, that shiny sliver in his iris catching in the light. “Does that not qualify as misbehaviour to you?”

“But—But I—I’m good!”

The response is automatic, barreling up your throat and out your mouth before you have a moment to seize it, a fierce need to prove yourself igniting behind your ribs, eyebrows knit cutely as you stare at him, eyes beseeching despite your bratty tone.

“Are you?” he raises a brow, eyes hard, but mirth plays with the corners of his lips. “Your behaviour thus far says otherwise.”

“I am!”

Your gaze steadily holds his own, daring, challenging, insistent, your features scrunched up in a stubborn petulance.

“All right, prove it to me,” he says after a beat, exhaling an amused little huff. “Show me you’re a good girl and suck my cock.”

And that’s all the encouragement you need, really, desperate to prove yourself worthy and capable as you slide down his body, knees on his toes, lidded stare never breaking contact with his own—heavy, dark, starving.

His collarbone, sharply prominent and peeking out from beneath his shirt lapels, heaves a little with his laboured breaths, the faintest sheen of sweat beginning to lacquer the bones, catching delicately in the fluorescent light.

Nosing along the impressive bulge straining against his trousers, you hum a little in appreciation, trailing hot, humid kisses up the length in a haphazard outline. A hushed giggle vibrates in your throat as his cock jumps beneath your touch, begging for what Alhaitham would never dare to, tongue unfurling from your mouth to roll, slow and hard, over the clothed head.

The slick muscle wraps itself around the tip as best it can, wet heat seeping through his pants as your tongue siphons his cock into your mouth, lips closing around the head and suckling, hard.

A breath snares on his sternum, his hips twitching once in complement, chased by a low, alluring chuckle.

“Huh,” he says to himself, though the letters are breathless. “I didn’t know good girls were little teases…”

The implication is not lost on you, and you roll your eyes, grumbling out a muffled no fun into his groin before your fingers immediately get to work—button popped, zipper tugged, knuckles curled in the elastic waistbands, hauling his pants and briefs midway down his thighs.

His cock is just as gorgeous as he is, thick and velvety and twined with pulsing veins that surge and swell the moment they’re wrapped in your tongue.

It’s impossible to silence the pathetic whimper of appreciation that spills from your throat the moment his cock is free, massive and magnificent, and you can’t resist nuzzling your cheek into it in admiration, catlike, the flushed head leaving a fat streak of pre-cum painted just below your eye.

A curse pries its way past his lips, fading into a breathy exhale, his fingers latching beneath your jaw and tilting your face to his, taking a moment to cherish the sight.

You look so beautiful stained with him—glistening pre-cum dashed across your check in a perfect stripe; lips swollen and licked raw, shimmering with his spit—and he can’t help but stare, ravenous pupils having gnawed away at teal irises, desperate to soak up as much of the scene as physically possible, leaving nothing more than a thin ring to outline the orbs.

His thumb swipes through the sticky substance, rubs it into your skin until it’s gone dry, seeped into the tissues and absorbed completely, and your neck strains a little, yearning to present more of your cheek to him, offering.

Another second or two passes as he grants himself one final moment of marvel, before his fingers release your head, a non-verbal command to continue.

And you obey flawlessly, instantly.

A dainty hand wraps around the base of his cock, tongue darting from between raw lips to lap kittenishly at the head, flattening along the curve and dragging twice in unhurried succession before digging the point into his slit, procuring another pretty pearl of pre-cum, oozing enticingly to adorn the tip.

It’s so dense, so bloated it looks mere moments away from dropping, your tongue stretching out far and wide in a precursory measure, ready to catch it when it falls. And it does, only a beat later, dripping slow and gross into your waiting mouth in a single strand, thick and viscid.

A hefty moan resounds in your throat as it seeps into your tastebuds, his flavour bitter and strong, fluttering lashes framing rolling whites.

The noise that splinters in his throat is strained, yearning beneath a heavy hedonism, and his fingers tighten in your hair, a subtle caution. Smirking, your glance up at him again, sinful tongue laving lasciviously over your puffy lips, yet your eyes are not bratty, instead glittering with such potent awe it almost hurts, like he’s some sort of veneered saint, exalt pouring from your gaze.

It crushes down on his chest, flattens his lungs and makes it difficult to draw in breath, oxygen stalling in his throat, the urge to yank you up and kiss the goddamn life out of you near unbearable as it tears at his chest. But he comes back to his senses, restraint held intact by a single spider silk thread, a dull, distant voice in the back of his skull reminding him of your task, of your lesson.

You seem to know, too.

No words need to be spoken, no warnings need to be issued, the hand around the base of his cock flexing slightly as it readjusts its grip, feeding him to yourself, taking him inch by inch down your eager throat.

“S’it,” he encourages as he watches you, eyes lidded and hazy with lust. “That’s it, baby, take as much of it as you can for me.”

The incentive, haunted by the ghost of potential praise if you succeed, only makes you more avid in your quest, throat stretching around his girth as you stuff it full of his cock, reflexes instinctively attempting to push him from the gummy column, constricting as you gag around the head.

It’s hard to know what he likes—how fast, how deep, how rough and filthy—but from the limited information you’ve gathered tonight, you can infer that he isn’t a fan of teasing; at least, not when he’s the one being teased.

“A little more,” he instructs, but the command is gentle, a thumb skimming along the line of your jaw, hinges straining as you immediately submit, mouth opening wider, throat sexpanding further as you take more of him, more for him.

“Fuck, look at that,” he pants out, thumb caressing your jaw again before his palm cups beneath your chin, tilting your head up, the action inadvertently forcing his cock farther down your throat. “You’re so good.”

Blinking twice in response, you stare up at him, irises encrusted with stars of worship, their shine unhindered by the bleary gloss of reflexive tears that have already begun to collect, lashes clumped into soaked spikes, just barely keeping the torrent at bay.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt more respected, revered, in his entire life.

Another blink—a quick beating of lashes—sends crystalline dewdrops flowing down your cheeks, the softest sniffle, half-stifled, shuddering delicately around his cock.

“H-Hah,” he breathes out, an involuntary little sound pulled from deep within his chest, your agape mouth working itself open greater, lips stretching over his bulk.

He holds you still for a moment, takes time to admire such a pretty sight, hips jolting slightly, eyes watching as the bulge in your throat jumps, as you choke around him but don’t dare push him away, instead squeezing the base of his cock, attempting to jam it down even more. Your chin juts forward in a futile attempt to aid, salacious squelching echoing throughout the bathroom as you swallow, hard and with conviction, trying to lead him further into your body.

The back of his knuckle swipes through a stream of glittering salt, collecting your tears on his skin and bringing it to his mouth, tongue washing over it slowly, savouring your taste.

And you wait.

How very good of you.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he finally says as he releases his grip, permitting you to take control again. “Show me how much of me you can take down your throat.”

And, really, that’s all of the enticement you need, head beginning to move the instant he demands it, mouth gliding down his shaft, slow and steady, until the tip of your nose just barely brushes your second knuckle. A pause, a mere millisecond for him to feel your throat convulse, before you’re pulling back up, lips puckering as they tighten around his shaft, glazing his flesh in a thin, shimmering film of saliva.

Each stroke of your mouth has your pace accelerating, opting to keep your fist wrapped firmly at the base of his cock to steady it instead of allowing it to follow the trajectory of your lips.

It grows sloppy quick, your spit-soaked hand readjusting it’s slippery grip as your upper lip repeatedly bashes into it, the threads of saliva keeping your mouth and finger connected snapping each time your lips reach his head, nearly pulling off of his cock completely before your mouth sinks down again

“Yeah, yeah, there you go,” he grunts out, words torn around the edges, breathing raw and ragged. “Good girl, my perfect girl, doing so well for me.”

A whine reverberates around his cock, your legs spreading slightly as your back bows and your neck arches, an ambitious attempt to take more of him, throat gaping and split open, drenched cunt grinding into the toe of his polished shoe.

He groans a little, the sound tapering off into something choked and broken, his hips stuttering forward and involuntarily plunging his entire length down your throat, body retching at the abrupt intrusion.

And suddenly, all of this isn’t exactly enough for you.

Because while you can nearly fit all of him down your throat on your own, and while he seems to be more than satisfied with your progress, there’s still an inch or so that you’re missing, palm curled around it in a manner that’s almost protective, and you want to take all of him.

You want to prove that you can take all of him, for him.

A thick, milky string of spit and pre-cum dangles and droops heavily in the space between your lips and his cock as you peel your mouth from his shaft entirely, wrecked little coughs furling on your tongue, eyes wet and wide and full of reverence as you look up at him, imploring.

With a little effort, he hefts his lids open from their sedative state, staring down at you with glazed, gluttonous pupils, head tilting a little in inquiry.

“I want you to fuck my throat, Sir,” you rasp out in explanation, voice rough and raw, request grating against your throat. “Please, fuck my throat, Sir, please.”

The plead is garbled, drooled out from the corners of your mouth curled in copious drivels of foamy spit, collecting on your chin and dripping off your jaw in viscous glass cords.

Chest heaving with ragged breath, he watches as drool drizzles across your collarbone and exposed bosom, sticky and sloppy. You’re making such a mess—he’s making such a mess of you, and you’re so willing, so unwavering, raring for more.

“Fuck,” he nearly whines out, the curse cracked.

Deft fingers grip your face, blunt nails biting into your cheeks as he forces your head up further, an attempt to get a better look at you.

“Yeah?” he breathes, the word drifting across your face, eyes hunting after it in an almost rabid manner. “You want Sir to fuck your mouth?”

A whimper vibrates on your tongue, head nodding as best it can in his firm grasp.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, wanna take as much of you as possible, Sir; wanna take all of you, Sir; wanna be so good for you, Sir,” your head quirks a little, nuzzling into his touch. “Please, help me, help me show you how good I can be.”

Your confession is molten and dreamy, flowing from your lips in one thick, continuous stream, your eyes limpid, desperate with the desire to please.

“Though you’ve proven you are capable of doing it on your own, it’s precious that you’re asking for my help.”

A hum of contemplation rumbles in his chest, head tilting in observation, his scrutinizing gaze framed by heavy lids, eyes now slow and steady as they search your face.

“You need Sir to guide you, huh?” he’s asking as his other hand replaces your own, wrapping around the base of his cock and giving it two good, quick pumps before bringing the head to your lips, mouth obediently dropping open, a sound of confirmation playing on the back of your tongue.

Yes, yes, you’re nodding, tongue curling in the air a little, almost as if enticing him closer.

“No, not need,” he revises, smudging a thin stroke of pre-cum across your waiting, urgent tongue. “Want. Isn’t that right?”

It’s true—you don’t technically need his assistance, could manage perfectly well on your own the task of sucking him off and stuffing your throat with his cum, but you want his aid; want to show him that not only can you succeed, but you can surpass.

“Please,” you whimper, the word a distortion trembling against the tip of his cock. “Please, help me be the very best for you, Sir.”

Something sharp flashes in his pupils, hungry and craving and full of teeth, his chest stuttering with it—a growl he snuffs out, strangles in his throat before it can grow into a coherent response, replaced with a simple nod.

“All right, all right, baby,” he’s pacifying as you take his cock down your throat again, the hinges of your jaw straining as your mouth stretches around him. “Sir will help you out this time.”

A mewl of thanks vibrates around his cock as he threads himself down your throat, his hips jerking once, fast and short, a matching whimper spilling from his lips.

Delicate fingers curl in his waistband and tug a little, begging him to fuck deeper, and he concedes, groaning out breathy praise as your nose presses into that neat smattering of curls adorning his pubic bone, lips kissing the root of his shaft.

“Christ,” he whines, hips thrusting forward a hint further as he leans back against the stall wall to get a better view, your throat tightening around him with the action. “So fucking gorgeous.”

The stuffed full column of your throat ripples around him as you swallow with conviction, a greedy attempt to garner him even deeper into you, his shaft swollen and protruding in your neck. Tear-lacquered eyes close briefly, forcing streams of crystal to leak from the corners as you nuzzle into his groin again, the laudatory action causing gummy walls to spasm around his cockhead.

“F-Fuck,” the curse fragments on his tongue, head tipping back against the flimsy stall wall, angular jaw and Adam’s apple on display. “Look at you, so full of me.”

There isn’t any more time to admire, though, as idle chatter, muffled and indistinct, seeps under the heavy washroom door, yanking both of you from the heavenscape you had conjointly created and shocking you with a bitter dose of reality.

There’s no warning after that, the brute reminder of the steadily encroaching public entirely shattering whatever trance the two of you had been enveloped in, Alhaitham’s hips snapping sudden and sharp, fucking your throat with a renewed vigour.

Your grip on his slacks tightens, knuckles curling over the waistband in a feeble attempt to help him, to pull him even closer, jaw wrenched open even wider as his hips work, so fucking dedicated to him, to pleasing him, despite the pang beginning to settle deep within the hinges.

It’s rough, and sloppy, and so fucking hot, scalding saliva smeared all over him—coating his thighs and dribbling down his balls and soaking the matted curls at the base of his cock, slippery and sticky and stained with you.

“Doing so—so fucking good for me,” he pants out, pace never faltering. “My perfect little toy.”

Something mangled and muted sounds in your throat, another pair of tears cascading down your cheeks and streaking them with pretty gleaming trails.

It hurts, your throat burning and fucked raw with every ram of his cock, your lungs beginning to shrivel as he smothers your breath, routinely shoved back down in time with the piston of his hips, chest swelling painfully beneath the backlog of unreleased air.

Hiccups splutter around him as you desperately try to draw in tiny gulps through your nose, the fluttering of your throat eliciting another hoarse groan, tumbling from his lips.

The ache in your jaw has radiated across your face now, a pounding in your temples keeping flawless rhythm with Alhaitham’s thrusts, a twinging in your cheeks weighing heavy on the bones, creeping into your sinuses.

Yes, it all hurts so very much, but you take it all for him, just like a good little girl is supposed to, just like he asked, just like you promised you would—dutiful, doting, devoted.

And even though his hips are ruthless, avid in their chase to catch his impending high, his grip is tender, the knuckles rooted against your skull firm but not painful as they hold your head in place, his thumbs massaging soothing little circles along your hairline.

You’re weeping around him now, a potent concoction of drool and tears trickling off your tongue in viscid strings, the slick muscle curled flush around the underside of his shaft, protecting sensitive skin from the edges of sharp teeth.

A dull pain is beginning to seep into the tip of your nose, no doubt a response to the constant collision of your face into his pelvis, and you can feel the early formations of a bruise, fragile capillaries busted open from the consistent blunt force.

“Oh, Christ,” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before springing back open, gazing down at you with fervour. “M’gonna—ah, ah—” his hips judder, thumbs pressing into the sides of your head, steadying his grasp. “M’gonna cum, and I want you to—f-fuck—to swallow it all, y’here me? Don’t waste a single fucking drop.”

And, well, you’re nothing if not unwaveringly obedient.

Two more drives of his cock, rough and rapid, and then he’s forcing hot, thick cum down your throat, stuffing the column full with his potent seed.

It’s so much, too much, and you sputter around him, the syrupy substance overflowing back up your throat and into your mouth to seep, slow and sticky, past the tight seal of your mouth.

But he helps you with that, too, holding your head still and pressing your face tightly to his pubic bone, ensuring that his cum shoots straight down your throat as his cock continues to throb weakly, weighting your tongue.

And you, obedient little girl that you are, devour all of it, even the few stray dollops of cream that managed to escape your mouth and roll down his balls, tongue curling hungrily around them and sopping up the remnants with gentle sucking.

Truly, you did not waste a single fucking drop.

And he’s so proud of you.

“C’mere, precious,” he’s breathing out once he’s sure you’ve swallowed it all, releasing his grip on your skull and hoisting you up, strong hands hooked beneath your armpits.

He hauls you to your feet in one fluid movement, pliant legs struggling to find stable footing on the tiled floor, and props you up against his body, supporting you. Those big hands cup your jaw, tilting your face to his, aquamarine flying across your features—quick, but efficient—and surveying the damage.

“You were so perfect,” he murmurs, sowing a smattering of chaste kisses along the top of your head. “You were so, so perfect for me.”

A response hitches in your throat, mangled by the sob desperately attempting to claw past it, and Alhaitham frowns, concern creasing his forehead.

“Hey, you okay? Huh?” gentle palms tip your head up even further, thumbs killing tears as they swipe over your cheekbones. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“M’fine, Sir,” you croak out, voice ruined but eyes filled with reverence. “Th-Thank you for giving me your cum.”

The worry saturating his features is eradicated in an instant, eroded by tender awe, his lips twitching into a small smile as his eyes sweep across your face again—slower, this time, more deliberate, appreciative—thumbs continuing their soft caress.

The sudden shouting of his name decimates any potential response before it has a chance to form in his mouth, a low growl of irritation rumbling in his chest.

“Yeah,” he calls back, the moment the washroom door swings open, effectively halting the perpetrator in their steps. “I’ll be there soon. Give me a moment.”

His voice is hard, stern, cold yet dripping with authority, the meek messenger squeaking out some semblance of acknowledgement before rushing from the room.

You’re still sniffling, cheeks stained with dried, crusty salt, hair mussed and messy, and his frown returns as he looks back at you, his features pinched, reluctance weighing heavy on his form.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I am,” you nod in his grasp, finally standing on your own two feet, as if to prove it. “Promise.”

His eyes hold your own for a moment longer, assessing, before he accepts your answer as truth, fingers beginning to fuss with his dishevelled tie.

“All right,” he sighs out the words as he primps, palms smoothing down his shirt, wrinkles casualties from your fingers. “Take your time to regain your bearings.” He looks up, a sardonic grin on his face. “I, unfortunately, have business to attend to. Such is the life of a Sumeru professor.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s such a drag to be faculty at the top university in the world,” you snort.

“Enjoy your ignorance while it lasts,” he retorts, but his smile has softened to something playful. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

“Looking forward to it, Sir.”

“Good.”

He refolds his lapels one last time, squaring his shoulders as he mentally prepares, turning toward the stall door.

“Oh, and uh,” hand curled around the stall handle, he pauses, throwing a glance over his shoulder, eyes shining with something mischievous. “Maybe next time you can actually ride my cock, like you wanted to.”

Head quirking, confusion crinkles your brow, your eyes searching his face. Next time?

A smirk spreads across his lips, smug and supercilious.

“See you in class on Monday, Teaching Assistant.”

#alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #alhaitham thirst #inky.alhaitham #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin x reader #al haitham x reader #al haitham smut

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kaiser1ns · 6 months

Text

𝘃𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

╹synopsis :: it doesn't take much to say or show you love someone even with the simplest of actions.

╹contents :: can be read as fem/gn reader; characters from blue lock, jjk and honkai star rail, FLUFF, ooc maybe?

╹notes :: as i was walking to go home at like 10pm i thought of this, hope you enjoy! added hsr specially for @okkalo ♡

ITOSHI SAE immediately takes you out to visit the sea when he gets some days off. The sounds of the waves, the relaxing atmosphere and you in his arms calm him down causing him to flashback to his childhood memories of when he was just a small and carefree child wanting nothing more but to play football with his little brother and personal cheerleader.

Not only he is known as the strongest but GOJO SATORU is also known for having a very strong sweet tooth. So what does he do to reduce the sugar? He shares it with you because there is nothing better than sharing his favourite thing with his lover, so let's say he gets a double dose of chocolate and candy from just seeing you and that's enough.

AVENTURINE is not afraid to take the risk and his constant smile makes it difficult for people to guess his true intentions. Not with you though, he lets his guard down, your voice soothing him to help him relax and as he gets lost in your touch. He is not Aventurine of the IPC or the Ten Stonehearts, he is just Kakavasha the little boy who once dreamed of love and now he won the biggest treasure in his life — you.

ITOSHI RIN knows how much you don't like scary movies, and that's why when you come over for the weekends you watch movies or series of your choice, be it Barbie or The Lion King. He will swallow his ego and stop watching the weekly uploads of his favourite scary games just so you can't fall asleep on purpose because of the horror films.

GETO SUGURU can't stop talking about how beautiful, amazing, and kind you are. Mimiko and Nanako are tired because they are the only ones who get to hear all his murmuring when you are away even for only 5 minutes. But they know how much he loves you and how you breathe life into him, and he wishes that someday they will become like you — strong and good-hearted.

ARGENTI thanks and prays to Idrila every moment of his life for obtaining the biggest blessing to ever exist and that is meeting you. The Knight of Beauty makes sure to give you one red rose every day to express his profound love and admiration, it's a small gesture that symbolizes his devotion to the relationship. He should protect his lover and like flowers, the tender petals are directed to you, with the thorns to the cosmic and its danger protecting you

It may seem that he is spoiled, but in fact, NAGI SEISHIRO is not, well not that much. Sometimes he takes charge of the household chores, giving you, a well-deserved break. He washed the dishes, cooked you a meal (instant noodles), and even tried to fold the laundry. And you, pleasantly surprised, sank into the couch, embracing the rare luxury of relaxation as familiar songs from your shared playlist were playing on the TV. Even if it doesn't happen often you are forever grateful for your lazy boyfriend to do something like that.

ITADORI YUJI shows genuine interest and actively listens to you talking about your current obsession be it a series, celebrity, book, food, or anything. He loves your voice, seeing your beautiful smile, and how your eyes seem to sparkle as you talk, he is so lovestruck that he sometimes just stares at you with the most soft and genuine look. Just don't be surprised when you find some merchandise on your desk with a little love note, okay?

Engaging in meaningful conversations and connecting on a deeper level with DR. RATIO seems like every other normal day for him. He approaches every interaction with a thirst for knowledge. And you take him by surprise every time and he doesn't know what to do, the great genius suddenly stops functioning. The way you hold his hand, kiss his cheek, make him stutter — he goes crazy and questions himself about how there is no logical explanation for this, but there is, it is called love.

SHIDOU RYUSEI doesn't like to share his material possessions with anyone, he worked so hard to get the last volumes of Chainsaw Man as they are now put on the shelf in his bedroom. And imagine his reaction when he sees you reading volume 10 which has Makina on the cover, cuddled nicely with his blanket on the bed. How dare you read it without him? And so he jumps onto the mattress, squishing you because that's your punishment for not telling him. You apologized to him of course but for him to fully forgive you, next time you will be on anicon cosplaying Makima and Denji.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI remembers the small details about you and your preferences. If you don't like a certain ingredient in the food, he will order the dish without it. You like to sleep on this side of the bed, no problem he will sleep on the other side as you both cuddle and drift to Dreamland. He will immediately notice the change in your mood and even if he is not so good with words, he will always be there for you offering his warm embrace.

As a Galaxy Ranger BOOTHILL tends to travel around the cosmos a lot and sadly he can't spend time with you. But when he's with you, one of the things you do is his hair and to put cute stickers on his metal hands or guns. The scary cyborg cowboy is now a pretty princess with pigtails, heart stickers and with a very happy lover. He watches you having fun with his makeover — and will do everything possible to spend more time with you.

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its-avalon-08 · 4 months

Note

could you do a schumacher!daughter reader fic pretty please😇 somethin g soft and sweet

anon you read my mind <3

little schumi (ms7!daughter)

(p.s. i showed by father this gif and he has tears in his eyes, side note: my dad loves michael schumacher)

The familiar scent of burnt rubber and ozone hung heavy in the air as Y/N Schumacher navigated the bustling Formula One paddock. Unlike her brother Mick, who was gearing up for qualifying, Y/N never felt the pull of the racetrack. Instead, she gravitated towards the human stories that unfolded around it.

A gruff but gentle hand landed on her shoulder. "There you are, little Schumi," boomed a voice that could only belong to Kimi Raikkonen. Y/N grinned, returning the signature Kimi side-eye. "Kimi! Did you see Valtteri's new helmet design? It's outrageous!"

Kimi snorted. "Looks like a flock of angry parrots attacked it." They shared a laugh, their easy camaraderie a testament to the years Y/N had spent soaking up the paddock atmosphere. Every driver, engineer, and mechanic knew her, a familiar smile in a world of high-octane adrenaline.

Fernando Alonso, a close friend of her father's, spotted them and sauntered over. "How's my favorite Schumi doing today?" he asked, ruffling her hair. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Don't you have a qualifying session to win, Fernando?"

"Practice makes perfect, but spending time with you is always a priority, pequena," he winked. Y/N knew the playful banter was a way to deflect from the unspoken. Her father's condition was a shadow that loomed over the entire F1 family.

Just then, a young reporter, all bright eyes and eager questions, approached Y/N. "Ms. Schumacher, a few words for Sky Sports? Can you share your thoughts on your father's health?"

Y/N's smile faltered. Everyone knew this was a touchy subject. Sebastian Vettel, who was just passing by, overheard and stepped in. "Let's leave Y/N out of this, shall we?" he said, his voice firm but kind. "She doesn't owe you a public statement."

The reporter looked flustered. "But sir, it's a question everyone wants answered." Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "And everyone will have to understand that some things are private, especially when it comes to family." He offered Y/N a reassuring smile. "Come on, Y/N, let's grab some coffee before the chaos starts."

Grateful, Y/N linked arms with Sebastian. The paddock might be a competitive arena, but the drivers, the ones who understood pressure and risk, formed their own kind of family. They understood her silence, her need for normalcy in a world obsessed with speed.

As they walked, Y/N overheard snippets of conversations. "Poor Y/N," someone murmured. "She must be going through hell." Another voice added, "Leave her alone, haven't they been through enough?" Y/N offered a small, sad smile. It hurt, but it also warmed her heart. Her father, with his quiet strength and unwavering determination, had built a legacy that transcended wins and podium finishes. He had inspired loyalty, respect, and a fierce protectiveness that extended to his daughter, even in this fast-paced, unforgiving world.

Reaching the small coffee shop tucked away in the paddock, Y/N settled into a booth with Sebastian. "Thanks, Seb," she said, her voice soft.

Sebastian squeezed her shoulder. "Anytime, Y/N. You know, your dad would be proud of you. The way you handle yourself, your kindness… it's something special."

Y/N smiled, tears pricking her eyes. Maybe she wouldn't be on the racetrack, but here, in the heart of the paddock, amongst the roar of engines and the smell of racing fuel, she felt a part of her father's legacy.

time skip

The post-race debrief was abuzz with post-adrenaline chatter. Y/N, perched on the edge of Lando Norris' chair, listened with a half-ear as he recounted his epic battle with Daniel Ricciardo on the final lap. They may be from different teams, but their young love story was a paddock favorite.

"…and then I went for the undercut, and bam! Second place!" Lando finished, a triumphant grin splitting his face. Y/N leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Amazing job, my champion," she whispered, earning a playful swat on the arm.

Suddenly, Charles Leclerc burst through the door, his phone held aloft. "Did you guys see this?!" he exclaimed, brandishing a news article. Max Verstappen, who was sprawled on the couch next to Lewis Hamilton, snatched the phone. "What is it, Charles?"

Max's eyes narrowed as he scrolled through the article. "Seriously?" he growled, throwing the phone onto the coffee table. Y/N's heart lurched. It couldn't be good.

Lewis picked it up and read aloud, his voice heavy with disapproval. "'Mick Schumacher: A shadow of his father's talent?' This is ridiculous!"

Y/N's blood boiled. How dare they criticize her brother, especially so harshly? She felt tears prickling her eyes, her fists clenching. Before she could react further, Lando was by her side, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, his voice a low rumble. "Don't let them get to you. Mick's a phenomenal driver, everyone knows that."

Carlos Sainz, ever the comedian, piped up from across the room. "Besides, who needs talent when you have good looks like Mick, right?" he winked, earning a playful shove from Charles.

Y/N forced a smile, her anger slowly simmering down. She knew they were trying to lighten the mood, and she appreciated their support. "Thanks, guys," she sniffled. "It just… it's frustrating."

Lewis, his calm demeanor ever-present, spoke up. "Let the results speak for themselves, Y/N. Mick's still young, and he's already proving himself. This kind of trash talk doesn't deserve your attention."

Max, still fuming, grabbed the phone again and typed furiously. "There," he declared, showing the screen to the rest of them. "I just tweeted my support for Mick. Let's see how those journalists like that."

Y/N let out a laugh, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. These weren't just her teammates, they were her family, her chosen tribe. They understood the pressure, the scrutiny, and the unwavering loyalty that bound them together. They wouldn't let some random article bring her down.

Lando nudged her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, you know who the real untalented one is," he whispered, leaning in close.

Y/N playfully swatted his arm. "Oh yeah? And who's that?"

Lando winked. "The one who keeps losing to me on the simulator, obviously."

Their playful banter erupted into laughter, the tension completely forgotten. Surrounded by her closest friends, Y/N knew that no matter what the headlines said, she had her own championship team, one that valued love, support, and a good dose of healthy teasing.

time skip

The air crackled with a bittersweet energy as the F1 paddock celebrated Michael Schumacher's birthday. Banners emblazoned with his iconic number 7 adorned the pit lanes, and mechanics sported specially designed caps. Yet, beneath the celebratory facade, a current of unspoken grief hummed.

Mick and Y/N Schumacher stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a united front against the tide of emotions. Their gazes were fixed on a freshly painted mural across the track. It depicted Michael, mid-race, a determined glint in his eyes, the car a blur of red. The artwork was a poignant reminder of the man they missed terribly.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Y/N said, her voice barely a whisper.

Mick nodded, his jaw clenched tight. "They captured him perfectly." A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Mick spoke, his voice gruff. "It hurts, doesn't it? Seeing him… but not really."

Y/N reached out and squeezed his hand. "It's the worst kind of absence, Mick. We know he's there, but…" she trailed off, tears welling up in her eyes.

Mick pulled her into a side hug, his protective aura a familiar comfort. "I know, Y/N. I know. But you're not alone. We have each other, and we have Mom. We'll get through this, together."

Y/N leaned into her brother's embrace, finding solace in his strength. "I know," she murmured. "It's just… I miss him telling me bad jokes after qualifying."

A choked laugh escaped Mick. "Yeah, those were the worst." He paused, then added, "But he still loved them, didn't he?"

Y/N chuckled, a tear rolling down her cheek. "He did. He loved seeing us laugh."

They stood in comfortable silence for a while, the paddock noises a distant hum. Y/N looked up at the mural, a flicker of determination replacing the sadness in her eyes. "We'll make him proud, Mick. Both of us."

Mick met her gaze, his blue eyes mirroring her resolve. "We will. We owe him that."

A hand landed on Mick's shoulder. Sebastian Vettel stood beside them, his expression solemn. "He is proud of you both," he said softly. "Every single day."

Y/N and Mick exchanged a grateful smile. In that moment, surrounded by the people who knew their father best, they felt a surge of strength. Michael Schumacher's absence might leave an aching void, but his legacy, his love, and the unwavering support of their F1 family would forever keep his spirit alive.

#f1 #formula 1 #michael schumacher #fernando alonso #mick schumacher #kimi raikkonen x you #fernando alonso x female reader #f1 imagine #formula one #y/n #lando norris #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #max verstappen imagine #ava speaks #sir lewis hamilton #mick shumacher imagine

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dragon-kazansky · 5 months

Text

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Fifteen - Rhythm of our hearts

♡♡♡

Daphne, the beautiful duchess, had spent her time in London wisely. She used what sorces she had to help Marina Thompson track down her far away love.

You still had not seen much of Daphne. She had been quite busy, and you were really starting to miss her presence. You had hoped to catch up with her at some point, but you would just have to wait for the next opportunity to present itself.

The concert. You were all dressed up to go. Your mother had been gushing about this. Lord Hardy was going to be in attendance, and according to your mother, he had asked about you only a few days prior. You put on your nicest gown and prettiest jewellery for the occasion.

Who knew? Perhaps something would spark.

There was also the fact that the queen would be in attendance tonight.

When you arrived, the atmosphere was wonderful. You arrived on your mother's arm, and you smile at some familiar faces. You spot the duke and duchess, and you wonder if tonight you may get the chance to talk to Daphne.

Benedict is stood by himself drinking champagne as he watches the gentleman talking to Cressida. He was at the studio. With Henry.

Then he spots Granville and approaches him. Henry turns toward Benedict. "Bridgerton."

The two excuse themselves from the others to talk elsewhere.

"I would simply like to understand your... situation." Benedict says.

Henry sighs softly.

"I would just like to understand."

"It is simple. I am in love with Lord Wetherby." Granville tells him.

"You're married." Benedict points out.

"And our marriage affords my wife her freedoms and protections," Henry explains. "It is a happier union than most of the people in this room have, I assure you."

"What is the advantage for the young ladies Lord Wetherby is courting?" Benedict asks. "Do they all share this understanding?"

Henry chuckles.

"What about honour? Romance?" Benedict continues.

"What would you know of either?" Henry asks in return. "We live under constant threat of danger. I risk my life every day for love. You have no idea what it is like to be in a room with someone you cannot live without... and yet still feel as though you are oceans apart. Stealing your glances, disguising your touches. We cannot so much as smile at each other... without first ensuring no one is watching."

Benedict is silent.

"It takes courage... to live outside the traditional expectations of society. You talk of doing the same... but perhaps it is merely just that... all talk."

Henry Granville walks away.

Benedict is left with his thoughts. As he lets all that sink in, he catches a glimpse of you across the room. For a moment, he feels his chest fill with warmth. He thinks about approaching you, but then he sees Lord Hardy.

You're smiling.

Benedict remains where he is stood and watches quietly. Alone.

A second son without a mark on the world, and now no companion to confide in. Nothing was coming up roses for Benedict Bridgerton.

Inside the concert hall, you take your seat beside Lord Hardy. Your mother sat on the other side of you, keeping her eyes focused on the crowds, allowing you time to talk to your companion.

You smile as he speaks to you. His voice is smooth, and you rather like the way he says your name.

Benedict is stood by the door watching you. It seems your evening is occupied, so much for stealing you away this evening. Then again, perhaps that is for the best. Benedict isn't sure his thoughts are put together tonight.

Eloise comes up beside him looking rather desperate. "How long is this concert?" She asks her brother.

"About three hours... Four?"

Eloise looks less than pleased.

"Though, uh, I certainly have already heard enough," Benedict says, glancing your way briefly.

"You are my favourite brother. Do you know that?" Eloise says, smiling at him.

He chuckles and takes his sister's arm. The two leave the concert hall.

You don't see him go.

♡♡♡

The two siblings sit in the carriage quietly, heading home. Eloise is caught up in her thoughts. She thought she was on a secret mission from the queen to discover Lady Whistledown's identity, but tonight, the queen had brushed Elosie off and stated she had hired people to do the job for her.

Benedict was lost in his own mind, too. He was thinking about you. He had hoped to pass the evening pleasantly by your side. The concert itself was nothing of any actual interest. You both could have talked quietly, enjoying each others company.

Yet it seemed you had made up your mind. Your pursuit to find a husband was possibly baring fruit. Lord Hardy seemed a nice enough man, he supposed. Benedict didn't know too well, but je certainly seemed to have your attention tonight.

So, Benedict should do something to enjoy his evening, too. A thought comes to his mind.

He reaches up and taps on the top of the carriage. "I woul like to make a stop and pick up a friend."

Eloise looks at her brother. "A friend?"

"Should I not have a friend?" He asks her.

Eloise chuckles.

"I'm not bound by the rules of society," he tells her. "Please do not tell mother."

Eloise scoffs softly in amusement.

The carriage pulls up outside the modiste. Eloise looks at the shop front with confusion. "Why are we here?"

Genevieve climbs in.

Eloise looks at her brother.

Genevieve looks at Eloise, surprised to see her.

"This is my sister, Eloise, and we will be dropping her at home," Benedict says.

The carriage moves again.

Silence fills the air.

"How was your night, ma chérie?" Genevieve asks.

"It was... everything I expected. Horrible and terribly boring."

"So this is why you do not wish to lower your hems?" Genevieve chuckles.

"The entire ton were there, and I did not have a single worthwhile exchange." Eloise tells her.

"The entire ton? You mean, everyone except for the Featheringtons?"

"Yes, everyone except... them." Eloise is struck with a thought.

Eloise falls silent.

"Is everything well, Eloise?" Benedict asks.

She looks up at him. "Hmm? Yeah."

Eloise looks at Genevieve again.

♡♡♡

The concert has begun. You and Lord Hardy look up at the stage as the music plays. Your arm rests next to his.

The and duchess have a box. Neither of them look at each other.

Violet sits in a box with Anthony. She looks across at her daughter. Anthony casts his eyes down to the people below. He sees a family face.

Tonight is filled with all kinds of feelings from everyone around the room.

The orchestra was rather good.

Lord Hardy keeps his head bowed low, close to you, so he may exchange words with you quietly. You smile as you respond to him.

Perhaps tonight will change things for you after all.

The duke reaches for his wife's hand. She smiles softly. The music continues to play, and then she looks down. The duke wat he's her. Her eyes meet his, and she looks at him. She flees the box.

Her courses have come.

Violet flees her box to go see Daphne.

Fingers curl around your gloved ones. You look down to see him holding your hand. You lift your eyes to Lord Hardy. He smiles at you and then turns his eyes back to the concert.

Your mother sits straighter in her seat.

Yes, tonight, there are many emotions being felt. Some hearts are breaking. Some are yearning. Yours is racing.

You are glad you came.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen - @berrnuu - @charmainemaclendon - @pinkpantheris - @krismdavis

@biancamde - @ifgslsofbsodbf - @kniselle - @berarenado - @grassclippers - @bwormie - @avengersgirllorianna

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

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lvrdrafts · 1 year

Text

A Fragile Mind or a Fragile Heart?

Summary : You go to a bar with your friends where you see your boyfriend there talking to his best friend about how clingy you are, you take this too heart and try giving him space but sometimes a little space may seem too much

A/N : Imma make this into three parts because i make all my stories two parts even though they can be cut into one but like i have so many ideas with this

Part 2 Part 3

The lively atmosphere of the crowded bar buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and pulsating music. You and your friends had decided to let loose and enjoy their Friday night. Amidst the sea of people, a familiar face caught your eye—Bucky Barnes, the man she had fallen for.

A rush of excitement surged through you as you nudged your friends, pointing discreetly in Bucky's direction. However, the crowded bar was not conducive to catching someone's attention. You watched, longing in your eyes, as Bucky sat at a table a few seats away with his friend Sam. Curiosity and hope propelled you forward. With a deep breath, you maneuvered your way through the thronging crowd, inching closer to Bucky's table. Finally reaching a spot within earshot, you paused, straining your ears to hear their conversation.

To your dismay, the words that reached your ears were far from what you had anticipated. Bucky's voice was tinged with frustration as he spoke to Sam. "Sam, I don't know what to do anymore. Y/N can be so clingy sometimes. I love her, but I can't breathe. I need space." You couldn't believe what you were hearing, the pain washing over you like a tidal wave. Did bucky really think you were clingy? Yeah you were always touchy with him but he was the first boyfriend you had to be fine with your clinginess. What if he left you because you were too clingy, maybe you just had to give him some space.

Racing out of the bar, you hastily concocted an excuse to your worried friends. You sought refuge in the solitude of her own home, where you could finally let all the tears held captive spill. Alone, you crumbled, your body quaking with the weight of Bucky's words.

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As the sun rose, casting its warm hues through the windows, you stirred from your slumber. Normally, you would greet the day with a gentle kiss, rousing Bucky from his sleep. But today, you silently slipped out of bed, leaving him to rest undisturbed.

Confusion tugged at the corners of Bucky's mind as he slowly woke, his eyes scanning the room for your familiar presence. Sensing your absence, he blinked away the remnants of sleep, trying to make sense of the subtle shift in their routine.

Moments later, Bucky joined you in the kitchen, his brows furrowed with puzzlement. You stood by the stove, engrossed in watching the morning news. He approached you, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head, his lips barely grazing her soft hair.

"Good morning, baby," you greeted "How did you sleep?"

Bucky's confusion deepened, a knot forming in his stomach. This wasn't the affectionate, playful greeting he had come to expect. He settled beside her, struggling to find the right words. "Um, I slept alright, I guess." But Bucky didn't question in it because he liked having that space.

You turned to face him, your eyes filled with a mix of emotions he couldn't decipher. "Well I have to go run some errands today so I'll be busy the whole day" you say walking towards the bedroom with Bucky following her like a lost puppy "but I'll be home before dinner!" You say while looking for clothes.

Bucky waited but you didn't say anything after, you just went to look for some clothes and started to put some shoes on. Normally you would ask Bucky to come with you, but today you didn't. He didn't feel good about how much distance you were giving him. "Well Baby I'll see you later" you say closing the door without a goodbye kiss.

Maybe Bucky was just overreacting or maybe he did something wrong. Either way he couldn't decide which one was the reason.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

You come home come home early from an exhausting day and all you wanted was Bucky, but you had to show him you weren't clingy or he would leave you. You had a plan—a way to show Bucky that you weren't clingy, that you understood the need for space. With swift movements, you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a meal you knew he loved.

As the aroma of the food filled the air, you set the table with care, arranging the plates and utensils meticulously. You finished your own meal quickly, not wanting to be perceived as encroaching upon Bucky's space. In you heart, you hoped that this act of giving him room would ease the strain on their relationship.

When Bucky finally returned home, exhaustion etched across his features, he was taken aback to find a prepared meal waiting for him. Confusion flickered in his eyes as he looked around, his voice laden with curiosity. "Y/N, where's your food?"

With a small smile, you responded softly, "I ate already. I didn't want to bother you and i was really hungry."

Bucky's brows furrowed as he took a seat at the table, staring at the empty space beside him. Something felt off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He tried to brush off the unease, focusing on his meal, but a nagging feeling persisted.

After dinner both settled on the couch, Bucky tried to make room for you to snuggle against him, eager to bridge the growing distance. However, you gracefully bypassed the invitation, choosing to sit on a separate chair instead. The weight of your absence settled heavily between them, and Bucky's heart sank further. He put on a movie and you both watched it in silence and without the normal warmth.

This routine had been happening for a week and Bucky started to get tired of it. He didn't realize how much he missed your touch. He didn't realize how much physical touch was in the relationship. He knew he had to confront you soon before he went insane.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky x reader angst

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smuttyaf · 6 months

Text

You Can Be My Daddy

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐞.

wc; 10k | part one

lil bit of submissive!h. implied age gap! don’t read if it makes you uncomfy!!

Fingers dripping in saliva swiftly zip Harry back up, your rising chest settles down from its previous movements with heels taking steps back to create space between your teacher.

And as he swallows heavily with hands going to his belt and looping it around his waist, the door knob is turning and eerily creaking open, little time to comprehend the sudden intrusion.

Harry tries to focus on fixing himself back up but can’t help catch sight of your movements.

Palms swiping across your skirt heavily, tongue peaking out of your mouth to catch whatever aftertaste of him lapped around your lips just as you lean over to grab your things. His boss is stepping through the door making the atmosphere strained yet, that sight alone has Harry wanting to bend you over right then and there.

“Oh! Hello miss, surprised to see you!”

Wobble of a smile tugs on the ends of Harry’s lips, but bunny, she’s beaming. Flush of pink roaming amongst her cheeks accentuating her happy smile, steps swaying with subtle lifts of beat as if not touching him a few seconds ago.

“Yes! Well, I was just asking Mr. Styles this question about Marie Antoinette, our term paper is coming up.” Voice not wavering with eye contact stern when she passes him.

And Harry, he can’t help but notice how quick you are to lie; how you’re so good at it. Almost too easy to believe but you’re doing it, because the expression over Mr. Bennett's face is one of being intrigued.

“Ah, yes! Marie Antoinette, so misunderstood.” His body stepping back as he holds the door open. “I’m sure you will do well. I read your piece in the school paper; I must applaud you for your insight on Maslow, I never would’ve thought you’re familiar with his work.”

“Yes, I am. His argument on self-actualization is said in such great detail, his work is truly something.” Innocence shining through your expression of doe eyes and nodding head. The fact he’s even commenting on your published column only adds to your sweet image. “I should really get going now, goodbye Mr. Bennett.”

Harry’s thankful you don’t acknowledge him as you leave. Beer belly principal nodding his head stiffly as he goes to close the door.

Now without you by his side does he begin to sweat; knuckles flexing, jaw tensing, and lips still smiling tightly. He tries to reel it in for the sake of his job that he put on the line.

“Such a lovely girl,” He compliments as Harry makes his way towards his desk. Fingers fumbling over his paperwork looking for the report.

“Y —Yes, an excellent student.” Harry sighs once your name comes into view. He twists towards the gray haired man trying to conceal his worked up nerves.

“Thank you!” He smiles, head bowing delighted that it’s finished before stepping closer.

Mr. Bennett’s gaze is heavy as it roams over Harry. The nervous twitch of his nostril, diverating eyes and shallow breath. Inspecting every inch of him looking to catch anything off about Harry’s appearance.

“May I ask what her question was?”

His fingers curl in on each other at the sudden request catching him off guard. His boss can probably see the distress written all over his face, especially with the way he clears his throat and shifts on his feet.

“I’m sorry?” He asks, green eyes squinting to look at the principal with a confused glare.

“The question about Marie Antoinette, what was it?” Mr. Bennett responds, his bushy brows perk up as he leans on the desk.

The charm that bunny has, the one that graced this very room now leaves it empty, having him hanging by a thread. You managed to get away with your lie, but Harry, he has to continue it thinking fast on his feet to catch up.

“Uh, Marie Antoinette… her uh, saying…” He clears his throat, hand raising to his mouth coughing tensely trying to get rid of the strain on his throat. “Let them eat cake, I was explaining to her that it was just hear-say, actually coined from Jean-Jacques Rousseau, a book created way before the existence of Marie.”

The older man relaxes, tongue swiping across his dry lips as he nods once more. Satisfied smile stretches deeper amongst his features, index finger tapping into the wood of his desk as he leans off.

“Just testing…” Wink dropping before he’s turning around on his heels. Harry relaxes tremendously with shoulders subsiding and heart easing in pace as he watches him retreat to the door.

“Don’t need any new rumors, especially with parents' interviews coming up, now do we?” Mr. Bennett turns towards him, gaze running down Harry’s frame, stern sight yet delighted grin.

“Of course not sir.” He replies, nodding his head as he tracks the door swinging shut.

Harry can’t help the way his body twists around, hands combing through his hair as he tries his best to refrain from hitting himself.

How stupid can he be? That was too close of a call. If you were on your knees any longer he would’ve been packed up, sent away, and forbidden to even show his face again.

If you weren’t so passive about the situation he would have given up the facade and begged to keep his job… yet, you made it so easy covering up the moment with a shining grin and persuasive small talk. This time you both got lucky, but what about next time?

Should he even think there is one? Is he crazy to think that? Probably. He shouldn’t be fascinated or find you appealing, but he does.

He wants the sweet taste of you back on his lips… and the feeling of your hands drawing down him with that warm wet mouth just covering him all over. God, he’ll do anything to feel you again and that’s fucked up to think, but now that he’s finally had a taste he wants more. He can’t help but want more.

Harry knows it’s foolish, purely stupid, but even you yourself said it; he’s your daddy and you’re his bunny.

And, you do what you always do, be a tease.

You’re so tempting it’s hard not to notice. With your cherry lips and adorable giggle heard when passing in the hall.

Your skirt is rolled up even higher now, breast more sheen through your button up, and when you sit in front of him in class always focused with tongue glossing over your lips. It reminds him of the weeks prior, how his bunny sucked him up deliciously… how you loved every moment with dirty words and welcoming throat.

He can’t get you off his mind bunny, you’re all he thinks about in his mundane life of teaching and lacrosse. You make things so exciting, so thrilling, he likes knowing the fact he finally has your attention.

You continue to dip your back letting him see your panties, a different colour everyday of the week; sometimes lacy, sometimes plaid, but either way he enjoys the view. Harry especially likes it when you begin signing your nickname at the top of your page for tests, risky, but it entringes him even more.

It’s like right now, your eyes are following his every move when speaking about The French Revolution. Showing how attentive and perfect you are. He tries to ignore your plush mouth and drawing gaze, but he can’t help to float back over your appearance for a little while.

He wraps up the end of the class thirty minutes early, introducing the homework to be done by tomorrow and also suggesting if needing any help for the upcoming paper, that he’s all ears.

And of course, his bunny is by his side. Captivating smile shining to the bounce of your mary jane’s. Harry bites down on his lip, catching sight of your thigh highs and prominent tits. You sure know how to get his attention.

“Mr. Styles,” Long drawl of his name singing in your sweet voice. Leather clad foot resting along the heel of your shoes when leaning into the desk.

“I couldn’t understand this excerpt from yesterday.”

He knows you're lying, knows you’re way too smart not to understand something so easily explained in the textbook, but he can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes him when leaning forward in his chair.

As you place the book onto the desk he catches sight on the folded paper stuck between the spine. His throat clears, eyes shifting towards you who smiles softly at him.

His hands peel away from his arm rest and collects the thick book in his palms, shoulders turning towards you looking down at him curiously.

“This part over here, it states Marie betrayed France by telling the Austrian invaders, why would she do that?”

As the words you speak trail out as foolishness your finger points to the large text box pertaining to your question till it soon slides between the middle and lets the note fall down on the desk. Harry watches it all, his eyes trained on your finger dragging across the rest of the glossy page with fake confusion.

You want his attention so bad, look at you.

Leaning over his desk with flirty gaze and teasing smile, your breasts sparkling in his vision with the way your back curves. It’s sickening how you get away with it, how no one realizes how persuading you are at this moment but him.

“Well, yes, she betrayed the battle plans of the French in hope that they would be defeated and the monarchy restored.” He responds swiftly, hands closing the book while turning to look at you. “Does that answer your question?”

Plump lips curve against the beaming smile of your teeth, slow bob of your head lightly shifting your breasts that Harry can’t help but lick his lip at the sight. Your hand reaches out and accepts the book, hugging it into your chest before stepping away.

“Yes, thank you sir.” Heels retreating back to your desk in a sway of suggestive hips.

Harry watches you take your seat, skirt twisting with eyes tracking back to him, another tug of your lips following before you’re opening your textbook and starting the assigned work.

And he waits a few moments, letting himself look busy flipping through his agenda of drills for the lacrosse practice this afternoon. Fingers fiddling with the ends of the page before taking the note up and unraveling it.

You’re all I can think about…

His heart goes all warm, stomach clenching and veins pulsing to his dick. The neat cursive written in the middle of the torn piece of paper is a kept secret between you and him. Harry can't help but look up at you.

Completely focused on the question at hand, brows pushed together and pen breaking through your lips. You’re concentrated on keeping up your grades, you’re perfect image.

Harry has to sit back in his chair and simply just applaud you. You disguise your true self so well bunny, being the good girl that you are, the one you pretend to be.

But, it’s with his eyes trained on you does he catch Calie passing a note towards Finn. The red head laughs to himself over it before it’s passing behind him to Emmet. The telephone string of the paper from sender to receiver a mess between rushed hands.

He watches closely as it shifts throughout the room, polished nails or bitten ones taking it and passing it onto the next. From Emmet to Astrid, and then Bella to Gabriel until it’s being poked on the elbow of you.

Bunny? What’s this? Someone else on your mind and not him… you should know better than that. Who else races your mind if not him?

Harry can’t stop his nose from flaring as he sees you take it with a smile on your lips accepting the sheet.

“Y/N, would you like to share the note with the rest of the class.”

Your head picks up; eyes wide, fingers curling around the paper, and cheeks heating up noticing that you’re caught.

Snickers of students and grinning faces fill the air over the interruption of free time. They’re just as intrigued with who could’ve been the source just as much as Harry is.

“Hmm?” He continues, sight watching heavily on the way you bite your lip before looking between him and the note.

Your throat clears with fingers peeling it open, deep breath floating in the ruffle of chairs and whispers.

“Um, w —will you meet me after dinner tonight, Luca,” Voice wavering as you swallow heavily, sight catching between Harry and the blonde boy. He sits in the front right hand corner of the room shuffling in his seat, brows raised with the same expression written over his face like his bunny.

So, he’s the one who has your attention, not Harry who should be front and center. His own right wing of defense spending time with you. It’s comical and everyone in the room thinks it’s funny too.

Harry cracks his knuckles in the teasing atmosphere of you distraught that you got caught. You were just sweet talking your way with him minutes ago, and now your mind is elsewhere. Don’t you know better than that?

“Please remember that there will be no passing notes in my class.”

Your lashes flutter at him before turning to look at Luca. Chummy grin with back slouching against the chair, his eye drops into a wink that leaves you tugging your lips into a smirk.

You don’t care… of course you don’t. You have anyone that desires you hanging in front of your face by a thread while you pull the strings whenever bored.

Harry tries not to be mad, tries to reel in his nerves as you flash your eyes at the shaggy blonde as if it’s just the two of you. You’re so naughty toying with him.

This isn’t his bunny. The one who’s so attentive and pleasing. No, you’re doing more to prove how smart you truly are, the tease you love to be.

Thick blades of grass squish amongst the feet of intense movements. Cleats cutting through swiftly as they pick up from the bodies charging down the field, yellow tinged ball crossing in the air as blue and green jerseys drift by.

It’s a beautiful day outside, the trees rustling against the subtle wind from the spring breeze transitioning into the summer season. Colleagues roaming amongst the grounds on their own destinations to distinct quarters, or students still lounging in their uniforms watching the school team practice and you just so happen to be there.

Academy gym shorts with matching t-shirt relaxing on the field, badminton rackets by each of your friends as you giggle looking towards the team.

Harry can’t help his eyes glazing over your taunt frame. Perky backside and charming aura working for not only him, but the player on the team who just so happened to score in the scrimmage at hand.

He watches the way you smirk before turning to your friends who bump shoulders with you, teasing each other with pointed glaces and twisting feet.

Look at you, so happy to give your attention away; to show you have other options, one that leaves Harry jealous and fighting to regain focus.

“Alright, I’m calling it in.” Ed nods to him once checking his watch. That’s his cue to trail across the field while the head coach draws the team in.

The nylon of his pants swishes with each stride before he’s leaning down collecting the pylons. His body makes its way across the field picking up the yellow plastic, white lines shifting his version that he doesn’t realize he’s near you. Close enough to see your gleaming smile and hear little about the conversation in the group.

It’s when leaning down to pick up the equipment do your eyes catch on each other. Head swishing to the side as you smile happily. Your finger twirls the ends of your hair with body shifting against the grass as you ignore whatever words are being said.

Harry watches clearly the way your head twists around and slowly, but subtly nods towards the array of trees that comb over the grounds of the school. Your eyebrows raise in question before listening to your friends.

Was this your plan all along? With your friends too distracted with each other to realize your actions to lure him out there. Was this what you were plotting this whole time? Low waisted shorts and dreamy eyes simply directing him where to meet once practice is over.

You’re too good at this, too conceited and happy to get whatever you want. Even if you were just delighted to have Lucas' attention you still want more.

Harry trails his view off you when picking up the remaining equipment before joining the team for the cool down of the practice.

He puts all the pinneys and pylons together, palms securing everything in their respective bags until he’s tugging off towards the equipment room. His body carried him down the flight of stairs while looking out towards the window just parallel to the steps.

Harry watches your body stalking into the woods and he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the end of his lips as he goes down the rest of the stones.

Leaves and sticks crunch below your Converse, fingers feeling over the light green blades that feels like velvet against the pad of your skin. The tug at the end of your lip is hard not to resist with your veins pulsing at what could possibly happen if you see Mr. Styles again.

This game of cat and mouse was your specialty, being able to have your way with teachers and peers so attractive and delectable. You could always tell with their breath catching and shaky voice that it was right to purpose the match.

Your perfect grades and kind attitude shines over your deeper thoughts, your favorite desires, the ones that have you tugging your way into the forest of the school right now.

Your head twists up to catch shadows of the trees as your steps still venture out east of the school, far from the usual make out spots on the property.

Will he even come? The way he turned away from you on the field was giving he wasn’t even interested, and all because of Luca and his dumb note; the one you got called out on.

You like having your secrets unknown to each other, all your lies being covered with pearly white teeth and bending spine. You were subtle with handing your own note off to your favorite teacher, if it all went well then you were certain he would show up to meet. But your boy toy around school had other plans when deciding to get you tangled in your tactics.

Stuttering and looking up at Mr. Styles caught in the aftermath of flirty eyes and bouncing breasts. You hate that he had ruin your chances, you’re not quite sure when you’ll be near your teacher again without it being so obvious from friends and peers. It was such a risky game that you loved to play despite having yourself caught up last semester.

It’s a good thing you’re so good at batting your lashes and talking so sweetly you managed to get away, but now it was a tab left in your mother’s mind and it certainly wounded your step-father. Your right hand goes to your mouth and begins to chew on your nail from the anxiety festering from the memories. You need to be sharper and have all your little white lies arranged better, you can’t manage to slip up again.

Steps finally come to a halt, body twisting around to rest along the wide tree with unruly bushes growing around it. Perfect. Your back slouches against the stumb as your hand tears away from your mouth.

You could barely see the field or the school's architecture from your place. You can only hope Mr. Styles would find you if he was still interested.

He has to be… he still stares at you longingly especially on your lips. Bet he’s remembering your moment together, the one that you can’t stop thinking about. How he made your throat swell and voice all raspy… how you had to pretend in front of the principal you didn’t just swallow your teacher's load.

You want more of him. He’s all you think about when Luca would he kissing down your neck or when your step-father is in your ear whispering how much he misses you, Mr. Styles was the only one on your mind when everything would be happening.

When the thick Bradford accent on the other end of the phone describes everything he would do, all you can think of is your teacher and what he would do in his place. Where his hands would spread amongst your body, or where his lips would find themselves on your skin.

The cracking of branches brings you out of your thoughts, your fingers running over the ends of your shorts as you see brown hair come into sight.

So he did show up, trialing after you like you thought he would. The ends of your lips curl up as you relax deeper into the wood. Mr. Styles continues his steps into the space, his eyes darting around until you whistle sweetly to catch his attention.

“Fancy seeing you around,” You perk up, feet crossing over each other as you watch him make his way over.

His body covered in a black tracksuit certainly making him appealing with his bulky frame. Humming softly your tongue peeks out to swipe along your bottom lip. The thoughts of him manhandling you from your teasing ways makes your clit begin to swell.

“Bunny…” He greets with hands wrapping around your waist. Tall frame pushing you deeper into the stumb as he looks over your face.

“Daddy…” You utter, peering up at him through doe eyes, the same ones that have him falling every time.

“I missed you,” Whispering up at him sweetly. Your hands leave your shorts to pull at the band of his track pants.

Those words have the teacher surveying your every feature with fingers curling tighter around your hips. Mr. Styles is so handsome with his grainy stubble and board chest. The way he’s pining you into the tree has you moaning quietly as you straighten your back.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” His words send a wave of annoyance through you. The eye roll you find yourself doing is completely unintentional as your head knocks into the wood.

“That wasn’t my fault,” You huff, fingers snaking along his boxers while looking up at him.

“Oh, really?” Playful cheer in the teacher’s voice as his palms venture down your hips and feel over your cheeks. The motions so possessive from his huge hands that the moan that trails from you has him groaning as well.

“It wasn’t, because you know…” Mr. Styles' face draws closer with each word as he towers over you. “You’re all I can think about.”

The pads of your fingers gaze across his happy trail, mouth parting slightly as you lift yourself onto your toes closer to him, the taste that you’ve been craving just inches away.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

His teasing tone and rough hands have you begging just to close the space around him. It’s why your nails leave scratches against the older man’s skin, whining high in your throat so desperate for him.

“All the time,” Warmth of your movements draw deeper down his pelvis. “I think about you when I shower in the morning… touching myself thinking you're there with me.”

Deep growl rumbles through Mr. Styles, his teeth biting into his lip as he steps closer. His hips parallel with yours as you curl your hand around his cock, thick bead of pre-cum smearing along his crown as you keep your gaze strong.

“Having me up against the wall, water between us… daddy, I always imagine how good you would fuck me.” Torturing him with your lewd thoughts whenever alone and thinking about your favorite person.

“Just stretching me out all nice and wide… you’re so big… all nice and thick, I still remember how you fucked my throat.” The older man can’t stop himself from landing a furious smack against your ass. Tiny squeak leaving you as you fall to your heels.

“What else do you think about princess?” He ask, lips so dangerously close your breath is wavering.

Your hand grips tighter around Mr. Styles cock, his hips inching closer to you as he palms over your backside. Happy would be an understatement about how you feel at the moment. He’s finally here and under your spell again, just the way you like him.

“I think about you beneath me…” Tongue skimming across your flesh as you slide down him with ease, the fluid drawing from him makes the twist of your movements much easier as he leans in deeper.

“Kissing down my stomach, feeling up my thighs, licking where I want you the most,” Lashes flutter as his mouth inches closer and closer to you. “Don’t you think about my pussy daddy?”

Those very words have him capturing your lips with his. The muted taste of peppermint lingering along his tongue rubs against yours, spit being exchanged with haste as he can’t help his fingers from slinking between your thighs and feeling over the very place you want him.

He’s rubbing the spot there, rough ends of his digits massaging over your clothed area. It’s harsh and swift as they draw down your folds, an electric surge tingling down your spine feeling him around you all over again.

Mr. Styles is all rugged with his growing beard and bulky frame. He could easily manhandle you any kind of way but he treats you so delicately. You couldn’t imagine how he’ll spread you nice and wide, it’s all that’s been on your mind when you pass by him in the hall or stare up at him in class. Those very thoughts that have you breaking away from the kiss with a whimper.

“How I’ll feel around you…” Fingers contracting around his length as you bow your eyes at him slowly. “How I’ll stretch around you…” Lips curling in on each other savoring the taste of him on your buds. “How I taste… don’t you think about that a lot Mr. Styles… how my pussy would taste on your tongue?”

And he’s groaning in his throat, his teeth tugging on his bottom lip as his hands leave their position and drape to their previous one. His head cranes down to press wet kisses along the expanse of your neck, your hips being held strongly against the bark.

“Yes bunny… I do.” Your head turns against the wood from the adrenaline coursing through, his breath drapes warm and heavy amongst your skin that you moan at the feel.

In his new position you retrieve your hands and place them on either side of his face, your eyes watching closely as he breathes over your belly button with sight connecting to yours.

His hands drag up and down the expanse of your stomach before his fingers catch onto the band of your shorts, head wandering deeper down and staring up at you while doing so.

The lined cotton shorts that once grace your hips draw down swiftly with your panties, they pool around your feet with his hands drawing back up your naked thighs, feverish pecks roaming over your abdomen until pressing into your love handles.

“Oh daddy… won’t you make me feel good?” Fingers curling into his hair and ruffling with it. You always wanted to do that. Feel his hair rubbing against your stomach and kisses littering your inner thigh, it’s finally happening and you couldn’t be more excited.

Mr. Styles is looking up at you, sun highlighting the green in his eyes and his long lashes that blink up. And with the soft breeze whisking itself through the forest do you whimper at the feeling of it passing through your lower half.

“Yes, bunny.” Said so deep and husky that your fingers scratch along his scalp. His hand that dragged along your thigh urges your leg up, you don’t hesitate to prop it up your side with his help to keep it there.

Mr. Styles breath floats along your inner thighs, light smears of his wet lips pressing along the skin that you whine high in your throat. You don’t know how much time you have, but you doubt anyone is looking for either of you or going further past the school grounds to come look. You’re sure you’re safe but still, there’s always the possibility of someone seeing or finding you.

It’s why all movements are so rushed yet lucid, his tongue dragging sloppily along your thighs as he moves towards your pussy. A relieving sigh leaving when his tongue skims over your folds, eyes still locked on each other as his grip tightens over you.

“Daddy,” Soft call of his name trailing out as he leans in again to lick you, a pleasant hum vibrates over you that your eyes bat slowly at the feel.

The delicious drag of his tongue lying flat against your pussy as he draws his head up in lengthy strides makes your foot bend in your Converse. This is what you’ve always dreamt about; his tongue eating you out, and it’s even better that you tell he’s enjoying it with his fingers scratching into your skin all hungry.

“Like how I taste, daddy?”

A deep groan pulsates throughout you to answer which has your head knocking back into the tree. Sweet moan falling from your lips as your knee against the stumb bends a bit, pussy sinking deeper against Mr. Styles tongue as he draws up your folds.

One hand leaves his curls and goes towards the one holding your thigh up, his head rocking up and down in rush strides that you begin following his movements. Wet muscle flexing against every swivel and drag, his forest orbs loving the way your lips fall apart and moan from his touch. He lets you take charge and ride his tongue just the way you like if that's the attention you need… the attention you deserve.

His tongue drags up along your clit and in the moment you don’t hesitate to tug his head back and circle your waist along him. The width of his tongue swallowing your clit up so beautifully that it’s better than everything you imagined, and the fact he’s a grown man letting you ride his face, god he’s the best daddy ever.

Your head leans forward, teeth biting down on your lip as you gently move him against your circling hips.

“You’re so good to me daddy.”

Mr. Styles' eyes close slowly even more aroused from your words and the fact you taste like honey. His nails leave crescent moons into skin as he lets you drag yourself all over him. Just as hot as it is to be getting off using him, Harry was a slave to your tactics getting off to your sweet nectar and melodic voice dripping in sex.

Between the slurps of him eating your pussy to the moans expelling every time you swivel your hips harder against him, the scene is one of greed. Pure old fashioned greed of wanting nothing more than to ruin each other. It’s such a dangerous game but it’s so fun, luring him in and pulling at his heart strings all because it was entertaining to you.

“Like the way I ride you?” His tongue tenses against your movements, his head bobbing shallowly that leaves you to let out a breathless sigh.

And to think after calling you out hours ago when catching you with someone else Mr. Styles is here right now eating your pussy, and loving it.

He’s the daddy you need, the one that goes over and beyond to prove where your eyes should be focused on. He’s really the best, doing all this just to prove to you the place he wants in your life.

“Do you want me to ride your cock like this?” Lazy smirk tugging at the end of your lips with brow raising slightly, your motions losing momentum as you look down at him.

His mouth flexes against your folds, lips pressing open kisses back along your thighs. Wet juices dragging along your skin as your grip over him relaxes. Your thigh falls lucid by your leg, his touch drawing back up your skin as he finds his way up your body.

“Bunny,” Mr. Styles breathes against your clothed stomach. The sweet exchange that once coats his mouth disappears once dragging along the shirt. His lips trailing back up your neck and pressing onto your cheeks.

“I don’t know how much time we have left.”

You shake your head confidently, hands now drawing up his shoulders and stepping closer to him. You’re sure there’s nothing to worry about, almost positive you had enough time to have him the way you want.

“Please…” Lips pout slightly as you get him to peer into your eyes, your canine tooth catching on your lip before you’re smiling innocently at him. “I’m all nice and tight for you, don’t you want to feel daddy?”

Mr. Styles groans lowly, his face shifting amongst yours as he slots your lips against each other. The sweet taste of yourself flows along your tongue and you love every bit of it knowing that he adores it even more at the moment. The juices that you expel with the mix of your saliva, it’s a delicious brew that you're sure he wants forever from the way his fingers grip onto your hips.

He’s thought of this moment so many times yet can’t believe it’s happening, and the words you speak, he’s nearly coming from the sweet sound and the way you say his name.

Tongues dance along each other in a rushed frenzy not knowing how much longer it’ll be till this moment happens again. Your lips feel over the soft pricks of his stubble, hands drawing along his chest and moaning at the possessiveness over the kiss. His tongue flows against yours with such dominance you moan against him before pulling away with a bite at his lip.

“Just lay down for me, please?” You ask all sweet and doe eyed, nails dotting against the nylon of his jacket as you stare up at him.

And he’s unsure, with sight looking between you and the scenery around. A gentle sigh escapes as he nods his head lightly. “Okay.”

The grin that shines across your lips is bright and cheery, your eyes watching him closely as his knees begin to bend and you don’t hesitate to follow. Your hands fitting themselves on each side of his head, hips resting along his stomach with your face becoming parallel to each other.

“Been thinking about this since I met you.” Head leaning forward and dotting kisses against his chin, his hands by his side tug at the top of his track pants to pull them down.

“Looking at you in class… thinking about you fucking me on my desk.” Rush breath combing over his neck as you litter him with love. “Or yours.” Giggle trailing out so adorably that Mr. Styles moans at the sound. His hand draws away from the fabric of his joggers and lands a scolding slap amongst your ass.

“Dirty girl.” He mutters, fingers spreading you wide while rocking you over his erection.

“Only for you daddy.”

Leaning back on your knees, your hands slide towards your t-shirt and tug it over your head. Your breasts on display as you balance yourself amongst his waist, arm going behind your back and palming his cock.

“Want you inside me.” You say while blindly releasing him from his confines and twisting him slowly.

Mr. Styles rests on his elbows as he watches you raise up, the beautiful sight of his bunny bare and ready to take him, this is too good to be true.

His teeth poke out from his mouth and catch on his lips, stomach dipping with heavy breaths as he watches you lower yourself. Your puffy folds spread wide as his cock fills you up slowly, long whine tearing from your throat as he swallows you up inch by inch. The stretch of him has your body leaning forward with other hand curling around his jacket anxiously.

“Jesus.” Mr. Styles breathes with hand steadying your hips as he leans up, the tight feel of you around him makes his fingers curl deeper into your skin while you sink further onto his lap. “Bunny, fuck.” Your knees clench around his waist as you sigh pleasantly.

Plush walls nestle his throbbing cock gracing your sweet spot so heavenly that you’re shuddering against him. Your hips rubbing against his pelvis only increasing the fraction that has you crying out in satisfaction.

“Daddy, you fill me up so good.” Both hands gather up his arms and to the nape of his neck, your mouths lean forward breathing in each other's moans.

“You’re so tight bunny.” He follows your motions as your head knocks into his forehead.

You hum with your mouth going dry, eyes batting at him slowly as you find the strength to rise up on your knees and slowly grind yourself. Delicious spread of your pussy accepting every stride of him.

The combination of his spit and your juices leaves a squelching sob sound every time your hips meet. Walls flexing around every loving rhythmic stroke, whine high in the back of your throat as your fingers press deeply into his skin.

“So sweet, so dirty, just the way I like you.” Mr. Styles breathes over your lips. Your mouth catching his filthy words and swallowing them up loving the taste.

His grip over your hips guides your movements, eyes hanging low and watching every bounce of yourself riding him to the way your nose twitches. The thickness of him swells every crevice that succumbs to him filling you up. It’s leaving you numb with pleasure allowing him to draw you down in repetitive motions.

“I love the way you stretch around me, bunny” His lips curving the slope of your nose when you bow your head.

This moment was more than your dreams. The man that’s been fucking you in your every thought now helping you slide down his dick with such ease. Telling you just how he likes you, and how he loves the way you expand around him, he’s the best teacher. Your favorite one.

Lips collide in messy motions, slipping across each other with moans and groans trailing out. The hands of both of you sinking deeper and deeper as you both chase your highs.

The crinkles of leaves shift under your bodies, shadows of trees gracing across your bouncing breasts as Mr. Styles continues to guide your movements. Mouths catching along each other hurriedly with thighs twitching to curl deeper against him, the shock of stabs running down your neck causes your spine to bend at the feeling.

“Daddy… m’gonna…” Mouth parting away from him as your forehead drags along his cheek, breath coming out rushed as you feel your climax making itself known.

“Gonna come on daddy’s cock? You love my dick, don’t you?” His words deep in your ear making you lose all sense in your knees when going silk around him.

Your head twists deeper across his skin, eyes barely staying open as the squished grass amongst the floor bobs in your vision. Mr. Styles takes complete control over you as his hands keep your waist flexing around him.

Your pussy quivers and trembles from his words, adding fury to the spikes of arousal barreling down joyously. Your mouth hangs open, nails scratching into his skin as you continue feeling his cock tagging your cervix each time.

“Oh, fuck,” You moan completely distraught with stomach twitching. Your jerking hips take control of your weak motions as you find the strength to runt yourself into his lap.

Clit rubbing beautifully against the light bush along his pelvis chasing your high. You groan pleasantly at the head of his cock dragging across your sweet spot, your climax welcoming itself with your pussy contracting around him.

And instead of Mr. Styles guiding you back up his length he’s following your movements and thrusting into your hips. Piercing jabs adding to the sensation of pulsing shocks spreading through.

“Feel so good bunny,” He moans into your bobbing head, lips trailing down the hair matted to your shoulder. Sweet smell of your perfume gracing his nostrils that leaves him growling against your skin.

Fingers shake against his flexing shoulders, lips bitten and cracked letting air shallowly fill your lungs. Your pussy is bruised and sore from the girth of your teacher assaulting every inch that welcomes him.

“You’re so deep daddy,” Sweet voice running across his blushing skin. It’s damp with tiny strands connecting hair against his temples, his adam’s apple bobbing heavily with his fingers digging deeper into your skin; clear that your words affect him.

It’s your favorite thing to do with this game you play. How your words are so angelic yet dirty, leaving Mr. Styles, your boy toy and step-father vulnerable messes every time you're around. Cracked voices and growing erections always being your sight at just a simple bat of an eye. It’s so easy to have whoever you want be able to play.

It’s why you continue being alluring; dreamy moans carrying into his ears with hands sliding up into his hair, tousling every lock as you rotate your hips against his thrusts. The change in rhythm and pulsing beats of your pussy around Harry makes him hiss. Head dropping swiftly against your shoulder till you catch him quickly, nails tugging his head back as you peer into his eyes and ride his cock.

“Fuck me nice and wide,” Waist swiveling against his grip trying to strain your movements. Green eyes look up at your lips while his part in bliss accepting your heavenly pussy gracing him. “Stretch me so good daddy.”

Teasing breath fanning over his face as your breasts rub against the material of his jacket, your scent showers over him with your pussy wrapping around his cock deliciously, the sight clear of how he’s a slave to you and the way you make him feel.

“Don’t you want to fill me up?” Harry moans with eyes blinking slowly, his fingers beginning to loosen against your motions.

Your pussy coats his dick in creamy fluid adding to the pleasure of your walls dragging down him. Your fingers itch at his scalp, lips leaning towards his and nearly connecting as you smile.

“Don’t you want me to make you a daddy?”

Words having Mr. Styles whining high in his throat, hands twitching against your hips just as his seed spills into you. Fingers twitching and jaw tensing as he stares up in complete admiration. His waist stills against yours, eyes blinking slowly in a daze as you still grin at him, swiveling your hips and whispering sweet nothings.

“Such a thick load, sir.”

Hands relaxing around his curls while his fall from your waist, Harry’s sight completely enveloped by your words that he can’t help the lazy smile that tugs along his lips when you giggle at his expression.

“Mm… you’re really the best.” You hush, hips moving slowly as your chest begins to relax.

“It’s clear that’s up for debate.” Mr. Styles smirks, fingers feeling over the blades of grass below. But even if it’s a playful tease, his words taint your heart.

“It’s only you, I’m so serious sir,” You sigh, head shifting with bottom lip jutting out.

He gives you a pointed glare as if not believing you — not that he should, but it’s entertaining to make him jealous… teasing him just how you like. It’s why you find yourself rolling your eyes and raising up on your sore knees. The motion of you sitting off his lap and slipping him out turns his attention. His come drips out and flows down the expanse of his cock.

Humming delighted at the site, your hand trails out of his hair and between your legs. Fingers seeping into your pussy and catching the reminder of him onto your fingertips to carry into your mouth. Tongue welcoming the muted taste of your teacher and moaning playfully.

“Bunny.” He whines, eyes watching closely as you dip back between you both and collect the rest running down his cock and sucking them off your fingers again. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

The laugh that escapes you is adorable when you lean into his chest, hands moving to his shoulders and forcing him to fall back against the grass which he does gently. His own hands run down your spine as you shift around on his body.

“Wouldn’t that be amazing?” You sigh, fingers trailing up his neck and drawing along the definition of his jaw as he looks up at the sky.

The laugh that leaves the older man is light and cherished, one that has you smiling as you let his touch roam all over your skin.

His heart beats against your ear, lungs rising steadily with your bodies fitting together. The sun is still shining brightly with the breeze passing by every few moments. The quiet atmosphere of this area makes it feel private and safe.

“Sir?” Voice raised in question as your fingertip glides against the bridge of his nose just in time for him to hum in response.

“You never did tell me why you call me bunny?” Lips piercing together tightly as his touch begins to draw circles up your spine in swirls.

“Your eyes,” He whispers as he looks at the clouds passing across.

Your brows perk up at that. Your eyes? You knew they were quite alluring but not to that extent. Yet, that was the nickname that he gave you, the one feature that stood out the most to him. Not cherry, or baby like your other two flings.

“My eyes?” You reiterate. Head trailing off to the side as you pass your finger across his lips. The motion has him playfully biting on your nail till you’re retreating back to draw along his cheeks with a giggle.

“Yes… there so doe and soft, like a bunny. My bunny.” You hum acknowledging his words in admiration.

So that’s what he thought, that’s what stuck out the most. It was adorable and unique. So different compared to what you’re familiar with.

“When do you think we can do this again?” Your voice mutters against his chest. It makes Mr. Styles draw his hands away and lean up on his elbows.

His eyes go towards your shirt and grabs it, the material falls into your grip and you don’t hesitate to lean back and slip it over your head, sight still caught on the older man.

“I don’t know… it’s too risky,” His view looking over your naked thighs that hold his abdomen to the poor expression turning up over your face.

“Oh come on,” You huff, rolling your eyes and drawing away from his body. You twist off him with hands leaning towards your undergarments inches away.

“W —What are you getting all upset about? Even right now is pushing it,” His own actions cover himself back up as you scoff in response. “Don’t act like this.”

Another exaggerated sigh falls from your mouth before fixing your shorts around your hips, sight narrowing on the green streaks across your shirt before turning to look at the teacher now standing.

“I’ll act however I please,” You mumble, teeth clenching down on each other as Mr. Styles groans with annoyance, his hand stretching towards you but you’re quick enough to retreat back.

“So, even if it’s this spot for the exact same time?” You rephrase, heart knocking against your chest as you tangle your arms together.

“No Y/N, god… don’t you get it? Don’t you see my job on the line just to be here right now?”

“Fine.”

“Would you stop?”

“No.”

Your eyes watch every frustrated movement from the body parallel of you who bows his head in disbelief of the situation.

Of course he wants to see you again, of course he wants to wrap himself all around you but this puts too much stress over everything on his plate.

“Let’s just talk this over?”

“No, I’m good.”

Your teeth shining happily as you shift your head to the side and watch Mr. Styles inhale deeply. his body stepping closer still attempting to hold you.

“I’ll walk my way around to the front… you can go back from where you came from.” Simple nod of your head before your gracefully turning around beginning your departure. You’re trailing off so quickly he doesn’t even have the chance to catch you slipping through his fingers.

He just had you and now it’s already over.

Harry should’ve really expected this though. He should’ve anticipated your stubborn reaction to his words, he should’ve really thought over them because now you’re making his life a living hell.

You couldn’t wait a week, or even a couple days, you really couldn’t wait at all. Because the next afternoon you showed up to class five minutes late, walking through the door with a simple smirk on your lips and “sorry!” so sweet and delectable that he let you get away with it, of course he would, far as he knows he’s on punishment.

But, when you cut your eyes in a wicked glare did he realize who else was missing from the class, his own lacrosse player. Your heels echoed to your seat eerily to him amongst the shuffling of the other students, and when you sat in your chair with lips now a teasing grin did Luca soft knock sound on the door before he stepped in.

His collar was obnoxiously up high, clear what was litter amongst his skin. The sight had Harry clenching his jaw unbearably tight, his eyes going to you who conceitedly winked at him. It didn’t help that the other students began to snicker, adding to the fury of Harry turning his fingers in on themselves while continuing the class.

That was only the beginning though; now when passing in the halls you completely ignored him, acting as if he wasn’t there. When seeing you in the pillars of the school with Luca by your side, you made sure to wink at him, or sometimes Harry will see him drop you off to class, catching sight on his hands grabbing the skin he doesn’t deserve.

You continue showing up late; sometimes your boyfriend trailing behind, sometimes not. You stop raising your hand and involving yourself in class discussions and begin to pay attention to the birds outside or doodling in your book. Notes start being exchanged even more between you and the blonde classmate, one time you even left one on your desk that Harry took up.

Can I eat you out tonight?

Luca

His messy writing covered the paper that Harry closed his fist around. His feet stalked over to the garbage and threw it into the trash.

You’re fucking with him so badly, so terribly, why are treating him like this?

He doesn’t feel any better that he tried to be reasonable, trying to get you to understand that your endeavors couldn’t be consistent, it would be too much for the both of you.

But, it’s tempting… so tempting to want to pull you in after class and tell you that he’s done with your antics and to take him back. Go back to being his sweet bunny with doe eyes and bitten lips, go back to writing his nickname across the page of your test and showing him your sweet plump cheeks.

It’s already bad enough he’s coming into his hand every night just thinking about your pussy around him again. Your sweet voice telling him your dirty thoughts, the ones that have been on your mind since meeting. He wants more of you, he needs more honestly, and the way you’re acting isn’t helping him at all.

He can deal with you being with Luca because Harry knows deep down he doesn’t satisfy you the way you like. He’s certain you don’t fancy him much and is just using him to toy with his feelings, but he’ll accept that.

It’s Friday night and it’s the annual parent teacher meeting. Students in their pressed and polished uniforms standing alongside their parents as they walk across campus displaying to them their life while here.

Harry hasn’t seen you yet and he’s thankful, he’s suppose to meet your mother and he’s trying to keep his nerves at bay. His fingers are tapping timidly inside his pocket as he smiles at Gabriel's mother who boasts about the upcoming lacrosse tournament.

His eyes watch the way her skin folds over in wrinkles when she smiles happily, while her son looks annoyed and Harry can’t help the breathless laugh that leaves him when noticing.

“The boys have been putting in great work this year, I’m sure we’ll be getting the trophy.” Harry beams while Gabriel rolls his eyes at his teacher.

“It’s all he talks about when I call him… but, let’s me not keep you, we still have to see Mrs. Randall.” Fading auburn hair shifting with each nod of her head as she leaves the community hall looking for the science teacher.

It’s when the loving mother exits the door does he see his bunny slip in. Manicure and dazzling accessories shining over your shoulder as your mother walks into the room, and it isn’t the sight of her that has Harry shocked, no, it’s the man that steps through right after with tattoos littered in the revealing parts of his suit. All over his hands and up his neck, if Harry were to assume, he would be around his age, with thick beard growing in and slight tiredness swelling around his eyes.

He can tell from his appearance you don’t look quite similar, you resemble your mother more than anything but he doesn’t stare too long. Not with the way you begin to walk towards him with both parents on either side.

The chatter in the room is filled with other guardians and teachers making small talk either about the curriculum or the school's pretentious history, and somehow in all that noise it doesn’t seem to drown out the footsteps of bodies making their way over to him.

“Mr. Styles?” Thin lips of your mother sing in a cheerful tune as she sways from side to side.

He remembers you telling him about your mother. How she sent you to school once given the chance, yet she’s all bubbly and happy as if you have a place in her life, as if all the words you spoke were nothing but pure lies.

“Yes ma’am, that’s me!” Harry smiles softly, hand reaching out and she takes it genuinely. Soft touch enveloping him in a strong shake as he bows his head.

“You must be Y/N mother,” He continues, their hands parting as he looks down at you. For once your sight is looking up at him, your attention actually focus on him, and it makes Harry swallow heavily.

“She has told me so much about you, all good things! Saying how you’ve made her enjoy history even, she was never quite fond of it in her past schoolings but, you’ve made it her favorite!”

His brows raise up at that, mouth parting slightly in shock before grinning happily looking between you and your mother. So, you’ve been telling her about him? And saying his teachings are your favorite subject. You’re confusing him with your hot and cold games, but it’s even worse that he enjoys being in the middle of it.

“I never knew she said that? I’m so happy to hear,” Harry smiles before his hand is turning towards the man to the left of you. “And you must be Mr—”

“—Malik.”

His words cut off the teacher to correct him but doesn’t stop them from their hands meeting, strong grip over each other as his brown eyes look over him longingly, examining every inch of him.

“My apologies…” Harry sighs before turning to your mother to divert his gaze from your step-father. “But yes, she’s doing amazing in class. I'm glad it’s become her favorite.”

And he sees the way your face begins to heat up, how your eyes watched every motion of him shaking your father’s hand as if stunned this moment is happening. Harry wants to laugh, he wants to chuckle in your face because of course he’s caught you again, lying about having a father figure, this is cold bunny.

“Oh! Mom, they have that sparkling juice I was talking about, the one you should use for the dinner?” Your voice enters the conversation nervously as you look towards her. Hand going to her elbow as you direct her to the assortment of drinks and snacks on the table under the bulletin board.

“Just one second!” Your mother smiles at Harry before letting you lead her away.

Before Harry can even admire the sight of you all flustered and caught up from your parents meeting the teacher you’ve been tormenting for months, the laugh next to him has his direction turning towards the heavily tattoo man.

“Isn’t she funny?” Mr. Malik asks, lips tugged to the side as he shuffles on his feet. Harry can’t help but take one of his hands out of its confines and cough into it.

“Yes, she has quite the humor,” He agrees, fingers running over his hips smoothly as he shifts his posture.

Your step-father is looking up at him with such a questioning glare that Harry can feel his ears begin to beat with warmth, his eyes dying to break the fight over whatever is crossing his mind.

You always have tricks up your sleeves, always have another way to shine your dazzling teeth to get away with something else, and it’s another one of those moments. Body turned away from your daddy and father ignoring the fact they’re in the same room.

Aren’t you a nervous little thing when all caught up? It’s quite adorable.

“Are you playing?”

The question draws Harry’s eyebrows together, lips parting and sight concentrated heavier on the man next to him.

“I’m sorry?”

“With cherry? Are you playing with her?”

Cherry? His bunny is cherry to him. Oh? So this is why you’re so nervous and looking more distraught than when he caught you with that note.

You’re not nervous at the fact Harry knows you lied about your parents, but the fact you already had a father figure in your life, one that plays with you already and does everything that he wants when given the chance. That’s why you ran away.

“Oh? I —I didn’t… I haven’t…” Harry’s voice trails off as his sight goes towards you pouring another glass of the grape juice for your mother to try.

“So, it’s true then?” His eyes trail back to the older man who holds a smug grin, and when his hand pats down on his shoulder roughly, it makes Harry let out an uncomfortable laugh.

“I must say… she does get what she wants.” Mr. Malik sight combs over the teacher before releasing his hold.

It has Harry relaxing and throat clear as his nose crinkles up. His bunny with someone else? He could get over Luca, he really could care less… but the man in front of him —the one you lied about so innocently— is standing before him not even surprised by the teachers place in your life, you’ve broken his heart bunny.

“Is she always like this?” Harry finds himself asking without thought, his brows relaxing as he tries to collect all the memories of everything you said from the first encounter.

“If you’re who she likes, yeah I guess… I’m not sure how it works in her head, she got me a few years ago…” Mr. Malik admits before breaking their gaze and looking over at you, and Harry can’t stop himself from doing it also. “You know, it really did catch me off guard when I found out about what she did first semester.”

Harry’s fingers curl in on themselves from hearing the truth. So it was all true, you did try to seduce a teacher, that’s why you’re at this school. That’s why you play this game with him, because you like this attention… you like having your way with the people you desire, you’re so dirty bunny.

“I didn’t know that,” He says, with hands crossing over his chest as he now leans against the brick wall. The relevance of the news has Mr. Malik turning, his eyebrows furrowed with a cheesy grin.

“Really?” He says with a shake of his head, body relaxing next to the teacher.

“I also didn’t know about you… I mean, being her father and all.”

“Step.” He emphasizes giving a pointed look, and Harry nods his head in acknowledgement.

“Yes, step-father.” He confirms before whistling weakly.

Your lies are finally spread out for the both of them to see. It really took today for him to see past everything and get the real information about you that he really wanted, the one he’s been seeking from the beginning.

His mind is a whirlwind of emotions and memories of what you both shared in such little time. “It’s only you, I’m serious sir.” Those were your words, said with such purity he believed you. But now it’s so clear how you like to be shared, how you like to be passed around for everyone.

Harry thought all this time that what you really needed was mentorship, soon that turned into some well deserved attention, but now, he thinks he sees your true intentions, the real reason why your eyes glimmer with happiness every time.

“I purpose we make some changes to her game,” Mr. Malik remarks, his white teeth showing as his lips stretch, and Harry can’t help but nod in agreement.

“I think we should make some new rules.”

#smuttyaf #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles #harry styles one shots #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #hs #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fandom #teacher!harry

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rosiehrs · 9 days

Text

roster | mikha lim.

part one of three.

summary ; excitement was something she was missing and you provided it for her. she thinks you're clueless, but she doesn't know that every move she's made has already been played by you.

pairing ; mikha lim x fem!reader

content ; mikha goes to admu, reader goes to up, mikha volleyball player, BABAERO CONYO MIKHA!!!, hookup culture, half smau...., suggestive, read to see ^-^ !!! taglish w eng translations!

genre ; fluff, angst

wc ; 3.8k

playlist here !!

a/n ; thank u @heybeautifulstranger for helping me translate hehe labyu

mikha loved volleyball. without it, she was nothing. at least, that's what she believes.

she put all her time and effort into the sport, disregarding everything else to improve herself. she was already the star player; every young person in the country was familiar with the name ‘mikha lim’. although the girl was incredible at her sport – that wasn’t the reason why she was so well known.

mikha was attractive. she knew that and apparently everyone in the country did, too. people came to her games to watch her play, but not watch her play. mikha wished people focused more on her performance as an athlete, but she wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t like the attention. support was still support.

“huy, friday night na at nagpapractice ka pa? late na, mikhs. umuwi ka na. (it’s friday night and you’re still practicing? it’s late, mikhs. you should go home.)” her coach advised, putting equipment away. mikha laughed, gripping the ball she held. “not yet, coach. may energy pa ako. (i still have energy.)”

“baka namimiss ka na ng jowa mo. (your girlfriend might miss you already.)” she teased, earning another laugh from the star player. “i don’t have time for a relationship po.”

“oo nga, baka magalit ang mga fangirls and boys mo. (that's right, your fangirls and fanboys might get mad)” she joked, mikha rolling her eyes playfully. she threw the ball over to her coach, deciding to pack up for the night. “i can’t have a jowa when i’m supposed to be the nation’s girlfriend!” she grabbed her bag and water bottle, turning to her coach who was clearly amused by her answer. “i’ll go home na po, night, coach! see you next week.”

“bye, mikhs.”

she gets into her car, checking her phone for the first time in hours. dozens of notifications flooded her phone as soon as she changed her focus from do not disturb. ranging from message requests sent by ambitious and confident (delusional) fans to thirsty comments on her posts to getting tagged on edits, and so much more.

she ignored all of them and immediately checked her messages.

when she said she had no time for relationships, she meant it. but that didn’t mean no time for some fun. she drove home to freshen up and get ready to meet up with her friends.

the loud and busy atmosphere always amuses mikha. while some people enjoy quiet and intimate places, mikha enjoyed the club.

“lim! over here!” kyle, one of her friends, calls out. she made her way past the sea of dancing drunks and sat with her group. “get me a drink, kyle.” she said, making the group laugh. “wow, hello to you, too.” he sassed before getting up to get mikha’s go-to. “sinong target mo today, mikhs? (who's your target of the day, mikhs?)” evan asked with a smirk on his face. “kakarating ko lang, van. (i just got here, van.) let me drink first, then that question will be easy to answer.”

kyle shortly came back to the table with mikha’s drink, sliding it over to her excitedly. “thanks, kyle.” she dragged, taking a sip from the glass. “okay, you drank na. who’re you going after?” evan pushed, causing the group to laugh. “what if you just sit and relax, mikhs? it won’t hurt to go a night without sleeping with a random girl.” aiah suggested, foolishly, mikha thought. she scoffed, shaking her head. “ate aiah, where’s the fun in that? besides, i’m not in the mood to sleep with someone tonight.”

“then?”

“baka make out lang... (probably just make out...)”

and that’s exactly what she did.

as soon as she got a little tipsy, she moved to the dance floor and picked a girl up without even trying. she pushed the girl against the wall, her lips on hers and hands on her waist. mikha had no idea what her name was or where she came from. they made small talk before, but mikha didn’t bother listening. she knew where this was gonna lead and she didn’t want to waste time remembering details about someone she was never going to see again.

she pulled away from the girl, who’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “this was fun, thanks…?”

“jen! my name is jen! but it’s okay if you don’t remember! you wanna get out of here? we can get out of here!” she asked, eager to spend more time with mikha. she slowly let go of jen’s waist, squinting her eyes before shaking her head. “nah, i’m good. you have a good night, though.” and with that, she left the girl alone in the bathroom stunned and embarrassed.

she made her way back to her group’s table, all eyeing her with amusement in their eyes. “what?” she asked, grabbing a fry from the basket they were all sharing. “who was it?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” she shrugs, grabbing another fry to try and end the conversation.

“maybe you should check your hair and makeup before you leave the bathroom, lim.” kyle teased, catching mikha off guard. “shit, is it bad?”

gwen laughed before passing her a wet wipe. “nakakatawa ka, mikhs. (you’re funny, mikhs)”

“i don’t even remember her name. it was like jane something..?”

“jen?! jen santos?! you made out with jen santos?!” evan yelped, letting out the biggest laugh. “what’s wrong..? she was pretty.”

“yeah, she’s pretty. but she’s like.. obsessed with you. i heard she’s been trying to catch you at one of these things so she’s gone to every club in the area.”

“are you being for real..? what if we’re talking about different jens?” mikha suggested. but evan was quick to whip his phone out and show her jen’s account. “is this her?”

“oh..”

evan let out another laugh, causing kyle to laugh with him. “she’s just gonna keep coming here now! we need to find another place!” they joked, earning an eye roll from her. “she’s probably not that bad, you’re just–”

“mikha!” a voice calls out, catching everyone’s attention. it was jen. she walked over to their table a little too excitedly, standing over mikha and placing her hand on her shoulder. “i think you should rethink your decision, malapit lang ang place ko! (my place is near!) we could dip right now.” she offered, trying to be seductive. “ah.. i’m good, jane.” mikha replied, removing her hand off of her shoulder. “it’s jen, pero okay lang! (but it’s okay!) you wanna sit with me? nakaupo lang ako doon. (i’m just sitting there)”

“i’m good.. i’m here with my friends. you have a good night, though.” she smiled politely, trying her best to send her away. “oh, okay! i’ll catch you mamaya (later)! i’ll get your number or something.”

mikha simply nodded as the girl walked away, extremely giddy from the interaction. “shit.. no wonder why it was so much easier.” they all laughed at her, echoes of various comments following. “this is why you should’ve listened to me and stayed still.” aiah joked, but meant it.

“next time, i won’t even look at a girl.” her friends snickered knowing that would never be possible.

you were a casual sports enjoyer, being in a sports enthusiastic school – you couldn’t escape it. everyone would go to all the games, basketball, volleyball. it was one of the few things that brought everyone together, but it never came above your academics.

it wasn’t like all you did was study, you liked to think you had a healthy school life balance, going out with your friends whenever they wanted to hang out, seeing some people here and there. you were able to maintain a good social life with good grades and that was more than some people could wish for.

and your unexpected ‘attention’ really did help you get through a lot. it all started when you helped your best friend, jay, out with his band, x:o’s set at a local event. they were starting to become popular, their songs being played across the country. they were heavily praised for their good music and well.. good looks.

x:o consisted of five members, jay, jake, stephen, ricky and evan. they were indeed a group of attractive young men and managed to put out really good music. after the gig, the group’s account dedicated a post thanking those who helped out and you managed to catch the eyes of a lot of fans.

after the post, your social media accounts started to gain traction, earning a few thousand followers in the time span of a week. you appreciated the attention, but with your focus on school, you were never really active on social media, only posting a few pictures and a few tweets here and there. the attention only grew from there as more and more people started to approach you, later sharing on social media how kind and down to earth you were or how pictures didn’t do you justice. jay teased you for it all the time, joking about how he should be your manager since he’s the reason why all of this started.

your entire friend group has never missed a gig of theirs, but people only ever pointed you out. you and jay started to gain attention as a pair, people getting suspicious by how close you were, eventually leading to them thinking that you were dating. both of you never made an effort to shut the rumours down as you simply didn’t care. (and it helped jay a little with the people who would flirt with him)

your group would laugh at the posts knowing that you looooved women. you were jealous of jay because of the girls that would approach him; some very attractive girls. ‘i should’ve joined a band’ you would joke whenever a girl would speak to him.

x:o landed a gig at the vault, a very popular club in the area. every weekend this place was crowded, which is why this gig is a big deal. jay was setting up with his band while the rest of you (except angelo) had started drinking. “thanks sa food, ate jho! (thanks for the food, jho!)” sheena shrieked, stuffing her face with the food jhoanna bought for her. “wala yun… dapat magpasalamat ka kay y/n kasi treat niya ‘to. (it’s nothing, you should actually be thanking y/n since this is her treat.)” she glared, causing you to laugh. “okay lang yun, jho! libre kita next time, bribe lang kasi ‘to. (that’s okay, jho! i’ll take care of it next time, this was only just a bribe.)”

“ang daming tao rito, mga walay batasan. (there are so many people here, people with no manners.)” colet commented, kissing her teeth and subtly glaring at everyone she saw. “yun oh, yung naka green, suntukin ko siya, beh– (that one, the one wearing green, i’m gonna punch her–)”

“nakarating pa lang natin, may suntukin ka agad? (we just arrived and you’ve already found someone to punch?)”

whilst your group started bickering about colet’s impulsive (and violent) thoughts, the nation’s girlfriend had arrived with her group of friends. “guys, we were just here last week.” mikha complained, getting dragged by kyle. “since when have you ever been against clubbing?” kyle asked, “besides, we’re here for evan. supportive friends tayo diba? (we’re supportive friends, right?) our little rockstar, performing at our favourite club. full circle moment na ‘to, guys. umiiyak na ako. (this is a full circle moment, guys. i'm crying now.) ” the girls rolled their eyes at his drama, hitting him with teasing comments about how lame he was.

your two groups were together more often than anyone realised. despite having friends in the same band; your friend groups never came in contact with each other. jay was familiar with evan’s friends and evan was familiar with jay’s friends, but their friends knowing each other wasn’t the case.

mikha slid over to the bar, smiling at the bartender as a non-verbal order. she was here all the time and was very familiar with all the staff. while waiting, she looked around to observe the crowd and her eyes landed on an unfamiliar face. she stared at you for a few seconds, growing more and more curious as she watched you from a distance. feeling someone’s gaze, you turned to the side and locked eyes with the particular redhead. the both of you held eye contact until a glass was placed in front of her. she turned away from you to thank him and immediately turned her head back to your direction, but to her disappointment; you were gone.

she brought her drink over to their booth, everyone curious about her expressions. “nangyare? (what happened?) you good?” gwen asked, concerned. “yeah, i just think i found my girl for the night.”

“ayan ka na naman. (here you go again.)” aiah sneered, shaking her head. “sino ba? (who is it?)”

“i don’t know yet eh, but i’ll find out.”

you got back to your group with snacks in hand, sitting down next to sheena. “nakita ko yung atenean na volleyball player (i saw that atenean volleyball player). the redhead.”

“ah, mikha lim? nandito siya? (she’s here?)” jhoanna asked. “is that her name?”

“yeah, kaibigan ata siya ni evan. bakit? (i think she’s friends with evan. why?)” gelo replied, throwing a peanut into his mouth.

you shrugged and took a sip of your drink, “wala lang (nothing), she’s pretty.”

“her fans call her the nation’s girlfriend,” gelo added, making sheena giggle. “seryoso! (i’m serious!) babaero yan. (she’s a player)”

“ang corny, (how corny)” she added. you rolled your eyes at her, although you did agree. but you did see why they called her that. you only needed one glance to see that she was attractive.

as time went by, more drinks were bought. kyle was already failing to stand up straight and the band had yet to start. both groups made their way to the front of the stage, cheering as the much anticipated band started preparing for their entrance. “the vault, let’s make some noise!” cheers erupted as the five members walked onto the stage, all their faces laced with excitement and determination. “are we ready to have some fun tonight?” jake beckoned with his bass guitar in his hand. the cheers grew louder, all of you grinning at jay as you saw the excitement on his face, “this is ‘looking for somebody (to love)’, hope you enjoy!”

the familiar guitar melody started playing, jay and stephen immediately getting into it. everyone in the crowd started dancing along as jay started singing the first verse. mikha coolly bopped her head to the music, trying her best to avoid contact with random strangers. you were on the other side of the stage as she caught your eye, her red hair made it easy for her to stick out in a crowd. you admired how elegant her small movements managed to be, smiling briefly as you watched her dance with her friends. coincidentally, she looked up and locked eyes with you once again. a small smirk crawled across her face, pleased with the fact that she had your attention in this crowd. you sent a small smile her way before turning away to dance with jhoanna. she couldn't tear her eyes off of you. she needed to have you.

a few songs after, the crowd seemed to quiet down. “should we slow it down a little? gusto niyo ba? (would you guys like that?)” jay asked, playing with his earpiece.

“this is fallingforyou.”

What time you coming out?

We started losing light

mikha turned to find you, seeing you leaning on colet. you felt her gaze on you, tilting your head as your eyes met once again. she was amused, but she didn’t know why. there was something about you that was so alluring. she moved to face the band before turning back to look at you, but you were gone. again.

“uh, guys, i’ll be back.” she said, eyes searching through the crowd to find you. “yeah, yeah. have fun, mikhs.” they replied, knowing what she was leaving to do.

she pushed past dozens of people on the dance floor, relentlessly trying to find you. after getting past what felt like hundreds of people, she finally found you standing against a wall near the side exit with your arms crossed.

“eager, are we?” you asked as she walked towards you. “no.. not really. i mean, you must be though, right? leaving the crowd to wait for me here?” she grinned, standing over you. “who says i’m waiting for you?”

“your eyes are telling me everything i need to know.” she mumbled, hand travelling to your waist. “everything? really?”

And on this night and in this light

“am i wrong? do you have something else to say to me?”

you hummed, pretending to think, letting her pull you closer towards her. “bilisan mo na. (hurry up.) i’ve been thinking about you for almost an hour now. my patience is running out.” she complained, ducking her head into your hair, taking in the scent of your shampoo. your breath hitched as her face moved closer to yours, “can i?”

you replied by grabbing her neck and placing your lips eagerly onto hers. mikha let out a breath of content, pleased with the contact you two were finally making. she gripped onto your waist, soothing you with caresses every now and then.

I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you

your lips moved against each other with vigour, pouring out all of the lust and need you managed to have for each other in a short period of time. for the first time in forever, mikha was excited. she loved the feeling of your lips against hers, the faint scent of your shampoo, how you felt in her hands. she didn’t want to stop kissing you.

you pulled away briefly, placing your head on her shoulder, trying to catch your breath. “you.. i...” she began, unable to form words. you laughed and patted her cheek, not bothering to speak as you knew you’d go through the same struggle. “you wanna get out of here?” she managed, looking down at you with lidded eyes. “i’d love to, but i’m here with my friends.” you answered, the taller girl clearly not pleased with your answer. “please,” she whined, wrapping her arms around your waist to bring you into a hug. “i don’t even know your name, i can’t leave with you.” you laughed, hugging her back regardless. “my name’s mikha, can we go now?”

you laughed once again against her shoulder, shaking your head. “well, mikha. i still can’t leave with you.”

“thank you all so much! we’re x:o, we hope to perform for you guys again soon! mag ingat kayong lahat! (take care everyone)” you heard from the speakers, causing you to fix your posture. you slowly let go of mikha, getting an annoyed groan out of her. “i have to go, it was nice meeting you, though! mag ingat ka, ha? (take care of yourself, okay?)”

“wait, what?”

“i’ll see you, mikha.” you smiled, locking lips with her once more before you ran into the crowd to find your friends.

“wait! i don’t even know your name!”

mikha groaned, throwing her head into her hands. who cares if you were with your friends? she could take care of you (in more ways than one). she stayed there for a few minutes, trying to fight off the warm feeling you left her with. she made her way back to her friends shortly after, evan finally joining them. “mikhs! i was wondering if you were gonna come back. you okay?” aiah asked as she sat down next to her. mikha defeatedly dropped her head onto aiah’s shoulder and sighed, “yeah..” was all she let out.

she felt frustrated, you brought her so much excitement and even if she wanted to do it again (which she did); she wouldn’t be able to. this was the first time she wished she made some sort of small talk before, because other than the taste of your lips and the scent of your shampoo – she knew nothing about you.

you rushed back to your friends, blindly trying to fix your appearance before reaching them. you saw colet waiting besides the door that led backstage. “well, well, well.” colet began, “nakakatawa ka talaga, beh. (you’re really funny.)” she laughed before dragging you inside. “look who i found. bumalik siya, guys. (she came back, guys.)” you rolled your eyes at her before hugging jay, “good job, jayboy! you did great tonight.”

“eh, pano mo malalaman? nawala ka bigla. (how would you know? you just disappeared.)” sheena joked, sticking her tongue out at you. “i heard the entire set! ano ka ba? (what are you saying) i was just doing something.” "right.. right.. you should fix your makeup, y/n. that something didn't really hold back."

“what?!” you asked, grabbing the mirror jhoanna was holding out for you and immediately turned around in embarrassment. you quickly tried rubbing the lipstick marks off your face as your friends laughed at you.

“whatever, guys. basta (anyway), good job, jay.”

he laughed but was thankful for the support. "it's okay, y/n. it's a club! i encourage this behaviour, in fact - i endorse it." you rolled your eyes at him as he slung his arm around your shoulders. "let's go na? back to mine? we can get food and drinks on the way." he suggested, wanting a more intimate celebration. "paano ang mga bandmates mo? celebration niyo? (how about your bandmates? your celebration?)" angelo asked. "we had our little moment na after the show. bukas yung celebration namin. okay lang. ready na ba tayo? (we'll have our celebration tomorrow. it's okay. are we ready?)" you all agreed and hurriedly made your way out of the venue.

mikha spent the rest of the night trying to find you, not knowing you left from the back exit.

“god, mikhs. who the hell did you hook up with? you’ve been so out of it since you came back.” kyle commented, evidently noticing her friend’s odd behaviour. “i wish i knew, i literally don’t know what her name is. i feel like an idiot, i begged her, for fuck’s sake. i don’t beg.” she complained, taking another sip of her drinking, causing aiah to take it away. “okay, that’s enough for tonight. lasing ka na, uminom ka na ng tubig. (you’re already drunk, you should drink water now.)” mikha groaned at her but listened anyway.

“can you describe her?”

“ganda. pretty. cute. ganda. hot. pretty. gwapa. i don’t know,” she slurred, slamming her head down on the table dramatically. “whatever, i don’t even care.” she continued.

mikha got over you the next day, but slowly, a week went by and you still occasionally managed to cross her mind. she still wondered about who you were and unfortunately still wanted to see you again, but there were plenty of fish in the sea and you know, it wasn’t that serious.

– hope u enjoy..... @yumtooki :3

#mikha lim x reader #mikha x reader #bini x reader #bini mikha #bini imagines

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aceyalonso · 2 months

Text

xi - She's my girl

chapter summary : sienna's parents invite you and oscar's family to have dinner and spend the night at their house, what happens when marietta does something that ruins her friendship with you?

alternative summary : fluff, angst, smut, the holy trinity in one

warnings : y/n is a history nerd, angst, swearing, fighting, drinking (mentioned and implied), slight miscommunication, marietta is a BITCH, smut, dom!oscar hair pulling, fingering, pussy slapping, mirror sex, edging, overstimulation, spanking, bondage (belt), squirting, face sitting, breeding kink lowkey, creampie, oral (both receiving), gagging, praise kink, degradation kink, unprotected sex (use a condom guys!)

word count : 23.3k

a/n : only 1 more chapter till this series ends :( | I AM SHOCKED WITH THE SMUT LIKE NO WAY I WROTE THIS BRO WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS SO FREAKY IM SCARING MYSELF

song : can't help falling in love - elvis presley

Wednesday, 9:10 AM

The next morning, both Y/n and Oscar's family gather at the breakfast table in the house. The room is filled with the scent of eggs, bacon, and coffee, and the atmosphere is a mix of cheerfulness and familiarity.

Y/n sits at the table, a plate of food in front of her, her hair slightly messy from sleep. Across her, sits Oscar, his plate also loaded with food as he engages in the conversation around him.

The family members are chatting amongst themselves, discussing plans for the day ahead. Y/n is chiming in occasionally, her eyes darting to Oscar every now and then, a private smile playing on her lips as she secretly remembers the events of the previous night.

Oscar, for his part, seems his usual charming self, engaging with the others in conversation while occasionally throwing a discreet peek in Y/n's direction.

As the family is chatting, Y/n's mom mentions that she ran into Sienna and Marietta's mom at the supermarket the day before. She explained that they had started talking and chatting, so she had gotten home a bit later than expected.

Y/n's mom then says, "Oh, and get this! While we were chatting, they invited us over for dinner. ALL of us. How nice of them, right?" Y/n's mom finishes, her voice filled with her usual cheerful energy as she relays the invitation.

Y/n looks up from her plate, a slice of bacon halfway to her mouth. She hesitates for a moment, a small frown creasing her forehead as she processes the information. Then she asks, her voice tinged with slight apprehension. "When is this dinner party happening?"

Her mother beams at Y/n's question, her cheerful disposition unperturbed. She takes a bite of toast before responding, "Oh, it's on Saturday. Your father will be back from the countryside on Friday, so it works out well." her voice filled with her usual enthusiasm

Y/n looks at her mom, a puzzled expression on her face. She sets the slice of bacon down on her plate and asks her mom a question. "Why is dad in the countryside anyway? Is there some sort of work he's doing there?"

Y/n's mom reaches for her coffee mug, taking a small sip before explaining. "Ah, the vineyard. Your Tia Lidia asked him to take care of the vineyard for a few days while she goes on a trip- I'm not quite sure if it's a business trip or not but either way, your father is there." Her voice is nonchalant, as if the the reason is obvious.

Y/n nods in understanding, her memory being jogged by her mother's words. She says, her voice a bit sheepish, "Right, the vineyard. I forgot about that. It's been a while since we've been there."

May, who had been listening in on the conversation, suddenly chimes in. She turns to Y/n and her mom, her voice a tad bit anxious. "What's the dress code? I only packed summer clothes..."

Y/n's mom chuckles at May's question, her laughter light and reassuring. She says, "Don't worry, casual is fine. We don't need to be too dressy. But if you don't have anything suitable, you and Y/n can always go shopping and find something nice to wear. How does that sound?" her voice warm and understanding

Y/n nods in agreement, appreciating her mother's suggestion. "That sounds good. A little shopping spree could be fun," she adds, her voice lighter now that the wardrobe issue is sorted out.

After breakfast, Y/n heads up to Oscar's room, the events of last night and the anticipation of seeing him again add a slight skip in her step.

Once she reaches his room, she goes inside and closes the door behind her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She waits patiently, excitement thrumming through her veins as she eagerly awaits his arrival.

Oscar soon walks into his room, expecting to find it empty, only to be jumpscare when he sees Y/n patiently waiting on his bed. He lets out a small involuntary gasp, surprised by her presence there. But the surprise quickly melts into a warm smile as he crosses the room to where she is sitting.

He approaches her, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment before he speaks. There's a mix of curiosity and affection in his voice as he questions her presence there.

"I wasn't expecting to find you here," he says, his voice affectionate and quiet. "What brings you to my room, all alone and patiently waiting for me, hm?"

Y/n looks up at him, a cheeky smile on her lips as she responds. "Just wanted to spend some alone time with you, is that a crime?" She pats the spot next to her, silently inviting him to join her on the bed. "Come here, sit with me."

Oscar chuckles, his eyes sparkling with affectionate mischief. He settles down beside her, his body pressed against hers as he responds to her cheeky comment.

"True, wanting to spend with me isn't a crime, but entering my room unannounced could be considered trespassing. I might have to call the police," he teases, a playful sparkle in his eyes.

Y/n grins as she pulls Oscar towards her, her movements quick and sure. They both fall back onto the bed, their bodies now lying side by side, separated only by a sheet of air. Y/n's heart is pounding, and her breath hitches as the closeness between them electrifies the room.

Y/n giggles as they lay there, the memories of her childhood room flooding back. She nuzzles closer to him, her voice light and playful as she points out, "By the way, you know what? This room used to be mine. So technically, I'm not really trespassing. I'm just revisiting my old territory."

Oscar laughs loudly at her statement, his eyes sparkling with mirth as he teases her, drawing from the iconic werewolf characters from the Twilight series.

"You sound like a werewolf from Twilight right now! Your old territory, huh? I can practically hear the howling and the transformation music in the background." He grins, enjoying the banter between them.

Y/n playfully smacks his arm, feigning mock offense at his comparison. Her voice is filled with exaggerated indignity as she responds. "Hey! Don't compare me to those sparkly vampires and werewolves! I'm a normal human, thank you very much. No transforming during the full moon for me."

They both laugh again, their shared humor creating a lighthearted atmosphere. Oscar then grins at her, his eyes sparkling with affection as he responds.

"Alright, alright, no more werewolf comments. My apologies. I guess you're just a normal human with a hint of possessive territory instincts, right?"

Y/n nods in playful agreement to Oscar's comment about her possessing territory instincts. She then moves a bit, adjusting her position to get more comfortable. She turns slightly, snuggling up against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her leg lazily thrown over his.

Y/n suddenly remembers the mention of the shopping spree. She lifts her head from Oscar's shoulder, looking up at him.

"Hey, you heard my mom talking about the shopping trip, right? Do you think we can find anything decent to wear for the dinner party there?"

Oscar nods thoughtfully, his mind already working on possibilities. "Yeah, I heard her mention it. And yeah, I bet we can find something decent to wear there. The city has plenty of stores to explore. We'll definitely find something suitable."

Y/n winces slightly as she shifts her weight, her shoulder getting sore. She looks at Oscar apologetically. "Hey, can we switch positions again? My shoulder's starting to hurt from this angle."

Oscar immediately nods, his tone concerned as he notices her wincing. "Sure, of course. Let's change positions. You don't want to end up with a sore shoulder, right?" He moves carefully, shifting his body so that she can adjust her position, accommodating her needs.

Y/n smiles gratefully, appreciating his consideration. She readjusts herself, now lying on her back as her legs intertwined with his. She lets out a sigh of relief, the pain in her shoulder subsiding now that she's more comfortable.

Y/n suddenly switches gears, starting a totally random conversation. She glances at Oscar, her tone suddenly casual and lighthearted.

"Hey, speaking of shopping, do you ever get sick of wearing clothes? I mean, sometimes I just wish I could be naked all the time. It's so freeing, you know?"

Y/n suddenly switches gears, starting a totally random conversation. She glances at Oscar, her tone suddenly casual and lighthearted. "Hey, speaking of shopping, do you ever get sick of wearing clothes? I mean, sometimes I just wish I could be naked all the time. It's so freeing, you know?"

Oscar looks at her, a smirk playing on his lips, as he playfully responds. "Are you secretly a nudist or something? Wanting to be naked all the time sounds a bit… risqué, don't you think?"

Y/n laughs, shaking her head in denial. She replies, her voice light and carefree. "No, I'm not a nudist, I swear. I was just kidding. Though I do love the feeling of being in nothing but a silky robe, with the fabric gliding over my skin, feeling the coolness of the air against my body."

Oscar's fingers find their way into Y/n's hair, gently running through the silky strands as he responds, his voice low and slightly huskier than before. "A sight I'd love to see, you in only a silky robe, the fabric hugging your curves, and nothing between your body and the cool air? That sounds… intriguing, to say the least."

Y/n laughingly slaps his arm, feigning annoyance at his thoughts taking an amorous turn. Her voice is a mix of playful sternness and lightheartedness. "Hey, focus! We're having a philosophical moment here, in case you forgot. Don't ruin it with your dirty thoughts."

Oscar chuckles, defending himself, his voice filled with mock innocence. He points out. "Hey, you were the one who brought up the topic of nudity first. I was just trying to follow the conversation, you know."

Y/n rolls her eyes, a small smile on her face, before playfully replying. "Okay, fine, I'll take some responsibility for bringing up the subject. But you didn't have to immediately go there, you know. We could've had a purely intellectual conversation about clothing-optional lifestyles."

Y/n suddenly brings up a historical fact, her curiosity about the Romans sparking a new topic. "Hey, did you know that the Romans were surprisingly open about nudity? They even had public bathhouses where people would just casually walk around naked as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But there were exceptions, though."

Y/n suddenly begins ranting about the Roman Empire, her passion for history shining through as she starts listing facts. "The Roman Empire was so ahead of its time, you know? They had an amazing road system and an advanced drainage system, and they practically invented the calendar we still use. Plus, their architecture was breathtaking. Buildings like the Colosseum and the Pantheon are still standing, over two thousand years later!"

Oscar listens intently to her passionate rant, occasionally interjecting with a question or making a comment to keep the conversation going. He's amazed by her fervor, her enthusiasm contagious as she speaks about the Romans. "So, they had all these incredible inventions and architecture, but what about their society? What was daily life like for an ordinary citizen?"

Y/n stops her tirade briefly to ponder Oscar's question, before launching into a thorough explanation. "Well, for your average Roman citizen, life would've been a mix of work, religion, and entertainment. Most people would have been involved in manual labor, agriculture, or trades. The Roman Empire was a huge society, with a complex social hierarchy. At the top were the rich and powerful, while the lower classes would've led more austere, hardworking lives."

As Y/n continues her passionate explanation about the Romans, she's suddenly interrupted by the unexpected kiss from Oscar. She looks at him, surprised for a moment, a smile slowly forming on her face as she realizes his gesture.

"Hey, I was talking, you know?" She says, a mixture of mock annoyance and amusement in her voice.

Instead of continuing her historical rants, Y/n now finds herself slightly distracted by the kiss. She can't help but be amused by Oscar's interruption, but she soon finds herself returning the kiss, losing herself in the moment.

Y/n breaks the kiss, her mind quickly snapping back into historical mode. Despite the distraction, her passion for the Roman Empire remains unbroken

"Right. Sorry, I got sidetracked for a moment. So, as I was saying, the Romans had this really interesting system of government…."

Oscar laughs loudly, his amusement growing by the second as he watches Y/n seamlessly switch from a passionate kiss back to historical facts. He grins, finding her enthusiasm endearing and endearing and adorable.

"You know, most people would get distracted and forget what they were saying after a kiss like that. But not you. You're back to talking about the Romans like nothing happened."

Y/n grins, defending her dedication to history, her voice filled with nostalgic joy.

"Of course, I didn't have a Percy Jackson-themed sweet 16 party for nothing. That event was the pinnacle of my teenage obsession with ancient civilizations. I mean, who needs a typical birthday party when you can have a full-blown historical tribute?"

Oscar's laughter continues, his face now buried in Y/n's chest as he playfully calls her a nerd. His voice is slightly muffled. "You're such a nerd, you know that? Most people would just get some typical birthday party for their sweet sixteen, with cake and balloons and stuff. But you had to go all out with a Percy Jackson theme. Only a true history enthusiast would do that."

Y/n grins, accepting the title of nerd with a hint of pride, and continuing her historical dialogue. "But yes, thank you, I am a nerd, as you've pointed out. Anyway, let's continue our discussion from where we left off. The Roman Empire, and its surprisingly casual approach to nudity…"

Thursday, 10:31 AM

Oscar, Y/n, and May are now browsing through the racks of dresses in the store. As they move through the aisles, Oscar has already collected a few shopping bags, holding onto them with practiced ease. He seems to be adapting to the shopping task quite well, his earlier reluctance replaced by mild curiosity.

Y/n turns to Oscar, holding a couple of dresses in her arms, and announces her plan to head to the changing room. "I'm going to the changing room to try on these dresses. Mind waiting here for a bit?" She says, a smile on her face.

Y/n looks at Oscar, a playful glimmer in her eye as she suggests something. "Do you want to come with me and wait outside the door? That way, you can give me your honest opinions on the dresses as I change."

Oscar looks at her for a moment, considering her suggestion, before nodding. He grins, clearly up for the task. "Sure, why not? I'll keep watch outside the door and offer my fashion critique as needed."

Y/n grins back, happy that he agreed to her request. She leads the way towards the changing rooms, finding an empty one. She turns back to Oscar before going inside. "Alright, give me a moment. I'll come out and show you the dresses one by one, okay?"

Y/n emerges from the changing room with the first dress on, a smile of excitement on her face. She twirls slightly for Oscar, giving him a full view of the red dress. It complements her figure well, hugging her curves in all the right places.

"Well? What do you think of this one?" she asks, her voice displaying a slight sense of discomfort.

Oscar looks at her, his gaze taking in the bright red dress. He scans her from head to toe, his gaze appreciative and slightly playful. He grins as she twirls, appreciating the way the dress hugs her curves. "Red looks good on you. It really emphasizes your figure. You look… stunning."

Y/n smiles at Oscar's complement, but then adds a note of skepticism as she assesses the comfort of the dress. "Thanks, I appreciate the compliment. But comfort-wise, it's not exactly the most comfortable dress. The fabric is a bit too stiff, and it doesn't really breathe well." she complains, fidgeting with the straps of the dress.

Y/n disappears back into the changing room, leaving Oscar waiting outside. After a few moments, she steps out in a different dress. This one is a flowing, light blue sundress, with spaghetti straps and a gathered bodice. It hugs her curves loosely, accentuating her figure in a more subtle and breezy manner.

She twirls once again, giving Oscar a glimpse of the second dress. The soft blue fabric floats around her, moving gracefully with her movements. She looks at him, gauging his reaction. "Here is the next one. What do you think of this one?"

Oscar's eyes widen slightly as he sees Y/n in the second dress. The light blue fabric of the sundress complements her figure nicely, and the loose, flowing style seems far more comfortable than the red dress. He smiles, his gaze appreciative, his voice a bit softer than before.

"That one looks great, really great. It's much more comfortable and breezy, isn't it? The color suits you, too. You look really lovely."

Y/n giggles slightly at his comment, pointing out a concern she has about the dress. She gestures towards the spaghetti straps, her tone lighthearted but slightly wary.

"Yeah, I really like the style of this one, but there's one issue. The straps are pretty thin. I mean, what if one of them breaks and a wardrobe malfunction happens? I don't want to flash a titty at the dinner party, you know?"

Oscar bursts into laughter, unable to contain himself as Y/n points out her concern about the spaghetti straps. His laughter is loud and uncontrollable, drawing the attention of a few people nearby.

Y/n shushes him, a mix of embarrassment and amusement on her face. "Shh, quiet. People are staring. You're going to get us kicked out."

Oscar tries to control his laughter, but his body still shakes from suppressed chuckles. He takes a moment to compose himself before responding."Sorry, sorry… just the imagined scenario of you accidentally flashing us in that dress was too much for me."

Y/n rolls her eyes at Oscar's comment, but can't help but find his reaction amusing. She retreats back into the changing room to change into the last dress she has. After a few moments, she emerges for the third time, this time dressed in a beautiful champagne white knee-length dress.

The A-line dress shows just a hint of cleavage to catch Oscar's attention, making her look elegant and sophisticated. The bodice is cinched at the waist, and the fabric falls gracefully to a slight flare at the knee. Y/n steps out, twirling slightly for Oscar, gauging his reaction to the final dress.

Oscar's eyes widen as he sees Y/n in the last dress. The champagne-white fabric shimmers slightly in the lighting, and the cinched waist accentuates her figure beautifully. The hint of cleavage draws his gaze, making it difficult for him to look away. "Damn, that dress looks amazing. It fits you perfectly. You look… gorgeous."

Y/n smiles, satisfied with Oscar's compliment, and looks down to admire the dress herself. Her tone is filled with genuine praise for the third dress. "Yeah, I really like this one. It's classy but not overly formal, and it's actually more comfortable than the other two. Plus, the champagne white color looks really nice on me, right?"

Oscar nods in agreement, his gaze slowly trailing over her figure, appreciating how the dress hugs her curves. He grins, his voice slightly thick with desire, a hint of huskiness in his tone. "Yeah, you look incredible. Seriously. You could wear this to any fancy event and turn heads for sure. I can't take my eyes off of you right now."

Y/n grins at Oscar's compliment, her heart fluttering just a bit before she disappears back into the changing room. After a few minutes, she emerges in her regular clothes once again. She steps out, carrying all three dresses in her arms.

Oscar, who has been waiting outside, looks at her as she re-emerges in her regular clothes, holding the dresses in her arms. He raises an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "So, have you made a decision? Which one are you picking?"

Y/n looks at the three dresses, her hand running over the fabric of each one. She contemplates for a moment before turning to Oscar, a smile on her face. "I think I'm going to go with the white dress. It's the most comfortable and it looks good, too. It'll be perfect for the dinner party."

Oscar's smirk transforms into a small smile as he hears her decision. He nods approvingly, his tone slightly teasing. "White dress it is, then. Good choice. You'll definitely turn heads at the dinner party. Just make sure no wardrobe malfunctions happen."

Y/n smiles at Oscar's teasing, rolling her eyes slightly. "Oh, don't worry, I'll make sure these straps hold my girls in place. No wardrobe malfunctions allowed."

Oscar grins, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Just make sure whatever you've got is strong enough. You don't want any accidents happening mid-conversation, or I might be the one to blame for distracting you and causing the malfunction."

Y/n laughs, shaking her head at him. "Oh, trust me, I have it under control. I don't need you causing any distractions. Besides, if any distractions happen, it'll be more your fault than mine."

They both laugh heartily as Y/n returns the dresses to their respective racks. They make their way towards the cashier, the energy between them light and playful after the eventful dress-shopping experience.

The dresses are put back, and Y/n turns to Oscar with a smile and a tease. "So, how about next time we go shopping, I bring you along for a change? I'll need a second opinion on what looks good on me, after all."

Oscar nods with a humorous smile, accepting the idea of accompanying Y/n on her future shopping trips. "Sure, that sounds good to me. I'm more than happy to give you my fashion advice."

Suddenly, May appears from behind them, her presence causing them to jump slightly in surprise. She grins, noticing their reaction to her sudden appearance, clearly enjoying the fact that she startled them. She chimes in, her usual cheerful tone filling the air."Hey guys! Done with the dress shopping?"

Y/n and Oscar both chuckle lightly, a bit taken aback by May's sudden appearance. Oscar replies with a smile, his heart rate slowly returning to normal."Yeah, we just finished. Y/n picked out a dress for the dinner party. You should see it, it's really nice."

May smiles wider, clearly interested in the details. "Oh, really? Can't wait to see it. Y/n, you always pick out the best outfits. I'm sure this one will look amazing too."

Y/n grins and nods, her excitement for the dress clear in her expression. "Thanks, May. I really like this one. It's comfortable and looks really nice, or at least Oscar seems to think so."

May pretends to gag, an exaggerated look of disgust on her face, clearly jesting them. "Oh, please. You guys don't need to rub your couple stuff in my face. Not all of us are lucky enough to find our perfect match like you two lovebirds."

They laugh at May's fake gagging, amused by her over-the-top reaction. Then, it's their turn to pay for the dress. Y/n steps up to the cashier, pulling out her wallet to pay.

Oscar swoops in as the transaction finishes, grabbing the bag with the dress before Y/n can even protest. He grins, holding the bag, knowing she's going to argue.

Y/n raises an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and mock annoyance on her face as Oscar snatches the bag from her grasp. "Hey, what are you doing? I can carry that, you know."

Oscar grins wider, "Oh, I know you can carry it. But I thought I'd be a gentleman and carry it for you. Consider it my little act of chivalry." his voice laced with playful stubbornness.

May eavesdrops on their playful argument, a mischievous smile on her face. Seeing an opportunity, she chimes in, holding out her heavy shopping bag with a tone of challenge. "Ooh, since Oscar's so keen on carrying things, how about you carry my shopping bag, too?"

Oscar turns to May, his expression turning to one of slightly annoyed realization. He responds with a hint of playfulness still present in his voice. "Hey, now. I never said I was a carrying service for everyone. I was talking about carrying Y/n's bag because, you know, I'm her boyfriend. Your shopping bag is where I draw the line, sorry."

May laughs, finding enjoyment in teasing them both. She holds up her shopping bag with feigned innocence, her grin widening. "Aww, come on, Osc. You won't deny a poor, defenseless girl the chance to have her bag carried? What if it's too heavy for my fragile wrists?"

Oscar rolls his eyes, once again realizing that May is enjoying pushing his buttons. He responds with a mixture of mock reluctance and amusement. "Defenseless, really? Do you think I buy that act? And your wrists are as strong as an ox, don't try to play the weak card on me."

Y/n chimes in, her tone filled with playful scolding as she joins in on the banter. "Oz, just carry her bag. It's not that big of a deal, and you're being stubborn about it. Come on, be a good sport."

May jumps in with an encouraging tone, fully agreeing with Y/n. "Yeah, Oscar. Be a good sport and carry my bag for me, won't you? It's not like it weighs a ton."

Oscar lets out an exaggerated sigh, knowing he's outnumbered by the two of them ganging up on him.

He groans dramatically before giving in, playing along."Fine, fine. I'll carry your bag, May. But only because Y/n and you are both ganging up on me. No more favors after this, got it?"

may.piastri • Just Now Garfunkel and Oates • You, Me and Steve

caption : i'm steve

Saturday, 5:49 PM

The car pulls up in front of the De Cresenzo household, parked along the gravelly driveway with a mix of other vehicles belonging to the De Cresenzo family. The evening is drawing near, the sky tinged with hues of orange and pink as the sun begins to set.

Y/n steps out of the car, adjusting her hair and smoothing out her dress. She takes a deep breath, a mix of excitement and nervousness in her chest. She turns to Oscar, who has gotten out of the car as well and gives him a brief, reassuring smile.

Y/n's mother, along with Oscar's mother, approaches the front door of the house, their arms linked together in an amiable manner. Y/n's mother reaches out and gently raps her knuckles against the heavy wooden door, creating a soft, rhythmic sound. The rest of the family members trail behind them, waiting for the door to open with a mix of anticipation and curiosity.

Sienna grins as she opens the door, her warm and pleasant demeanor greeting Y/n's mother and Oscar's mother. "Hey, come on in. Sorry my mom is running a bit late, she's still getting ready upstairs but should be down in a minute. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

As the family members trickle in, Oscar and Y/n enter last, with Oscar offering a simple "Hi" and Y/n embracing Sienna in a quick hug. There's a sense of ease and familiarity between the two friends, a hint of comfort amongst the slightly formal atmosphere.

Sienna grins at Y/n, her tone affectionate and welcoming as they part from their hug."Hey, Y/n! You look great in that dress. I'm really glad you could make it." She then glances over at Oscar, her smile widening. "And hi, Oscar. You look quite sharp yourself."

Oscar gives Sienna a friendly smile, his eyes drifting down to her outfit for a brief moment. "Thanks, I appreciate it. You look really nice yourself. This is quite the event." He turns to Y/n, holding her hand as he subtly pulls her closer to him.

Y/n, standing beside Oscar, feels the warmth of his hand, his subtle gesture drawing her closer to him. She looks up at him for a moment, their proximity creating a subtle sense of intimacy as he pulls her a fraction closer. Y/n's mother, like Oscar's mother, notices the gesture but doesn't comment on it, knowing that it's a natural, romantic act between a couple.

Sienna grins mischievously and suddenly grabs Y/n's hand, pulling her gently towards the living room. Oscar chuckles at the action, following closely behind the two girls. The sound of chatter and laughter emanating from the living room can be heard as they approach.

As they enter the living room, Y/n's eyes widen in pleasant surprise. She hadn't expected to see Arthur, Sienna and Marietta's cousin, and her old neighbor from back in Monaco. A mix of nostalgia and excitement wash over her. "Arthur! I didn't know you were here?"

Arthur glances up from his conversation with his older brother Charles and spots Y/n in the doorway. A smile spreads across his face, his familiar features lighting up with recognition. "Y/n, is that you? It's been ages! I didn't know you were coming tonight."

Arthur's smile widens, and he immediately envelops Y/n in a warm hug, expressing his own surprise at seeing her. As he releases Y/n, his gaze shifts to Oscar who is standing just behind her. A brief flicker of confusion passes over his expression before a friendly smile once again forms on his face, though it's tinged with a hint of curiosity.

Arthur's recognition of Oscar is clear, and the memories of their online and offline interactions come back to him. As the boys hug each other, the surprise on both their faces is evident. They part from the embrace, a mixture of friendly acknowledgment and curiosity in their gazes.

Oscar grins at Arthur, genuinely pleased to see him. He pats Arthur's back in a warm, familiar gesture. "Arthur, man, it's been a while! I didn't know you'd be here tonight too."

Arthur grins back at Oscar, his expression mirroring the sentiment. "Yeah, it has, hasn't it? I was just as surprised to see you here. Small world, isn't it?"

Sienna and Y/n watch the exchange between Oscar and Arthur with a slight sense of confusion, wondering about the history between the two boys. Sienna glances at Y/n curiously, silently questioning if she knew about this friendship.

Y/n looks at Sienna, noticing her look of confusion and curiosity. She gives a slight shrug, silently indicating to Sienna that she didn't know about the extent of Oscar's friendship with Arthur either. For the moment, she chooses to stay silent, letting the boys chat amongst themselves.

Sienna, intrigued by the conversation between the boys and curious about their connection, decides to speak up. "Hey, Arthur, how do you know Oscar? You guys seem to know each other really well."

Arthur turns towards Sienna, his friendly smile still present as he answers her question. "Oh, me and Oscar? We actually met online through a gaming forum. We bonded over our shared interests and eventually ended up meeting in real life. We've been friends ever since."

Sienna and Y/n both let out an "ohh" in unison, their question now answered. It seems that the connection between Oscar and Arthur stemmed from an unlikely source — online gaming.

Y/n glances over at Oscar, intrigued by this revelation. She hadn't known that he and Arthur had met through online gaming. Although surprised, she finds it endearing that a common interest has forged a friendship between the two.

Oscar chuckles lightly, echoing the sentiment that Arthur had earlier shared. He affirms the coincidence and adds, his tone playful, "What a small world. Who would've thought we'd end up all being here tonight."

Marietta and her mother make their way down the stairs, and a call from inside the dining room alerts Sienna, Arthur, Oscar, and Y/n that dinner is ready. The four of them instinctively turn towards the sound, ready to head into the dining room for the meal.

The dinner progresses with a pleasant atmosphere. Smiles, laughter, and conversations fill the table as everyone enjoys their meal and each other's company. Y/n's parents, Oscar's parents, Arthur's parents, and Sienna's parents all interact with one another, finding common ground and exchanging anecdotes. Y/n, Oscar, Sienna, Arthur, and Marietta all engage in lighthearted banter and catch up on each other's lives.

As the conversation ebbs and flows, Marietta leans in close and whispers in Oscar's ear, "You know, Oscar, you're looking particularly handsome tonight."

Oscar, visibly uncomfortable under Marietta's advances, tenses up slightly at her comment. He gives her an awkward laugh, his gaze darting around the table, hoping for someone to intervene or change the subject.

Arthur, sensing Oscar's discomfort, decides to interject and shift the focus away from Marietta's relentless advances.

His relief is almost palpable, grateful for the distraction Arthur has provided. He turns towards Arthur, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Oh, me and Y/n? We met when they went to Melbourne, our mothers ran into each other by chance." Oscar replies, taking a sip of wine.

Arthur nods, intrigued by their story. He glances over at Y/n with a small smile, then back at Oscar. "Ah, Melbourne, huh? That's an interesting place. How long were you there for?" He says, turning the question to Y/n.

Y/n chimes in, continuing the story, their voice light and cheerful. "We were there for just a month, but it's funny how our families managed to cross paths near the end of my stay. Melbourne's a huge city, after all."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the coincidence. He chuckles lightly, commenting, "That's some pretty good luck to have your families run into each other right before you left. Must have made for a memorable end to the trip."

Y/n laughs softly, confirming Arthur's observation. "It sure did. It was a bit of a whirlwind, but definitely made for a memorable ending. And it was the start of me and May's friendship too."

The conversation around the dining table continues as the dinner carries on. People laugh, talk, and enjoy their food, although it's clear that Marietta is still keeping a keen eye on Oscar, the atmosphere a mix of enjoyment and subtle unease. Y/n and Oscar both try to engage in the conversation, avoiding Marietta's advances while occasionally exchanging furtive glances and smiles.

After the dinner concludes, the older adults continue chatting while the younger ones gather in the living room. The atmosphere is a bit stifling with Marietta’s constant presence but overall the group settles in as best they can.

Y/n and Oscar are sitting on the couch, close together with Oscar’s arm wrapped around Y/n in a protective and affectionate gesture. There is a slight tension in the air as Marietta keeps glancing towards them, clearly envious of their closeness.

Oscar sits next to Y/n on the couch, subtly watching her as she scrolls through her phone. His gaze occasionally flicks over to Marietta, who is sitting in an armchair across from them, her eyes fixed on Oscar in a mixture of jealousy and desire.

Y/n, blissfully unaware of Marietta's gazes, continues to scroll through her phone, tapping and swiping through different apps. Every now and then, she leans into Oscar slightly, feeling safe and comfortable in his presence.

Oscar, feeling a little uneasy with Marietta's intense stares, finds himself becoming more protective of Y/n, his arm instinctively pulling her a bit closer. He tries to refocus on Y/n, watching her phone screen and silently enjoying their proximity.

Y/n, feeling a subtle sense of unease, glances up from her phone screen and notices Marietta's relentless staring. She discreetly opens up her notes app, pretending to type something important, though her attention is more focused on Marietta's gaze towards Oscar and herself.

Oscar notices what Y/n is writing on her notes app and leans closer to her, gently kissing her temple. He whispers in her ear, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation, "Yeah, Marietta's been staring at us for a while now. She's not being exactly subtle about it."

Y/n notices Oscar's subtle irritation and responds by pouting slightly. She then exits the notes app and shifts her attention towards Gabriel, who is resting his head on her lap. She begins playing with his hair, running her fingers through it and stroking it gently. It seems like a subconscious act, a way to relax and ignore Marietta's persistent stares.

Arthur, spotting the opportunity to lighten the mood, suddenly picks up the 7-year-old boy from Y/n's lap. He swings him over his shoulder, the boy's giggles filling the air as he rides on Arthur's shoulders like a superhero. The unexpected display of playfulness breaks the tension and brings a genuine laugh from some of the group, including Y/n, while Marietta looks a bit annoyed at the distraction.

Y/n, seeing the innocent joy on Gabriel's face and Arthur's playful antics, couldn't resist capturing the moment on video. With a smile, she took out her phone and started filming, capturing the sight of Gabriel on top of Arthur's shoulders, both of them laughing and goofing around.

Y/n continued to film the two of them, her phone recording the sweet moment as Arthur continued to act like a superhero and Gabriel continued to laugh and cheer. Their innocent fun contrasted Marietta’s intense stares, creating a stark difference between the carefree spirit of childhood and the adult tension in the room.

Sienna suddenly interjects, her voice excited and light, "Hey Arthur, put Gabriel down and play just dance with me!"

Arthur laughs, setting the young boy down and turning to Sienna. "You're on!"

Sienna and Arthur both stand up, ready to engage in a dance battle. They both look at each other with determination and excitement, the others watching with curiosity and amusement.

Sienna selects a song on the game console, choosing a fast-paced tune. The music starts playing, filling the room with upbeat beats. Sienna and Arthur both begin to dance to the rhythm, their moves a mix of awkward and silly but filled with enthusiasm.

Oscar's laughter rings out loudly in the room, the sound infectious and genuine. His hand remains firmly on Y/n's waist as he watches Sienna and Arthur dance, clearly enjoying the show. Despite the lingering presence of Marietta's stares, Oscar's good mood seems unaffected by it.

Y/n feels Oscar's hand, playfully fiddling with the zipper of her dress. "Stop it," she warns.

"Why should I?" Oscar asks, his eyebrows raised out curiosity.

Y/n's cheeks flush slightly as she speaks, a mixture of embarrassment and flirtation in her voice. "Cause I'll end up flashing the entire room," she murmurs, glancing around to ensure no one else can hear them. "I don't have a bra under this dress.

Her reply shocks Oscar, her words cutting through the teasing banter and bringing him back to reality. His eyes widened slightly at her admission, and the realization of what could happen if he were to go any further suddenly dawned on him.

With a mixture of surprise and slight embarrassment, Oscar quickly removes his hand from her back and lets out a soft chuckle. "Oh… well, maybe I better keep my hands to myself then." He glances around the room, ensuring no one else overhears their conversation.

Y/n can't help but smirk at Oscar's reaction, clearly enjoying the effect her words had on him. They both know the risk of his hands exploring further, and the knowledge of her lack of undergarments adds an extra level of intimacy to the moment.

Despite the lighthearted banter between them, there is an undercurrent of tension, an unspoken understanding that they are on the edge of crossing a line in front of the others. But for now, the tease is enough, and they both continue to watch Sienna and Arthur's playful dance routine, each aware of the other's presence in a way that the rest of the room is blissfully oblivious to.

Oscar, sensing the need for a moment of respite, stands up from the couch. He gives Y/n a small smile before excusing himself, claiming that he needs to use the restroom. With a casual stride, he leaves the living room and heads down the hallway towards the bathroom.

With Oscar gone, Y/n decides to join in the fun with Arthur and Sienna. She stands up from the couch and moves over to them, eager to participate in the game.

Arthur and Sienna welcome Y/n to their just dance session, and soon the three of them are engrossed in the game, moving to the rhythm of the music, laughing, and trying to outdo each other with their dance moves.

With the three engaging in their game of Just Dance, Marietta manages to slip out of the living room, swiftly going the same way Oscar went.

As Oscar exits the bathroom, his hands still wet from the water, he shakes his hands, accidentally flicking droplets of water onto Marietta who had suddenly showed up.

"What the-" Marietta says, startled by the drops of water landing on her dress and face.

Marietta, regaining her composure, looks up at Oscar and says, "I need to talk to you. Can we go somewhere private?" Her voice is firm and urgent, her eyes locking onto his with a purpose and intensity.

Oscar is taken aback by Marietta's sudden appearance and her insistence on a private conversation. He hesitates for a moment, wondering what she could possibly want to discuss with him, but eventually nods and gestures towards a closed door nearby that leads to a small study room.

They both enter the study room, Oscar closing the door behind them. The room is small and dark, only illuminated by soft lamplight. The sound of laughter and music from the living room can be heard faintly in the background, which contrasts with the sudden seriousness of the atmosphere in the study room.

Marietta, now alone with Oscar in the small study room, takes a deep breath and gathers her thoughts, her gaze fixed on his face.

"I wanted to talk to you because… because I need to get something off my chest," she begins, her voice softer now but still carrying a hint of determination.

Marietta swallows hard, steeling herself before continuing. "I've been watching you… with Y/n. I've seen how close you two are, how close she is with your family, and it's been… eating away at me."

She looks up at him, her eyes searching his face for a reaction, any sign that he may somehow reciprocate her feelings.

Marietta continues, her voice growing slightly strained as she pours out her feelings. "I've tried to ignore it, to push it down, but I can't anymore. The way you look at her, the way you touch her… it's like she's everything to you."

She pauses, tears welling up in her eyes. "Do you… do you feel anything for me, Oscar? Anything at all?"

Oscar listens to Marietta's confession with a mixture of surprise and sadness. He knows that he can't return her feelings, not when he's completely in love with Y/n. Still, he doesn't want to hurt her, and he chooses his words carefully, trying to be gentle yet firm in his rejection.

"Marietta," he begins, his voice filled with empathy, "I'm flattered that you have feelings for me, but… I can't reciprocate them. Y/n and I are together, and she means the world to me. I care about you as a friend, but that's all it can be."

Marietta's anger rises upon hearing Oscar's rejection, her frustration and jealousy bubbling to the surface.

"What do you mean 'that's all it can be'?" she shoots back, her voice laced with bitterness. "I can be so much more for you, Oscar. I can make you happier, I can make you feel loved in ways she never could."

The words hang heavy in the air between them, the truth in their implication hanging over the room. But no matter how much Marietta protests, no matter what she says, Oscar can't bring himself to see her in that way. His heart, his entire being, belongs to Y/n, and no amount of persuasion or pleading can change that.

Marietta, fueled by her anger and desperation, continues to plead with Oscar, her voice growing louder with each passing moment. "I can be whatever you want me to be, Oscar. I can be your partner, your confidant, your everything. You don't need her; you need me. Don't you see that?"

Just as Oscar opens his mouth to respond, the door to the study room suddenly swings open. Y/n stands in the doorway, surprise and confusion etched on her face as she sees the tense scene before her.

Y/n, lost in the music and enjoying herself with Arthur and Sienna, continues to dance with them, laughing and having a great time. The dance game goes on, the rhythm of the music filling the room and creating a fun and carefree atmosphere.

Arthur, Sienna, and Y/n continue to dance, the competitive spirit between them fueling their movements. They all laugh and cheer each other on as they try to out-perform one another, creating a lively and entertaining sight for anyone watching.

The Just Dance session continues, the three of them getting into the music and dancing with all their energy. The room is filled with laughter, with the occasional cry of "I did it better!" or a cheer from someone who nailed a particularly complicated move. It's a moment of pure fun and relaxation among friends.

Y/n suddenly pauses in her dance, her breath a little heavy from the intense moves. She looks at Sienna and asks, "Hey, I need to use the restroom. Where is it again?"

Sienna replies, "It's just down the hallway to your right."

Y/n nods, thankful for the directions. She excuses herself from the game, knowing that she'll rejoin them in a moment. She makes her way out of the living room, turning right and heading down the hallway towards the bathroom.

As Y/n heads down the hallway, her attention is abruptly drawn to a voice coming from the nearby study room. The sound of Marietta's voice is unmistakably loud and emotional, even through the closed door.

Y/n stops for a moment, a sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. What is Marietta doing in there? Who is she talking to? Y/n hesitates for a brief moment before her curiosity gets the better of her, and she quietly moves closer to the study room door, trying to listen in on the conversation inside.

She presses her ear to the door, her heart racing a little with curiosity and a hint of worry. The muffled voices and exchange of words carry faintly from the other side, but it's too indistinct to make out anything specific.

Y/n's heart sinks as she opens the door and finds the most unexpected scene unfolding before her eyes. Marietta, pressed up against Oscar, is kissing him on the lips, her hands gripping his shirt fervently. Oscar caught off guard, is frozen in surprise.

As Y/n turns to run out of the room, her heart is pounding in her chest. She doesn't look back, her mind still trying to process what she's just seen. Just as she leaves, Oscar finally pulls away from Marietta, pushing her off him as the shock of the situation sets in.

Oscar, completely stunned and furious, turns on Marietta once Y/n has left the room. He swears at her, his voice booming with anger. "What the fuck were you thinking, Marietta?! That was absolutely out of line!"

He doesn't wait for a response, his thoughts solely on Y/n and the hurt he knows she must be feeling. Without another word, he dashes out of the room, determined to find her.

In his panic, Oscar urgently turns to Arthur who is still playing Just Dance. "Arthur! Where did Y/n go?!" He desperately looks around for any sign of her, his voice urgent.

Arthur, startled by Oscar's sudden outburst, pauses their game and looks around. "I'm not sure, man. She said she was going to the bathroom, but that was a few minutes ago. Why?"

Despite his panic, Oscar's observant eye catches the sight of something through all the chaos. Glancing towards the door that leads to the garden outside, he sees it left slightly ajar.

"Hey, the door." he points out to Arthur without finishing his sentence. Understanding immediately, Oscar heads towards the door, knowing that Y/n might have gone outside.

Y/n hurries outside, her vision blurred by the tears streaming down her face. She's on the verge of breaking down, the image of Marietta kissing Oscar still fresh in her mind. She feels betrayed and hurt, the weight of the situation bearing down on her as she seeks solace in the solitude of the outdoors.

The cool night air stings her flushed cheeks as she move aimlessly, the dim lamp posts casting long shadows across the garden paths.

Her steps falter as she hears Oscar's voice calling out to her from behind. The sound of his voice only serves to deepen the ache in her heart, a mix of anger and sadness welling inside her. Despite her urge to keep walking, she finds herself pausing, torn between the need to confront him and the desire to just keep running away.

Y/n steps into the small hedge maze, she moves with swift determination. Growing up alongside Sienna and Marietta, she had spent many hours playing in this maze, and it seemed that the memory of it was ingrained in her mind. She navigates through the dark twists and turns, knowing instinctively which path to take to reach the center.

All the while, Oscar follows close behind her, his footsteps audible in the midst of Y/n's sniffles and the quietness of the night. The maze seems isolating and yet eerily intimate, as if nature itself is enclosing them within it's emerald green walls.

The labyrintine path of the hedge maze seems to trap the sounds of their steps, creating and almost eerie effect as they move towards the center. Every few seconds, Y/n can hear Oscar's footsteps behind her, reminding her that he is still there, and they're getting closer to the heart of the maze, which feels more like a trap than a place of refuge.

Y/n increases her pace, desperately trying to lose Oscar in the maze. As her heart races, her tears fall even faster, creating a steady stream down her face. At last, she reaches the heart of the maze, a decent sized, circular clearing where two lone benches and limestone statue reside beneath the shadows of the tall hedges.

As Y/n regains her breath and looks around the clearing, her gaze falls upon the statue in the center. It is a sight that holds beauty and pain - for her at least. The statue depicts Marietta and Sienna's parents dancing on their wedding night, a frozen moment of joy and celebration carved out in stone.

The sight only serves to make Y/n's heartache deepen, the knowledge that the very garden she's standing in is Marietta's only adds another layer of complexity to her emotions.

Y/n curls into a tight ball on the bench, her knees pressed against her chest. The tears fall relentlessly, staining her face and pooling against the material of her dress, leaving dark patches on the otherwise pristine fabric. In this moment, she doesn't care about her appearance or the state of her clothes. It all seems trivial compared to the pain she's feeling.

Her soft sobs echo through the otherwise silent garden, creating a somber atmosphere. The shadows around her seem to wrap around her, almost as if they are trying to comfort her, but their efforts are in vain. The grief and hurt she feels are far too deep to be comforted by mere shadows of the night.

For the next several minutes, Y/n's emotional pain is her reality. Her tears flow freely, and her body shudders with each sob. There's no one else around to bear witness to her pain, only the silent, unfeeling stone of the statue and the endless night that seems to press down on her from all sides.

Y/n's tearful sobs are abruptly interrupted by the sudden appearance of Oscar, materializing from behind the statue like a ghost in the night. She hadn't expected him to reach the center from the opposite entrance, and her eyes widen slightly at his arrival.

Oscar approaches Y/n, his steps cautios and unsure. He's keenly aware of the turmoil he's caused, the hurt he's inflicted, and the sight of her tear-stained face only increases his guilt. He takes a seat next to her on the bench, his movements tentative and careful.

He hesitates as he stands next to the bench, his eyes on Y/n. He waits a beat before he musters up the courage to ask, his voice low and pleading, "Can I sit down too?"

Y/n doesn't respond immediately, her tear-streaked eyes remain fixed on the limestone statue. After a few moments, she gives a slight nod, indicating that he can sit beside her.

Oscar takes her silent gesture as permission, and slowly lowers himself onto the bench next to her. He leaves a small gap between them, respecting her need for space but still wanting to be close enough to talk to her.

Y/n finally speaks up, her voice slightly shaky and raw from crying. "That statue... It's Sienna's mom and dad on their wedding night."

She glances at the statue, her expressio unreadable. The sight that once seemed beautiful now only adds to the pain and hurt she's feeling.

Her words hang in the air between them, the statue's frozen dance of joy and celebration serving as a stark contrast to the despair and heartbreak that now pervades the center of the maze.

Y/n continues, her words laced with a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. "Tio Marcello, Sienna and Mariettas dad, he had this statue commissioned a little while after their wedding. He said it was a token of love and happiness, to forever remember that night..."

Her voice quivers a bit as she continues, the story taking on a ore poignant tone. "Especially because of what happened after... Tio Marcello and Tia Inez- Marietta's mom, got a divorce. Tio found out she was cheating on him with another man. It was a messy divorce, especially with Marietta still a toddler at that time."

Y/n's voice gains a hint of a smile as she continues. "He eventually found Tia Genevieve, and through her, he discovered what true love really means. That's why he had this statue made, to symbolize the love that endures, despite the heartache of the past."

She looks at the statue once more, her eyes tracing the frozen dance of the couple, eternalized in stone. "It's supposed to be inspirational, I guess... a reminder that love can prevail, even in the face of betrayal and pain.

"It's ironic... that it's here, in Marietta's garden," she says, with a bitter edge to her voice. The symbolism of the statue, against the backdrop of Marietta's actions is cruel, barbaric almost.

Y/n's words hang heavy in the air, the irony of the statues location not on either of them. The reminder of love and resilience, standing in the shadow of a betrayal and heartache, feels almost cruel, adding yet another layer of the complex emotions that fills the silence between them.

Oscar, who had been quietly listening, finally breaks the silence. His voice is soft and measured as he looks at Y/n, his eyes holding a mix of regret and determination.

"Y/n," he says, his voice filled with earnest sincerity. "I need to explain. I need to... I know I screwed up, and I need to talk to you. Can you listen to me, please?"

Y/n's gaze slowly turns towards him, her eyes still red and puffy from crying. Her expression is guarded, the pain in her eyes still evident. But she nods, a small gesture that indicates she's willing to hear himout.

Oscar exhales, relief flooding through him at her gesture. He hesitates for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he speaks. The silence between them is tense, the weight of the unspoken words between them hanging in the air like a guillotine.

Finally, Oscar begins, his voice is low and serious. "I'm so sorry, Y/n. I'm sorry for what you saw, for what you must be feeling right now. I can't even imagine..."

Oscar looks at Y/n, his expression is earnest and open. "Y/n, I need you to know that I didn't want that kiss. Marietta kissed me, not the other way around. I didn't want it, I rejected her. I... I love you, Y/n. You have to believe me."

His words are filled with earnestness and sincerity, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. He looks into her eyes, waiting for her to respond, to see if she believes him, to know he isn't lying.

The silence between them is deafening. Oscar's heart beats in his chest, his eyes pleading for Y/n to believe him. The only sound is the distant murmur of the party still going on inside, a stark contract to the quiet, intimate bubble they've created for themselves in the garden.

"Please," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "Please, believe me. I would never... I could never do that you. I love you, Y/n."

Oscar's eyes begin to glisten with tears as he speaks, his voice filled with a raw, emotional intensity. "I love you, Y/n. I've never felt this way about anyone before. My heart, my soul, everything I am is yours. I would never do anything to hurt you, I swear. You have to believe me. Please, I need you to believe me."

His tears fall now, unrestrained, as he pours his heart out to her. He reaches out a trembling hand, wanting to touch her, to hold her, but he hesitates, unsure if she'll allow it.

Y/n rises from the bench, the sudden movement causing Oscar to withdraw his extended hand. He looks at her, his eyes pleading, hoping for some sign, any sign, that she believes him

Y/n stands in front of Oscar, her eyes meeting his. The air is filled with tension, the emotional weight of the moment almost tangible. She doesn't speak, simply looks at him, her expression hard to read.

Oscar's heart pounds in his chest, his breath coming is shallow gasps. He sits there, his eyes locked on hers, to say something, anything. The silence is deafening, the seconds passing by like hours.

He hesitantly reaches out hs hand, his hands hovering a mere inch from her arm, not quite touching, but the intention clear. He wants to hold her, to pull her into his arms and never let her go.

Y/n suddenly moves towards Oscar, her body colliding with his own and pulling him into a tight hug. The unexpected embrace catches him off guard, but he responds immediately, wrapping his arms around her as she falls to her knees.

They sink to the ground, their bodies pressed so close together it's impossible to tell where one ends, and where the other begins. He holds her tightly, his chin resting against her shoulder, feeling the tears of relief dampen his shirt.

"I love you," he whispers, the words half-muffled by her hair. "I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. Please forgive me. I love you so much."

He pulls her even closer, clutching her as if she's the last solid thing in a world that's suddenly tilted on its axis. The sounds of the party from inside the house fade to the background, their world now reduced to this quiet, hidden corner of the garden.

For a moment, they stay like that, wrapped in each other's arms, the world around them completely forgotten. The only sound is their erratic breaths, the only touch their bodies pressed so closely together that it feels like one being.

As they hold each other, he lets out a soft, shuddering breath, the relief so profound it almost hurts. Her words break through the stillness of the night, her voice quiet but firm. "Even if it was on purpose... even if you wanted it... I still would've forgiven you."

Y/n's words, whispered into his ear, hit him like a truck. Even if it had been on purpose, even if he had wanted it, she would still forgive him? The idea is both humbling and incredibly saddening.

The words hang in the air, a profound declaration of love and trust. She speaks as if there's no doubt in her mind that she would forgive him, no matter the circumstances. The implication is clear - her love for him is deep, so boundless, that she'd overlook even the most grievous of transgressions.

A soft, shaky chuckle escapes Oscar as Y/n speaks. He pulls back slightly, looking down at her with a mixture of amusement and awe. "Don't say that baby," he says, his voice still slightly hoarse. "Please, do not say that. You're making me worry for your self-respect if you say things like that.

Y/n melts into Oscar's touch as his fingers gently brush away her tears. She looks up at him, her eyes still damp with tears but a soft smile on her lips. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice so soft it's almost a sigh.

The apology is heartfelt, tinged with a note of regret. It's not just for the tears or the emotional upheaval of the evening, but for the pain, the doubt, and the fear that she'd felt in her heart, even if her head told her all along that Oscar's loyalty was never in question.

Oscar shakes his head, his eyes soft as he gazes down at her. "No, don't apologize," he says, his voice low and sincere. "I'm the one who needs to apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for."

He cups her face gently with both hands, forcing her to look up at him, to see the earnestness in his eyes. "You're perfect, Y/n," he says, his voice filled with a desperate sort of tenderness. "You have every right to be hurt, to feel betrayed, to doubt…"

He continues, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on her cheeks, his touch so infinitely tender it almost hurts. "I would've done the exact same if the roles were reversed. I would be heartbroken, too, if I thought for even a second that you were unfaithful to me."

"But I need you to know," he says softly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That it will never happen. I will never, ever betray you. I love you more than anything in this world. You are everything to me."

As Y/n nods, agreeing with his words, her tears still fresh on her cheeks, she leans in and kisses him. The kiss is salty, the taste of her tears mixing with the sweetness of her lips, creating an oddly beautiful combination. Oscar responds immediately, eagerly, his hands still cupping her face, his lips pressing against hers with a desperate kind of tenderness.

The kiss deepens, their bodies pressing even closer together, the heat of their bodies and the cold of the night creating a strange but delightful contrast. For a moment, all the stress, all the fear, all the doubt vanishes, leaving only this — this moment of absolute, unadulterated love and connection.

When they finally break apart, they're both a little breathless, a little dazed, a lot in love. The party continues to thump and pulse inside the house, but out here, in this small bubble of intimacy they've created, it's as if the rest of the world has faded completely away.

As the sound of the thunder echoes around them, Y/n glances up at the darkening skies and turns to Oscar. "We should probably get out of the maze," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of trepidation. "It's going to start pouring any minute now."

Oscar nods in agreement, reluctantly breaking their embrace, but still holding her hand tightly in his. They stand up, the reality of the storm outside forcing them back into the present. The maze, which had earlier seemed like a magical, secluded oasis, now feels almost menacing as the storm rolls in.

The rain begins to fall suddenly, fat droplets splattering against the paved path as the storm unleashed its fury upon the night. Y/n grabs Oscar's hand tightly, the cold droplets seeping into their skin as they begin a run for the greenhouse nearby, hoping to find shelter from the storm.

The greenhouse materializes through the heavy rain as they run, its glass walls barely visible in the pitch-black night. They reach the structure moments later, their breathing ragged and chests heaving as they step underneath the shelter of the greenhouse roof.

The greenhouse, once a warm, glass sanctuary, is now dimly lit by the artificial glow of the lights. Y/n finds the light switch and flips it on, casting the inside of the lighthouse in a faint yellow light that reflects off the glass panes. She then closes the door behind them, effectively sealing them inside as the storm rages on outside.

Y/n and Oscar stand for a moment just inside the greenhouse, taking in the sight of each other, the adrenaline from the run mixing with the leftover emotion from their previous conversation. They're both breathing heavily, their clothes slightly damp from the rain, their hearts still racing with the intensity of the recent events.

The tension from the moment earlier and the wild sprint from the maze give way to uncontrollable laughter as they stand there in the greenhouse. The laughter mixes with the sound of the rain against the glass, creating a strangely beautiful and almost surreal atmosphere.

They're both bent over slightly, clutching their stomachs as giggles and laughter escape them. They're not sure if it's the absurdity of the situation they've found themselves in, the relief from the earlier emotional upheaval, or just the sheer ridiculousness of running through a storm only to end up in a greenhouse.

Y/n, still giggling a bit, spots a chair near a metal outdoor table and sits down, the laughter now slowly subsiding to soft chuckles. She leans back in the chair, the hard lines of the metal contrasting with the soft lines of her body. Her eyes are still sparkling with humor and something else - maybe affection, maybe relief - as she looks up at Oscar.

Oscar walks over, his steps loose and relaxed after the sudden burst of laughter. He moves to the side of the table, hoisting himself up to sit on its surface, facing Y/n. There's a lazy, easy smile on his face, a stark contrast to the tension from earlier.

The space around them feels almost intimate in the dimly lit greenhouse, the sound of the rain outside creating a sort of soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the beating of their hearts. They sit in silence for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say, but both just taking in each other's presence.

Oscar reaches out towards her, brushing some wayward strands of hair away from her forehead. The gesture is tender, and gentle, as he pushes the damp locks away from her face. The pads of his fingers linger against her skin, the touch so familiar and loving, yet still sparking a small spark of electricity.

In the quiet, intimate atmosphere of the greenhouse, the simple act of tidying her hair suddenly feels like the most intimate thing. His fingers trace the line of her jaw, as if committing its curve to memory.

His gaze travels over her face, taking in every feature, every line, every tiny detail. In the faint light, he sees the traces of her tears, but also the flush of her cheeks, the glimmer in her eyes. She looks so beautiful, so vulnerable, and so completely his in this moment.

Oscar leans in, his eyes still locked on hers. The kiss is soft, gentle, filled with all the love and relief he feels in that moment. His hand, still close to her face, moves downwards, cupping her chin, holding her face in place so he can kiss her thoroughly, desperately.

It's as if all the fear, all the doubt, all the uncertainty from earlier has vanished. Now, there's only this – the taste of her lips, the heat of her skin, the sound of her breath mixing with his. The greenhouse becomes a cocoon, sealing them off from the storm outside, and the rest of the world.

Their kiss breaks, leaving them both a little breathless once more. A soft, giddy laugh escapes Y/n, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of joy, affection, and residual laughter. She looks like a teenager who's just had her first kiss, with flushed cheeks and a wide, unashamed smile on her lips.

Oscar watches her, the sight of her joy and innocence filling him with a fond, almost protective kind of warmth. There's a softness in his eyes as he looks at her, his own lips curving into a smile at her reaction.

"You look like a high schooler who's just had her first kiss," he teases, the amusement clear in his voice even as his look remains incredibly fond.

Y/n, seemingly oblivious to the slight edge of huskiness in his voice, grins wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Do I?" she asks, her tone faux-innocent, her cheeks still a little pink.

Y/n's gaze drifts towards the corner of the greenhouse, catching sight of an old-fashioned record player sitting there. Her eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, the old piece of technology somewhat out of place in the modern setting of the greenhouse.

Her eyes linger on it for a moment, the sudden appearance of the record player piquing her curiosity. She looks back at Oscar, a question forming on her lips. "Is that thing still working?" she asks, nodding in the direction of the record player.

Oscar follows her gaze to the record player, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Only one way to find out," he replies, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

He hops down from the table, his footsteps light and almost silent on the tiled floor of the greenhouse. He crosses over to the record player, crouching down to examine it. He gives it a light tap, as if to see if it'll magically come to life.

Y/n lets out a soft, slightly tipsy giggle as she watches Oscar tinker with the record player. The effect of the alcohol in her system is still quite apparent, adding a giggly, almost carefree vibe to her behavior.

She stands up, her steps a bit less steady than usual from the earlier alcohol consumption. She moves over to where Oscar is crouched beside the record player, joining him in his inspection of the old piece of machinery.

Y/n, a little giggly but very much curious, bends down beside Oscar and rummages through the collection of records next to the player. After a moment, she pulls out a worn vinyl record, its cover slightly faded but still clearly displaying the title "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Elvis Presley.

She holds it up, her eyes dancing with excitement as she shows it to Oscar. "Look what I found," she says, her voice tinged with an almost childlike glee.

The record is old, and clearly well-loved, and it gives off a certain nostalgia that's fitting for the greenhouse setting. The song choice is ironic, given the events of the evening, but in a way, it feels almost prophetic.

The lyrics of the song, a classic declaration of undying love, seem to echo the emotions they've been going through the entire night. It's as if the universe is playing a game, leaving hints and signs in the most unexpected places.

The song, in its simplicity and sincerity, feels like a perfect soundtrack for the night. The rain outside is still falling, the room is still dim, and yet, the mood inside the greenhouse is almost strangely romantic.

Oscar takes in the sight of the record and the song title, a slow smile spreading across his face. He glances at Y/n, the irony of the song choice not lost on him. "Elvis, huh?" he asks, his voice laced with humor and affection.

Y/n grins, the smile on her face wide and bright. "Can't help falling in love, right?" she quips, her words a little slurred but filled with a joyous, almost drunken honesty.

Oscar snorts out a laugh, the sound a mixture of amusement and fondness. "Very fitting," he replies, taking the record from her and looking it over.

Oscar takes the record from Y/n and gently places it onto the player. For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of the rain and the soft, almost expectant silence inside the greenhouse. Then, a soft crackling sound fills the air, the old record player coming to life after a beat.

A second later, the soft, melodic tones of "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Elvis Presley start to fill the greenhouse.

Wise men say, only fools rush in But I can't help falling with you.

Oscar, with a soft, almost tender smile on his face, turns to Y/n and holds out a hand to her. "Care to dance?" he asks, his voice smooth and silky. The soft, romantic tones of the song in the background seem like the perfect invitation.

Y/n, her eyes still sparkling with a tipsy sort of glee, grins from ear to ear. She places her hand in his, her fingers fitting perfectly with his. "I thought you'd never ask," she teases, her words slurring just a bit but filled with unabashed anticipation.

Take my hand, take my whole life too, For I can't help falling in love with you.

Oscar pulls her closer, his other hand coming around to rest on the fabric of her back. She molds herself against him, their bodies pressing against each other rhythmically as they start to sway to the music.

Like a river flows, surely to the sea, Darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be

The atmosphere inside the greenhouse is now almost dreamlike, the dim light, the soft rain, the old record player, and the soft music creating a scene like out of a movie. They dance together, their movements slow, intimate, their bodies responding to each other as if in a well-rehearsed routine.

There's no fancy footwork, no complicated steps. They're just swaying back and forth, the music guiding their movements. Yet, in this simple act, there's a sort of raw, vulnerable intimacy. They're not just dancing – they're holding each other, feeling each other, silently saying all the things they can't quite voice in that moment.

The lyrics of the song float around them, wrapping them in a cocoon of tender sentimentality. The words "For I can't help falling in love with you" seem to echo in the air as they spin around in slow, languorous movements.

They're not exactly graceful, occasionally tripping over each other's feet. But they laugh it off, the clumsiness of the moment adding to the charm. The song reaches its crescendo, the chorus coming back for another round. Oscar pulls her just a bit closer, his arms holding her tighter as they dance beneath the dim light.

The world outside could've fallen apart, and they wouldn't have noticed. Right now, this moment, this dance, is the only thing that matters. The rain continues to fall outside, the greenhouse protecting them from the storm, and inside, they're dancing like there's no tomorrow, their bodies pressed together, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating in sync.

The song reaches its end, the final notes of "Can't Help Falling in Love" trailing off softly. The record player clicks, indicating the end of the song, and the greenhouse is silent again, save for the sound of the rain outside and their soft breaths, a little heavier from the intensity of the dance.

They stand there, their arms still wrapped around each other, not quite ready to let go just yet. They're both a little breathless from the dance, their bodies close, their heartbeats still a little faster than usual. Y/n remains pressed against him, her cheek against his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt warm and comforting.

Oscar gently releases Y/n from his arms, reluctantly letting go of the intimacy of the moment. He carefully takes the vinyl record and places it back in its place among the others. As he does so, he glances back at Y/n, the sight of her still a little flush and out of breath from the dance stirring something protective and affectionate inside him.

The record is placed back, and the vinyl collection is neatly arranged once more. Oscar turns back to Y/n, his eyes sweeping over her, taking in the sight of her tousled hair and slightly disheveled state. There's a soft, almost tender smile on his lips as he steps closer to her, his hands itching to reach out and touch her again.

The space between them feels charged now, the recent dance leaving them both feeling a bit raw and vulnerable. Oscar takes another step closer, his eyes locked on her face, drinking in the details. The dim light of the greenhouse casts shadows across her face, making her look both vulnerable and incredibly beautiful at the same time.

Y/n looks out at the rain, which is still falling heavily, and then back at Oscar. "What should we do now?" she asks, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "It's still raining too hard to go back."

Oscar follows her gaze out the greenhouse door, peering out into the rain-soaked night. The rain is still falling with a steady intensity, the sound of it creating a soothing yet continuous white noise. He turns his attention back to her, his expression thoughtful for a moment before a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Looks like we're stuck here a bit longer," he notes, leaning against the table and crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes remain on her, taking in the sight of her, as he seems to contemplate something.

There's a certain sort of tension in the air now, the knowledge that they're trapped there together for a while longer giving the situation a new quality. The rain continues its monotonous pitter-patter against the glass panes, creating a sort of isolating atmosphere that feels almost intimate.

Oscar watches Y/n, the silence between them almost a tangible thing. The rain outside and the enclosed space of the greenhouse make the atmosphere feel secluded, almost surreal, as if they're the only two people in the world right now.

The sounds of the rain and the relative dimness of the light create a cocoon-like feeling, cutting them off from the rest of the world. Oscar's eyes remain fixed on Y/n, studying her almost, his gaze occasionally flickering down to her lips before returning to her eyes.

The moment stretches on, the silence both comforting and slightly charged. Oscar looks like he has something to say, but he remains silent, seemingly wrestling with some sort of internal debate. Y/n feels his gaze on her, his eyes lingering on her face, her lips, and occasionally on her hair.

After a beat, Oscar finally breaks the silence, his voice dropping to a low, almost gravelly tone. "You know, this rain is quite something," he mused, his words a barely-veiled attempt to keep the conversation going, to fill the silence that was settling between them.

Y/n grins, a breathless but amused laugh escaping her. "You're trying to make small talk, aren't you?" she responds, the playfulness in her tone clearly showing that she's not fooled by his attempt.

Oscar feigns innocence, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Me, trying to make small talk? Never," he replies, his tone deliberately casual, but his eyes betraying his amusement.

Y/n laughs again, her eyes sparkling with a mix of humor and affection. She knows he's bullshitting, and he knows she knows. But it's part of their bantering dynamic, and it's almost comforting in its familiarity.

The rain continues to fall outside, the sound of it providing a sort of background white noise to their conversation. Oscar regards her with a half-smirk of playful resignation, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and something a little darker, more intense.

They move over to the chairs, their movements somewhat less than graceful due to the alcohol in their systems. They both sink into the seats, a mutual sigh escaping them as they get comfortable. The rain continues to fall outside, the pitter-patter of the water against the glass adding a cozy, relaxing sort of atmosphere inside the greenhouse.

Y/n, still a bit tipsy but feeling relaxed and comfortable, looks around the greenhouse, admiring the lush plants and cozy set-up. "I've always wanted to have a greenhouse," she confesses, her tone a mix of wistfulness and satisfaction. "I love being surrounded by plants and nature. It's so calming."

Y/n's expression softens, her gaze drifting around the greenhouse as she thinks about her past. "This greenhouse, and the hedge maze outside, are honestly where some of the happiest moments in my life have taken place," she says, her voice slightly hushed, as if she's lost in memories.

Y/n snorts out a laugh, a fond smile on her face as she recalls a memory from her childhood. "You know, this is gonna sound silly, but that hedge maze outside is where Sienna asked me to be her best friend when we were five years old," she says, amusement and nostalgia mixing in her tone.

"We were just a couple of little kids, running around in that maze, giggling and chasing each other. She suddenly stopped, turned to me, and very seriously said 'I want you to be my best friend.' I remember thinking she said it with such gravitas, as if it was the most important thing in the world," she adds, her eyes going a little soft as she reminisces.

Y/n's expression turns a bit sadder now, but there's also a note of sweetness in her eyes as she recalls another memory. "And this greenhouse was where my dad danced with me the night before my 18th birthday," she says, her tone tinged with a mix of nostalgia and melancholy. "He said it was because he wanted to have some time alone with his little girl before she turned into a lady."

She pauses, a soft smile on her face. "We danced to some old, cheesy love songs, and he jokingly called me his princess. I remember feeling so grown up, special… and a little scared about what turning 18 would mean," she confesses, the memory painting a picture of a younger, more innocent version of herself.

Y/n's expression softens further, a tender, almost affectionate smile playing on her lips. "And here I am, dancing with the love of my life," she says, her words filled with an underlying note of gratitude and irony. It's a moment that feels like both a bittersweet memory and a present-day reality.

She locks eyes with Oscar, a flood of emotions clear in her gaze — affection, admiration, a hint of vulnerability. The greenhouse feels like a sort of sacred space, filled with memories and emotions that are both poignant and cherished.

Oscar smiles at Y/n, his eyes reflecting a mix of affection and curiosity. He seems to mull over a question for a moment before finally voicing it, his tone inquisitive but casual. "Can I ask you something?" he asks, his gaze drifting to her face. He waits for her to nod before continuing, "How are you and Sienna connected?"

Y/n nods, her expression taking on a nostalgic look as she explains. "Our fathers are best friends. They grew up together, just like Sienna and I did," she says, her voice carrying a note of familiarity and closeness. "So, naturally, our families are super close. We've practically grown up together. She's more a sister than a best friend at this point."

There's a fondness in her tone, a clear affection and connection with Sienna that goes deeper than just friendship. The knowledge that their families are tied together - their fathers being practically brothers - gives their relationship an extra layer of significance and history.

Y/n adds, her voice dropping to a quiet, almost reflective tone. "And you know, my mom moved to Australia to study high school, that's where she met your mom and all that. Then my mom went back to Monaco to study business, and my parents met in college. They eventually moved together to Italy."

Her words describe a life that's been somewhat chaotic but also filled with connections and meaningful moments. It's a life that's full of stories and history, a life that's shaped her in ways even she might not fully understand.

Y/n continues, a faraway look in her eyes as she recalls the events. "We only stayed here until I was 10, then we moved to Monaco because of some family issues on my mother's side," she says, her voice almost whispering the words, like they're part of a half-forgotten memory.

The mention of 'family problems' stirs up a myriad of unspoken implications, perhaps hinting at complexities and hardships in her family history.

Y/n continues, her voice taking on a more light-hearted tone. "When we moved into our new house in Monaco, it turns out that Arthur and Sienna are cousins, but neither of us- the children, knew till our families all ended up in Italy."

She chuckles a bit, the coincidence of it all adding an almost comedic element to the tale. Families, friends, and history are all interconnected in unforeseen and amusing ways.

The mention of families mixing together, with Arthur and Sienna being cousins, adds another layer to their familial web. It's a reminder that families can be as complex as they are close-knit, and sometimes, it takes moving countries to reveal these hidden connections. The humor in discovering such a connection after their move adds a touch of hilarity to the situation.

Y/n suddenly snaps out of her reminiscent state, her eyes widening slightly as she realizes how much she's said. A sheepish expression appears on her face, and she apologizes, her voice a tad embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, a small, self-conscious laugh escaping her. "I got a bit carried away there. Sorry for rambling so much."

Oscar, sensing her slight embarrassment, quickly reassures her. "No, it's fine," he says, his tone warm and encouraging. "Keep talking. I like hearing your voice."

His words are a testament to his interest in what she's saying, but also his desire to keep their conversation going, to keep learning more about her - her past, her thoughts, her feelings. It's a small, but meaningful gesture of interest and intimacy between them.

Y/n smiles, her embarrassment fading away a bit at his reassurance. She appreciates his interest and the fact that he actually enjoys listening to her. It gives her an unexpected boost of confidence, making her feel more comfortable and at ease.

Y/n, encouraged by his words and the comfortable atmosphere between them, continues talking. She picks up where she left off, her voice soft and thoughtful as she dives back into her recollection.

As she speaks, the rain continues to fall in a steady but less aggressive rhythm outside, adding a soothing soundtrack to their conversation.

Y/n observes the rain outside, noticing that it's started to lighten up a bit. She sighs, her expression showing a mix of reluctance and knowing. "Looks like the rain's starting to let up," she says, a note of resignation in her voice. "We should probably head back."

There's a pause, both of them seeming to acknowledge that their private sanctuary in the greenhouse is coming to an end. They'll have to return to the hustle and bustle of the party, though they both seem a little reluctant to leave the peaceful solitude they've found.

At Y/n's suggestion, Oscar starts to rise from his seat, pushing off the table and standing up. He stretches, his body a bit stiff from sitting in the same position for quite a while. As he straightens up, he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it a bit.

As they both make their way towards the door, Oscar, ever the gentleman, opens it for her, gesturing for her to walk through first. He waits until she's outside before following her, stepping out into the night air.

Once outside, they find the rain has indeed lessened, though it's still not completely stopped. The air is cool and crisp, a welcome respite from the stifling atmosphere inside the greenhouse. The sounds of the party have lessened somewhat, but there's still a buzz of activity in the distance.

They walk side by side, their hands intertwined as they make their way back to the main house. They walk slowly, their pace leisurely, neither in a hurry to return to the party. The night air is cool against their skin, and the distant sounds of the party provide a faint, almost soothing background noise.

As they walk back towards the house, Oscar looks over at her and asks, "Do you want to go home?" His voice is casual, but his gaze is searching, hoping for a favorable response.

Oscar suggests, a hint of genuine concern laced in his words. "You can always ask your father if we can go home. You can say you're not feeling well."

Y/n pondered the thought for a moment, her expression contemplating. Oscar's suggestion was not bad; it would certainly explain their early exit from the party. But she didn't want to cause a scene or make her father worry unnecessarily.

Still, the more she thought about it, the more the idea seemed appealing. She did feel a bit drained and was slightly tipsy. But there was also a part of her that didn't want the night to end just yet.

After a moment of hesitation, Y/n nodded. "Sure," she said, her voice a bit reluctant but determined. "I'll ask my dad if we can go home."

As they enter the living room, it's clear that they've both been caught in the rain. Their clothes are a bit damp, leaving small droplets of water on the floor. The sounds of the party that were previously muffled by the rain now become clear again, the hum of conversation and soft music filling the air.

They make their way into the dining room, the hum of conversation filling their ears as they enter. The adults, including Y/n's parents, are still engaged in their discussions, wine glasses in hand and faces flushed with the effects of alcohol.

Y/n's gaze automatically drifts towards her father, who is sitting at the table, surrounded by other adults. He's engaged in conversation, sipping from a wine glass, looking every bit the successful businessman he is. Noticing her and Oscar's entry, her father looks up, a brief glance at their soaked clothes and Y/n's face giving away her slightly tipsy state.

He raises an eyebrow in question, his gaze flickering over Y/n and Oscar. Seeing their drenched state and Y/n's tipsy appearance, it's clear he's expecting an explanation.

Y/n clears her throat, her heart beating a tad bit faster under her father's scrutinizing gaze. She steps forward, her eyes holding his for a moment before speaking. "Dad," she starts, her voice steady despite the slight buzz she's feeling, "I'm not feeling too well. Can Oscar and I go home?"

Her father regards her quietly for a moment, assessing her state. His expression doesn't give away his thoughts, but his eyes seem to linger on her flushed cheeks and slightly glassy eyes. Everyone else's conversation has gone quiet, and several pairs of eyes are now on them.

After a moment, her father nods, his expression slightly stern. "Alright," he says, his voice loud enough for the others to hear. "You two can head home. Drive safely, and make sure to text me when you get there, Y/n."

The other adults offer their goodbyes and well-wishes, a mixture of amusement and concern in their faces. Y/n's mother, a bit tipsy herself, pats Y/n on the cheek a little too hard, her words slurring slightly. "Be careful, love."

Y/n nods at her mother's words, forcing a thin smile on her face. She feels Oscar's presence beside her, his hand finding hers once again, an unspoken comfort in the gesture. They take a last moment to say goodbye to the adults, before finally making their way towards the exit.

As they head towards the exit, Y/n spots Marietta, their eyes meeting across the room. Despite the distance, there's something in Marietta's gaze that makes Y/n pause for a brief moment. It's a look that's a mix of curiosity and something else that Y/n can't quite decipher. The moment is over almost as quickly as it began, and Y/n and Oscar step outside, leaving the party behind.

As they approach the car, Oscar dutifully opens the passenger side door for her, a gallant gesture that's becoming familiar between them. Y/n smiles at him, a little bit of a tipsy blush on her face, appreciating his chivalry.

She gets into the car, the soft interior enveloping her in its familiar comfort. As Oscar closes the door behind her, she leans back against the leather seat, feeling a wave of fatigue mixed with the lingering effects of the alcohol.

She watches as Oscar walks around the car to the driver's side. It's a sight she's seen countless times before, but there's a sort of domestic intimacy about it that she finds oddly soothing in her slightly inebriated state.

Once Oscar gets into the car, he starts the engine, the low hum of the vehicle breaking the silence. He glances over at her, his expression a mix of concern and affection. "You okay?" he asks, his voice betraying a slight worry.

Y/n nods, her eyelids heavy and just a little bit unsteady. She offers him a small smile, trying to appear more put together than she feels at the moment. "I'm fine," she assures him, her words a tad bit slurred but mostly coherent.

Oscar looks at her for a moment longer, his gaze searching her face for any sign of discomfort. After a moment, he seems somewhat satisfied, his eyes turning back to the road. "Alright," he says, his tone gentle, "just relax, okay? We'll be home soon."

Y/n nods again, her eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. She lets out a soft sigh, the hum of the engine and the soft light of the street lamps outside creating a drowsy atmosphere in the car.

She pulls out her phone from her purse, the screen lighting up her face in the darkened car. Her movements are a bit sluggish, and her alcohol-impaired brain takes a bit longer to process simple actions. She starts to scroll through her phone, her fingers gliding across the screen as she absently checks her notifications.

She manages to muster enough coordination to connect her phone to the car's Bluetooth speakers, her eyes still flicking to Oscar's face every now and then. A moment later, music begins to play through the speakers, filling the car with a soft, sultry rhythm.

As she's scrolling through her phone, she suddenly feels a warmth on her thigh. It takes her a moment to realize it's Oscar's hand, his fingers gently brushing against the bare skin under her dress, sending a shiver down her spine. Her eyes widen slightly, her heart rate picking up as the realization sinks in, the touch both unexpected and not unwelcome.

The sudden feeling of his hand on her skin, the warmth of his touch against her bare thigh, is a sharp contrast to the coolness of the night air that wafts in from outside. She glances over at him, his gaze focused on the road ahead, but there's a slight smirk on his lips, a hint that he knows exactly what he's doing.

The realization that he's intentionally trying to tease her, the audacity of him to do this while he's driving, combined with the alcohol-clouded state, makes her feel a mix of irritation and a strange sort of arousal. She wants to say something, to protest, but the words get stuck in her throat, the touch of his hand on her thigh making thinking difficult.

Y/n manages to summon the presence of mind to speak, her words a mixture of playfulness and feigned annoyance. "Really Oz?" she says, her voice a tad bit breathless. The hand on her thigh continues to move, his thumb lightly tracing small circles against her skin. Oscar glances over at her, that smirk still on his lips.

"What?" he asks, his tone innocent, though the look in his eyes tells her he knows exactly what he's doing. "I'm just driving," he chuckles, his hand giving a gentle squeeze.

The subtle movement his hand makes, the way his fingers seem to be purposefully tracing a path up and down her inner thigh, serves as a constant, distracting reminder of his presence. It's clear that he's enjoying her reaction, the way her breath hitches a little, the way she tries to keep her composure.

Despite her efforts to appear unruffled, the effect his touch is having on her is undeniable. Her body betrays her, the warm wave of desire pooling in her core, her mind fuzzy from the alcohol and the distraction of his touch. It's a game they often play, a silent push and pull of control and surrender, and tonight, it seems like he's determined to have his way.

He occasionally glances over at her, his eyes glittering with a mix of amusement and desire. The car glides through the quiet streets, the only sounds are the hum of the engine and their heavy breathing. His hand never leaves her thigh, his touch both a comfort and a source of delicious torment.

After what feels like an eternity, the car finally reaches the gates of Y/n's house. The imposing iron gates swing open quietly at the press of a button, and the car glides into the property, the headlights illuminating the path leading to the house.

As they pull into the driveway, the rain chooses that moment to start pouring heavily, the sound of it hitting the windows and roof of the car creating a soothing symphony. It almost seems like it's the only noise in the world, the silence inside the car adding to the intimate atmosphere.

Oscar parks the car, but it's slightly far from the house due to the crowded cars in front of the entrance. The rain beats against the windows, the soft tapping sound combining with the hum of the car's engine.

"Looks like we'll have to walk a bit," he says, his voice low and quiet. The rain is still pouring, the droplets hitting the ground and bouncing off the pavement, creating little streams that run down the driveway.

Y/n nods, the rain not really a deterrent in her slightly tipsy state. "I don't mind," she says, her voice a bit breathless. Despite her nonchalance, she's keenly aware of how her dress is sticking to her skin due to the dampness of the rain.

As the rain continues to pour, Oscar and Y/n step out of the car, both of them immediately getting drenched under the rain. The water soaks through their clothes, making the thin fabric cling to their bodies. Despite the cold, the rain seems to have the opposite effect, the feeling of the water on their skin adding an element of sensuality to the atmosphere.

With the rain falling so heavily, there's not really any time to waste. They quickly make their way to the front door, both of them running a little faster than usual, their clothes sticking to them like a second skin. The rain pelts down on them, the cold water mixing with the adrenaline of the moment.

They reach the door, both of them a bit breathless, their hair dripping with rain. Y/n fumbles with her keys for a moment, her hands shaky from both the rain and the alcohol. Finally, she manages to unlock the door, and they quickly step inside.

Despite the cold and wetness, Y/n can't help but giggle a little as she puts her purse on the table and takes out her phone. The alcohol is still humming in her veins, making her feel a bit more carefree than usual. She gives her phone a distracted glance, her attention more focused on the state of her clothes and the feeling of the rain-soaked clothes sticking to her skin.

Y/n fishes for her phone in her purse, her fingers fumbling a bit from the cold and her slightly tipsy state. Once she finds it, she quickly types a text message to her father.

"Hi Papa, we're back at home. We made it safe," she types, her words a little slurred but relatively coherent.

As she's in the middle of sending the text, she suddenly feels a pair of arms wrapping around her from behind, and a pair of warm lips brushing against the exposed side of her neck. The unexpected touch makes her gasp in surprise, the phone almost slipping from her grip.

Oscar moves his lips to her ear, whispering his words directly into it, the warmth of his breath sending little shivers down her spine. "You look beautiful like this," he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse with desire.

His hand slides down her waist, his touch light yet possessive, as if marking his territory. He pulls her closer to him, his body pressed against hers so that she can feel the heat and hardness of him against her.

"You have no idea how you look right now," he continues, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Dripping wet in that dress, your hair all wet and messy," he growls, his hand gripping her hip, his fingers slightly digging into her flesh through the fabric.

His words send a rush of heat through her, the combination of his touch and his words making it hard to think straight. She can feel her body responding to him instinctively, her skin prickling with desire, her breath coming in short gasps.

She leans back against him, her head lolling slightly to the side to give him more access to her neck, silently egging him on with her body. His touch is both tender and demanding, his words a mixture of praise and need.

Y/n turns around in the circle of his arms, her body still flush against his, her wet dress sticking to his shirt, creating an intimate and possessive barrier between them. Without hesitation, she kisses him, her lips meeting his in a heated and demanding embrace.

As she jumps up, wrapping her legs around his waist, he responds instantly, his hands automatically going to her thighs, supporting her weight and pulling her closer to him. The feeling of her body pressed against his, the heat and weight of her in his arms, it's all overwhelming and unbelievably arousing.

The kiss continues, their bodies pressed so tightly together that they seem to have melded into one, their mouths devouring each other hungrily. His hands run up and down her thighs, the feel of her skin, still slightly damp from the rain, driving him wild.

He takes a few steps back, leaning against the nearest wall, supporting Y/n as he does. Their mouths continue to move against each other, the kiss deep and consuming. His hands pull her closer, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs as if he could never get her close enough.

After what feels like an eternity, Oscar finally breaks the kiss, his breath coming fast and harsh against her lips. He takes a moment to catch his breath, his hands still holding her against him.

"Your room or mine?" he whispers hoarsely, his voice a low rumble against her ear.

Y/n manages to find her voice, her words coming out a little breathless. "My room," she says, a hint of neediness in her tone. "We already did it in yours."

Oscar carries her all the way upstairs, his hands still gripping her thighs, the feeling of her body against his making it hard for him to focus on anything else. The trip up the stairs seems to take forever, each step bringing them closer to the privacy and intimacy of her room.

Y/n moaned, her hands tangling in Oscar's hair, pulling him closer. Their bodies pressed together, their clothes doing little to hide their arousal. Oscar lightly kicks the door to her bedroom, his impatience and need for her getting the better of him

He sets Y/n down gently on her feet, his hands never leaving her body. He steps back, his eyes raking over her, drinking in her curves, visible through her damp dress.

Oscar reaches behind her, finding the zipper of her dress. Slowly, he pulled it down, his knuckles brushing against her spine, sending shivers down her body. The dress falls open, revealing her bare skin, her breath hitching as the cool air hits her.

Oscar's eyes darken with desire, his hands reaching for the straps of her dress, pushing them off her shoulders, letting the material slide down her body, pooling at her feet.

Y/n stood before Oscar, her dress discarded, her body on full display. Her bare breasts rose and fell with each breath, her nipples hardened peaks, begging for touch. Her white lace panties were damp, the evidence of her arousal visible.

His eyes roamed over her, his gaze hungry, his body hungry with need. "You're beautiful Y/n," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Y/n blushed, her hands reaching for Oscar, pulling him closer. "And you're overdressed," she whispered, her voice a sultry whisper.

Oscar laughed, his hands moving to his shirt, unbuttoning it quickly. He shrugged it off, tossing it aside, his chest bare, his muscles defined.

Y/n's eyes widened, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Much better," she murmured, her hands reaching for him, her fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen.

Y/n kicked her dress aside, breaking the kiss, her eyes filled with desire. She pushed Oscar back, causing him to sit down on the edge of the bed. She followed, dropping to her knees in front of him.

Her hands reached for his belt, unbuckling it, her fingers deft as she unbuttoned his pants, lowering the zipper. She looked up at Oscar, her eyes filled with hunger. "I want to taste you," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper.

Y/n leaned in, her breath hot against Oscar's length, her tongue darting out to lick the tip, tasting the bead of pre-cum. She smirked, her eyes meeting his. "You like that, don't you, Oscar?" she teased, her voice a low purr.

Oscar groaned, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him. "Yes, Y/n, please," he begged, his voice thick with need.

Y/n chuckled, her fingers wrapping around his base, guiding him to her mouth. She took him in, her lips stretching around his width, her tongue swirling around his shaft. She took him deeper, her throat relaxing, taking him whole, her nose pressing against his abdomen.

Oscar let out a low moan, his hands reaching for Y/n's hair, guiding her movements. "God, Y/n, you look so pretty taking my cock in your mouth," he praised, his voice filled with desire.

Y/n hummed, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through Oscar. She began to move, her head bobbing, her tongue working in tandem with her lips, creating a rhythm that had Oscar's toes curling.

His hands tightened in her hair, his hips bucking slightly, his body responding to her ministrations. "That feels so good, baby," he groaned, his voice strained.

Y/n continued, her movements becoming more enthusiastic, her suction increasing. She could feel Oscar's body tensing, his release approaching.

Suddenly, pulled her off him, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Stop, Y/n, I don't want to cum like this," he said, his voice firm but gentle.

Y/n pouted, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "Why not?" she asked, her voice somewhat complaining.

Oscar smiled, his hands reaching for Y/n, pulling her up onto the bed with him. "Because I want to cum inside you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Oscar moved Y/n, gently laying her down on her back, his eyes filled with desire as he looked at Y/n. "But first, I want to watch you," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Play with yourself for me, Y/n. Show me how you want to be touched."

"Show me what you like, Y/n. Touch yourself for me," Oscar urged, his voice thickening with desire. "I want to see you pleasure yourself, baby."

Y/n bit her lip, her cheeks flushing at Oscar's request. But the desire in his eyes was too much to resist. She lay back, her hands sliding down her body, her fingers hooking into the sides of her panties, slowly pulling them off.

Oscar watched, his eyes darkening with desire as Y/n stripped for him. He stood at the end of the bed, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly, matching the rhythm of Y/n's movements.

Y/n spread her legs, her fingers finding her center, rubbing slow circles over her clit. She let out a soft moan, her back arching, her body responding to her touch.

Oscar's grip tightened, his strokes becoming more urgent. "That's it, Y/n, show me how you like it," he urged, his voice thick with need.

Y/n's fingers plunged into her depths, her moans growing louder, her body writhing. "Oscar, I want you," she gasped, her eyes meeting his. "I want you to fuck me, hard. I want you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name."

She switched to rubbing her clit, her movements frantic, her body chasing its release. "I want to feel you, Oscar, fill me up, make me yours. I want you to fuck me senseless."

Y/n's breathing grew heavier, her fingers moving faster, her body tensing. "Oscar, please," she begged, her voice desperate. "I need you inside me, now. I can't wait any longer. Please, fuck me, make me cum, make me scream your name."

Her body convulsed, her orgasm approaching. "Oscar, please, I need you," she pleaded, her eyes filled with desperation.

Oscar suddenly grabbed Y/n's wrists, pulling her hands away from her pussy. She let out a cry of frustration, her body arching, seeking release.

"No," Oscar said firmly, his voice a low growl. "The only way you're going to cum tonight is by my mouth, my fingers, or my cock. Understand?"

Y/n whimpered, her body trembling with need. "Yes, I understand," she whispered, her eyes filled with desire and frustration.

Oscar smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "Good girl," he praised, his voice soft. He picked up Y/n's discarded panties, holding them up to her face. "Now, be quiet for me, alright? Or else I'll have to find something to keep that pretty mouth of yours busy."

He held the panties near her lips, his eyebrow raised in warning. "Understood?"

Y/n nodded frantically, her eyes wide. "Yes, Oz," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She pressed her lips together, her body trembling with anticipation and excitement.

Oscar grinned, pleased with Y/n's compliance. He positioned himself between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs, lifting them up, opening her to him.

He leaned in, his tongue finding her center, licking her from bottom to top. Y/n let out a soft moan, her body jerking, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her.

Oscar looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "Remember our deal," he reminded her, his voice a low warning.

Y/n nodded, biting her lip to keep from making noise. Oscar smiled, his tongue delving into her depths, his fingers joining in, stretching her, preparing her for what was to come.

She struggled to remain silent, her moans building, her body writhing under Oscar's expert touch. She bit her lip, her nails digging into her palms, trying to keep quiet.

Oscar could sense her struggle, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, bringing her closer to the edge. Just as Y/n thought she couldn't take it anymore, Oscar stopped, his head lifting, his eyes meeting hers.

"Be quiet, Y/n," he warned, his voice stern. "Or else."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her body still tingling from Oscar's touch. "I'm sorry" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. She bit her lip, her eyes filled with determination. "I'll be good, I promise."

Oscar smiled, satisfied with Y/n's apology. He lowered his head, his tongue finding her clit, sucking it into his mouth, his fingers plunging into her depths.

Y/n let out a soft gasp, her body arching, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. She bit her lip, her eyes squeezed shut, determined to stay quiet.

Just as Oscar's fingers found that sweet spot inside Y/n, she let out a loud moan, her body convulsing. Oscar immediately stopped, looking up at her with a disapproving glare.

"Naughty girl," he chided, grabbing her panties. Before Y/n could react, he stuffed them into her mouth, gagging her. "There, that should keep you quiet."

Her eyes widened, surprise and humiliation flashing across her face. She mumbled something incoherent, her body squirming, trying to remove the makeshift gag.

Oscar held her thighs down, preventing her from moving. "Uh-uh, none of that," he scolded, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You wanted to be fucked senseless, didn't you? Well, we can't have you screaming the house down, now can we?"

He leaned back in, his tongue resuming its assault on Y/n's pussy. "And I can't have you screaming my name," he murmured, his voice muffled. "Not with your parents due home anytime. Wouldn't want to ruin my good impression."

Despite the gag, Y/n's moans and whines continued to escape, filling the room. Oscar pulled away, his brow furrowing in disapproval.

"Enough," he said firmly, giving her pussy a sharp slap. Y/N jumped, her body jerking, her eyes widening in surprise and pain. She let out a muffled squeak, her body stilling.

Oscar looked up at Y/n, his expression serious. "If you want to cum tonight, you're going to need to be a good girl," he said, his voice firm. "No more noises, understand? You can nod if you do."

Y/n hesitated for a moment before nodding reluctantly, her eyes filled with determination. Oscar smiled, pleased with her compliance. "Good girl," he praised, before diving back in, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, bringing Y/n closer to the edge.

Oscar could feel Y/n's body tensing, her orgasm approaching. He slowed his movements, his tongue and fingers retreating just as she was about to tumble over the edge.

Y/n let out a frustrated moan, her body arching, seeking release. Oscar looked up at her, a wicked grin on his face. "Not yet, sweetheart," he said, his voice a low chuckle. "We've got all night, remember?"

Oscar lifted Y/n from the bed, positioning her over his lap. She let out a surprised yelp, her body tensing as she realized what was about to happen.

"Oscar, what are you doing?" she mumbled, her words muffled by the panties in her mouth.

Oscar removed the panties from Y/n's mouth, throwing them aside. "I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself," he said, his voice stern. "I'm going to spank you, and you're going to count. If you get the number wrong or skip it, we start again from one. Understand?"

Y/N nodded, her body tense, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes, Sir," she whispered, her voice filled with apprehension.

Oscar's eyes widened briefly at Y/n's use of 'Sir', but he chose not to comment on it. Instead, he simply smiled, his hand raised, coming down sharply on Y/N's ass.

"One," she gasped, her body jerking at the sudden impact. "Good girl," Oscar praised, his hand rising again.

"Two," Y/n counted, her voice steady despite the sting on her ass. Oscar continued, his hand falling in a rhythmic pattern, each smack echoing through the room.

"Three... Four... Five..." Y/n whimpers, her body tensing with each strike, her ass growing warm and red. Despite the pain, she felt a strange sensation building inside her, her body responding to the punishment.

"Six... Seven... Nine!" Y/n counted, her voice breathless. Suddenly, she realized her mistake, her eyes widening. "Wait, eight!" she corrected, her voice panicked.

Oscar tsked, shaking his head in disappointment. "Too late, sweetheart," he said, his voice firm. "You skipped eight. We start again from one."

Y/n's tears started to fall, her body trembling with frustration and unshed orgasms. After several failed attempts, Oscar paused, gently pulling on her hair, and forcing her to look at him.

"Hey, hey, look at me," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "Is this too much, Y/n? Do you want me to stop?"

Y/n shook her head, her tear-filled eyes meeting Oscar's. "No, please don't stop," she begged, her voice hoarse. "I just... I just want to cum, Oscar. I'm sorry for disobeying you. Please, just let me cum."

Oscar smiled, leaning down to capture Y/n's lips in a tender kiss. When he pulled back, he cupped her cheek, his thumb wiping away her tears. "Okay, sweetheart," he said softly. "We'll do the spanking again. This time, I'll go slow, and I'll help you. Alright?"

She nodded, her body relaxing, her eyes filled with hope. "Yes, Oscar," she whispered.

Oscar positioned Y/n back over his lap, his hand gently caressing her now-reddened ass. "Ready?" he asked, his voice soft.

Y/n nodded, bracing herself. "Yes," she said, her voice steadier than before. "I'm ready."

Oscar landed a light spank on Y/n's ass, the sound echoing through the room. "One," he said, his voice calm and clear.

"One," Y/n repeated, her voice steady. She braced herself, ready for the next one.

Oscar spanked Y/n again and again, each spank growing harder than before. "Five," he counted, his voice firm.

Y/n winced, her body tensing at the increased intensity. "Five," she echoed, her voice slightly strained. She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm and focused.

Oscar brought his hand down hard on Y/n's ass one last time, the sound of the smack echoing loudly. "Ten," he said, his voice firm.

Y/n cried out, her body jerking, her ass stinging from the force of the blow. Tears sprang to her eyes, her body trembling. "Ten," she gasped, her voice barely audible.

Oscar pulled Y/n off his lap, setting her gently on the bed. He looked down at her, his eyes softening as he saw her tears. "See?" he said, his voice gentle. "It wasn't so hard to follow such simple instructions, was it?"

Y/n sniffled, wiping away her tears. She looked up at Oscar, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions. "No, Oscar," she admitted, her voice soft. "It wasn't." She took a deep breath, her body still tingling from the spanking. "What now?" she asked, her voice filled with anticipation.

Oscar smiled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Patience, sweetheart," he said, his voice low. "All in good timing."

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between Y/n's legs. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/n watched, her breath hitching as Oscar's cock grew harder, longer. Then, without warning, he rubbed the tip against her clit, causing her to gasp

Oscar chuckled at Y/n's reaction, repeating the motion, rubbing his cock against her clit, teasing her. "Like that, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

She nodded, her body arching, seeking more friction. "Yes, Oscar," she gasped, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. "Please, more."

Oscar continued to tease Y/n, his cock rubbing against her clit, his movements slow and deliberate. He could feel her body tensing, her orgasm approaching.

"Not yet, sweetheart," he said, his voice firm. He pulled back, denying her release once again.

Oscar looked down at Y/n, his eyes filled with amusement. "Remember, the only way you're cumming tonight is on my tongue, fingers, or cock," he said, his voice a low reminder. "So, which will it be, sweetheart?"

She looked up at Oscar, her eyes filled with desperation. "Your cock, Oscar," she begged, her voice hoarse. "Please, I need you inside me. I can't wait any longer."

Oscar smiled, positioning himself at Y/n's entrance. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with desire. "As you wish," he said, his voice low.

With one thrust, he slid his cock into Y/n's tight pussy, filling her completely. She let out a cry of pleasure, her body arching, her nails digging into his back.

Oscar began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. "Shh, sweetheart," he reminded Y/n, his voice firm. "Remember, be quiet or I'll have to use those panties again to shut you up."

He looked down at her hands, which were exploring his body. "And keep your hands to yourself, or I'll have to use my belt," he added, his voice a low warning.

Y/n's hands continued to roam, ignoring Oscar's warning. With a sigh, he pulled out of her, grabbing his belt from the floor. He flipped her onto her hands and knees, pushing her upper body down onto the bed.

"Arms behind your back," he ordered, his voice stern. Y/n complied, her arms crossing behind her. Oscar quickly tied her wrists together with his belt, securing them tightly.

Oscar looked down at Y/n, her ass in the air, her wrists bound behind her back. He ran a hand over her reddened cheeks, his voice a low murmur. "Maybe you like being used like this, hmm? Maybe that's why you're acting like such a little brat."

He gave her ass a sharp slap, causing her to jump. "Answer me, Y/n. Do you like being used like this?"

Y/n hesitated for a moment before admitting, "Yes, Oscar. I... I do like it. I like being used like this." Her voice was small, filled with shame. "I'm sorry for being a brat."

Oscar smiled, running a hand possessively over Y/n's ass. "Don't be sorry, sweetheart," he said, his voice low. "I like using you like this. And I think you deserve a reward for being honest."

He positioned himself at her entrance, his cock pressing against her. "How about I fuck you nice and hard, hmm? Would you like that?"

"Yes, please," Y/n breathed, her body tensing in anticipation. But before she could say anything else, Oscar stuffed her panties back into her mouth, gagging her.

"Then be a good girl, keep quiet and take my cock, okay?" he said, his voice firm. Without waiting for an answer, he slammed into her, filling her completely.

Y/n let out a muffled moan, her body arching as Oscar filled her. Her hands, tied behind her back, tried to grip the air, seeking something to hold onto as he began to move, his hips slamming into her with increasing force.

Oscar watched, a smirk playing on his lips as Y/n struggled to keep quiet, her body writhing beneath him. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

Y/n's moans grew louder, her body tensing as her orgasm approached. Oscar could feel her pussy tightening around his cock, her body begging for release.

"Not yet, sweetheart," he growled, pinching her clit, denying her orgasm. "You know better than that."

She lets out a frustrated moan, her body bucking against Oscar's restraint. He grabbed her hips, holding her still, his cock continuing to pound into her.

"You're not in charge here, Y/n," he reminded her, his voice firm. "I am. And I say when you cum. Not a moment sooner."

Oscar's thrusts became harder, faster, the bed creaking beneath them. He could feel his own orgasm approaching, his body tensing.

"I'm gonna cum, Y/n," he grunted, his fingers finding her clit once again. "And I'm gonna cum with you. Understand?"

Y/n nodded, her body tensing in anticipation. Oscar began to rub her clit in earnest, his cock slamming into her, their bodies moving in perfect sync.

With a final thrust, Oscar came, his cock pulsing inside Y/n. She followed soon after, her body convulsing, her pussy contracting around him. As she did, she squirted a little, the liquid going unnoticed by Oscar, who was lost in his own pleasure.

Oscar pulled out of Y/n, flipping her onto her back. He looked down at her, a satisfied smile on his face. "Mmm, looks like I made a mess," he said, his voice low.

He knelt on the floor, pulling her to the edge of the bed. He kissed her thighs, his tongue licking up his cum, cleaning her up. "I always clean up my mess, sweetheart," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers.

Oscar continued to lick and kiss Y/n's thighs, his tongue moving lower and lower until he reached her pussy. He looked up at her, a wicked grin on his face before burying his face between her legs, his tongue delving into her folds.

Her cum and his mixed on his tongue, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the taste, his tongue lapping up every drop.

Y/n let out muffled moans, her body writhing as Oscar's tongue worked its magic. He looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched her react to his touch.

"Does that feel good, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice muffled by her pussy. She nodded, her eyes filled with pleasure. Oscar smiled, his tongue continuing its assault

"Mmm-hmm," Y/n mumbled, her hips bucking against Oscar's face, seeking more friction. "Yes, fuck," she managed to say around the panties in her mouth. "Feels so good."

Oscar chuckled, his hands spreading Y/n's thighs wider, giving him better access. "I'm glad you like it, sweetheart," he said, his voice low. "Now, be a good girl and come for me one more time, hmm?" His tongue found her clit, sucking it into his mouth.

Her body tensed, her orgasm washing over her. She let out a muffled scream, her hips grinding against Oscar's face as she came, her juices flowing onto his tongue. He lapped it up, his tongue continuing to work her clit, drawing out her pleasure.

Oscar stood up, pulling the panties from Y/n's mouth. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, allowing her to taste herself on his tongue.

She struggled against the belt binding her wrists, letting out a frustrated groan. Oscar gently flipped her onto her stomach, unbuckling the belt and freeing her wrists.

Y/n moved her wrists, rubbing them to restore circulation. She turned to face Oscar, reaching up to kiss him. He was slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly, kissing her back with equal fervor, his hands tangling in her hair.

Oscar pulled back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Someone's needy," he teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Can't get enough of me, can you?"

Y/n nodded, her eyes still glassy from her earlier tears. She straddled Oscar, her hands resting on his chest. "I can't help it," she admitted, her voice soft. "You make me feel things I've never felt before."

Oscar smiled, his hands pulling Y/n closer, his lips capturing hers in another searing kiss. Abruptly, he broke away, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Sit on my face, sweetheart," he ordered, his voice low. "Let's see if I can make you feel even more."

Y/n hesitated for a moment, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. But at the sight of Oscar's eager expression, she climbed up his body, straddling his face, her pussy hovering above his mouth.

Y/N sank down onto Oscar's face, his nose brushing against her clit. He gripped her thighs, pushing her down, holding her in place as his tongue delved into her pussy, licking and sucking, devouring her.

"Oh god, Oz," Y/N moaned, her body writhing. "Calm down, you might not be able to breathe like that." But her words were half-hearted, her body already chasing another orgasm.

Oscar chuckled, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through Y/n. "I can handle it, sweetheart," he muttered, his tongue continuing its relentless assault. "Now, ride my face like a good girl."

Y/n obeyed, her hips moving in rhythm with Oscar's tongue, her moans growing louder, her body tensing as another orgasm approached. "Oz, I'm gonna cum," she warned, her voice breathless.

Oscar growled, his hands gripping her thighs tighter, pushing her down harder onto his face. "Cum for me, sweetheart," he demanded, his tongue flicking against her clit. "Cum all over my face."

"Oz, please," Y/n whimpered, her body twitching with each swipe of his tongue. "It's too much. I can't take anymore." But Oscar ignored her pleas, his tongue continuing its relentless assault.

Finally, Y/n couldn't take anymore. She collapsed forward, her body spent, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Oscar chuckled, his hands gentling on her thighs, his tongue slowing, bringing her down from her high.

"We're not done yet, sweetheart," Oscar said, a wicked glint in his eye. Before she could respond, he lifted her, placing her in front of him, her legs spread wide, facing the mirror on her wall. "Watch, Y/n," he commanded, his cock pressing against her entrance. "Watch us."

Oscar's fingers found Y/n's clit, circling it, teasing it. Every now and then, he'd dip his fingers into her pussy, just enough to make her gasp, before retreating, leaving her wanting more. All while she watched their reflection in the mirror.

Y/n looked away, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. But Oscar wasn't having it. He grabbed her chin, turning her face towards the mirror. "Eyes on us, Y/n," he ordered his voice firm. "Watch what I do to you."

She hesitantly met her own gaze in the mirror, watching as Oscar's fingers continued to tease her. She could see the flush on her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, and the way her body responded to his touch.

Oscar smiled, pressing kisses along Y/n's neck, feeling her shiver in response. "Good girl," he whispered, his fingers never stopping their movement. "You look so beautiful like this, all flushed and needy."

Y/n let out a moan as she felt Oscar's cock slide into her, inch by inch. She watched in the mirror as her body stretched to accommodate him, her eyes fluttering closed briefly before snapping open again, following Oscar's orders.

"Do you see that, baby?" Oscar asked, his voice low. "See how you take my cock so well? Like you were made for it."

Y/n moaned, her legs shaking as she slowly bounced on Oscar's cock. His fingers found her clit, rubbing in time with her movements, making her moan even louder. She could feel his cum from earlier leaking out of her, adding to the sensation.

"Fuck, baby," Oscar groaned, his fingers tightening on her hips, guiding her movements. "You feel so good. Ride my cock, baby. Make yourself cum again."

She whimpered, her body struggling to keep up. Her legs were weak, her muscles protesting, but she pushed through, her body chasing another orgasm. She could feel it building, her breath coming in short gasps, her vision starting to blur.

Oscar's fingers pressed firmly against Y/n's clit, pushing her over the edge. She screamed, her body convulsing, her pussy contracting around Oscar's cock, squirting her release. He groaned, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her with his cum once again.

Oscar kept thrusting, drawing out Y/n's orgasm, making her squirt again and again. The bed beneath them grew wet, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room. Y/N's screams echoed off the walls, her body completely at Oscar's mercy.

Their orgasms finally subsided, both of them breathing heavily. Oscar rested his head on her shoulder, his body still shuddering with aftershocks. "Fuck, Y/n," he panted. "That was..." he trailed off, unable to find the words.

"That was amazing," Y/n breathed, her body still trembling. Oscar laughed, lifting his head to look at her. "It really was," he agreed. "I didn't know you could squirt, sweetheart."

Y/n chuckled, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Neither did I," she admitted. "Guess we learned something new today."

The sound of the front gate opening had both of them freezing. They sat up straight, panic setting in. "Shit, my parents," Y/N whispered, her eyes wide. "And mine too," Oscar added, quickly pulling out of her and grabbing his clothes.

She let out a hiss of pain as Oscar pulled out, her body still sensitive and sore from their activities. She quickly started gathering her own clothes, her heart pounding in her chest.

Oscar rushed to get dressed, throwing Y/n's clothes to her. "Here, put these on," he urged, helping her into a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top. "We need to clean up this room before your parents get here."

"No, I'll clean up," Oscar insisted, grabbing a towel and starting to wipe down the bed. "You go downstairs and stall them. Tell them I'm not feeling well and I went to lie down."

Y/n nodded, her steps wobbling as she made her way to the door. "Be quick, Oz," she whispered before closing the door behind her and heading downstairs.

Y/n

I quickly run down the stairs, my feet quiet on the wooden steps. My heart is still thrumming in my chest from the rush of it all, the near miss having sent a burst of adrenaline through me.

I reach the bottom of the stairs, my breath still coming a bit fast from the speed at which I came down. The realization that my parents and his parents could have caught us is still fresh in my mind, adding a bit of a thrill to the whole situation.

The sound of the front door opening catches my attention, and I freeze at the bottom of the stairs when I see who it is. My parents, my brother, Oscar's parents, and his sister. They're all chatting and laughing, the effects of alcohol present on everyone's faces except Gabriel's (who is half asleep).

I stand there, my heart rate picking up, my mind still racing as I try to process the unexpected arrival.

The sight of all our family members together is a bit overwhelming, especially given the state and Oscar and I are currently in. I take a deep breath, hoping that the flush on my skin in the aftermath of our earlier activities is not too obvious.

May, being the most sober of the group, immediately notices my disheveled state and smirks to herself, clearly aware of the situation. The rest of the group, still a bit drunk, remain oblivious to the obvious clues, chatting and laughing amongst themselves, completely oblivious to our predicament upstairs.

My dad, seeing me at the foot of the stairs, looks surprised. He notices my flushed skin and the slight sheen of sweat on my forehead, and can't help but ask, "Why are you so sweaty?"

Caught off guard by my dad's question, quickly makes up an excuse. She pauses for a moment, my mind racing for a convincing reason why I'd be so sweaty.

"Oh," I finally manage to say, "I was, uh, cleaning my room. I just finished."

The lie sounds weak even to my own ears, but thankfully the group seems to buy it, or at least not question it further. My dad just nods, still looking at her with a hint of curiosity, while the rest of the group continue their loud conversation, oblivious to the lie.

Y/n trails behind the group, her mind still a bit frazzled from the close call. She keeps her distance a bit, not wanting to call attention to her flushed skin or disheveled state. The sounds of laughter and chatter fill the air, and everyone is in high spirits.

Once everybody else has gone to their rooms, Y/n finally relaxes a little. She takes a moment to steady herself, taking a deep breath to calm her still-racing heart. Then, she approaches her bedroom door and knocks, signaling to Oscar that everything is clear.

Y/n enters the room, finding Oscar already inside, changing the sheets. The sight of him making the bed, his muscular back and broad shoulders moving under his shirt, sends a small flutter of desire through her.

Y/n gives Oscar a small smile, her eyes tracing over his form for a moment before she speaks. "The coast is clear," she says, her voice a bit softer than usual. "You can go back to your room and change now."

Oscar nods and continues changing the sheets, his focus on the task at hand. A few moments later, he finishes and stands up, giving Y/n a quick smile before leaving the room and making his way back towards his own room.

He walks over to the bed and lays down beside Y/n, the mattress shifting slightly under his weight. He turns towards her, looking at her tired face, a small smile on his lips. He reaches for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, a silent reassurance.

Oscar, seeing the exhaustion on her face, looks at her tenderly and asks, "Are you sleepy?" His voice is soft and soothing, a direct contrast to the earlier heat and passion.

As she turns to face him, her hands immediately find their way under his shirt, her slender fingers brushing against his skin. The simple touch is enough to make him shiver slightly, his body reacting to her instinctively. He looks at her, his gaze full of tenderness and desire.

Y/n's hands run over his skin, her touch lingering on his chest, seeking the warmth of his body. She cuddles a little closer, her body curving against his. "You're warm," she murmurs sleepily, her voice a bit muffled against his shoulder.

Oscar chuckles softly, amused by her sleepy murmurs. He runs a hand through her hair, gently soothing her. "Go to sleep now," he whispers, his voice a gentle command.

Y/n nods, her eyelids already feeling heavy. She snuggles closer to his chest, her body instinctively seeking his warmth and comfort. Her breathing slowly evens out as she begins to drift off, her mind succumbing to the exhaustion and the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat.

As Y/n drifts off to sleep, Oscar watches her for a moment, a tender smile on his face. Carefully, he reaches for the end of the blanket and tugs it up over her body, tucking her in snugly. He lays there next to her, the silence of the night broken only by the soft sound of her breathing.

oscarpiastrii

liked by may.piastri, hattie_pia, ediepastry and 814 others oscarpiastrii She's my girl (Some of the pics are from Y/n lol) tagged yn.jpg

yn.jpg you sap ↳ oscarpiastrii I love you too

hattie_pia wow. okay.

ediepastry my little boy is all grown up ↳ oscarpiastrii I'm older than you...?

may.piastri hattie_pia wheres my 5 bucks ↳ hattie_pia stfu im omw to ur room ↳ oscarpiastrii What do you mean 5 bucks. ↳ may.piastri oh we made a bet if you'd actually become y/ns bf (especially after you wouldn't stop talking abt her otw home when they were in Australia) ↳ yn.jpg OH???? ↳ oscarpiastrii may.piastri Delete your account.

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