#I have first thoughts reviews on each of them in my notes app x)

[khytal]

i’m still watching detco I just had to take a break for tristamp. gonna go through movie 9 tomorrow :]c

[astonmartingf]

FALLING FOR YOU ; MV1

max verstappen x reader

. . . in his own little way, max finds the solutions to his problems not without a little help from his friends and ends up giving you the confession of a lifetime

amgf yeah... there's this, just fluff. i won't be as active this week because of exams and research but this is prime time of my impulsive ideas so either i can milk this opportunity to write every single day, or avoid this app for the remainder of the week. enjoy 👍

Max strives for stability. 

He enjoys the same routine that consists of jogging at eight am, early morning workout by nine am, brunch, a few rounds of sim racing, stopping by for a few phone calls and online meetings. If he isn’t expected to fly anywhere else he’d have his usual afternoon snack, play with his cats, more sim racing from six to eight pm, dinner with his team, reviewing data and notes, an hour for his own leisure— mostly sim racing, before heading to bed at one am.

Whatever happens in between is usually one of Lando’s plans in an attempt to spice things up in his life. Whether it’s going to the movies, buying ice cream at the convenience store down the street, or playing padel. Max is very much thankful for his friends.

Max also strives for the best.

He takes pride in his skills in racing and acknowledges his talent, and flaws. Honing them like a sharp knife through whetstones, he polishes himself and cuts through the defenses of the grid. He is a World Champion for a reason, and with a great car and team behind him, he knows they’ll get far. Max is very much thankful for the trust his team set upon him.

Max hates uncertainty. 

Well- hate is too strong of a word and dislike would be too weak for his opinions. 

Max despises uncertainty.

Especially when there’s you- the current root of all his “problems”. Despite his tendency to be blunt and straightforward statements, uncertainty always left a distasteful feeling in his mouth. 

Realizing that his wavering feelings for you have now shattered the routine he built to perfection. Long gone are sleeping on time and hello to staying up with you crowding his thoughts. Head full of the lingering scent of your perfume and the same voice playing in his head.

Max hated it. He despised how you orbit around his mind, bouncing through the walls of the gray matter inside his skull. He often catches himself smiling at the thought of you- before a bitter scowl fills his face and an incredulous and slightly constipated look pasted on his face.

But that was the least of his worries, such feelings could be fixed (a term he used to convince himself these are temporary). It’s not that Max doesn’t believe in relationships or think it’s nothing but a distraction, deep inside he’s aware that he craves affection. It’s the vague emotions clouding his heart making him think twice.

Then again, Max is thankful for his friends. 

“What did you say?” Lando squinted his eyes in the hopes to hear his words clearly. With a blank look- almost as if he put on a mask void of emotions Max spoke once more.

“Do I like YN?” 

The rest tilted their head to the side, in confusion. “D-did you perhaps ask us. . . if- if you like someone?” George, asked once more to make sure of his words, sighing in disbelief.

“It’s not just someone, it’s YN.” Max pushed the question once more and glanced at everyone on the table.

The silence was deafening. Max’ statement was too loud and too quiet at the same time, no one spoke and they left each other contemplating on the next words he will say.

“I need help. How do I know I like YN?” Collective gasps were heard throughout and one by one they slowly left the group of friends on the table leaving Max with Lando and George.

“How about we sleep over your question and. . .think— think about it you know?” Lando, the first to talk regarding the revelation that their stoic friend has now developed feelings for someone.

“Sleep? I hardly get any sleep these nights. I want to confirm my feelings now so I can finally sleep peacefully.” 

That’s when the pair noticed the bags under his eyes, mostly due to the lack of sleep like he said. Lando took a glance at George and started to talk telepathically at each other.

George sighs before pushing Max from his seat, “You see Max these feelings can’t be confirmed in a night, these requ-”

“It’s been weeks, George, I can’t lose sleep over such a trivial matter.” Max retorted with a firm stance using his lack of sleep as a front to confirm his feelings.

“Okay, first of all feelings are not a trivial matter. They are valid, and whatever is going on in your head about YN shouldn’t be taken lightly. Not because we’re curious but because we care about your emotional well being.” Lando spoke in a serious voice which only added on to Max’ confusion.

Feelings are not a big deal, at least not for him.

“And we're curious as to why you like YN.” George chimed as he followed the pair outside the room.

“Yes we’re curious but now how about I give you some romance books that you can study and read. Only you can confirm your feelings Max, let’s stop by my room and I’ll give you books you can read and next week- next week we’ll talk about this matter again.”

Lando now sounds like a mom scolding his child for misbehaving, dragging the latter to his room and sending him off with a tower of romance books.

Max is smart, he can understand such concepts by himself.

Feeling accomplished, Lando glanced at George smirking at him before walking away with Max to his apartment.

Max on the other hand went inside his room and began to bury himself in the books he brought along. “If I’m not sleeping at least I get my feelings in line.”

One chapter. And another turns to five and in the blink of an eye a week has passed. Max returned to his routine but instead of sleeping at one he pushed it to an even later hour to make time for reading which helped him sleep.

The first nights were hard, after finishing a chapter of the book he finds himself falling asleep and now you appear to become more vivid in his mind. Invading his dreams as romantic scenarios play on repeat while Max mindlessly sleeps which results in him waking up flustered and warm.

Passing by you on the paddock became frequent; it's as if the universe has its way to bring you together. Now everywhere Max looked there was you, in the corner of his sight you occupied a chunk of his thoughts and as much as he hated to admit he found himself anticipating your presence.

By the end of the week you managed to invade his thoughts and heart which only strengthened his theory and confirmed his feelings for you. With no time to waste, Max went to look for you. The second practice was over, he’s telling you what you’re doing to him.

With new found information from the team about your whereabouts, Max made his way to the hospitality locating where you’re assigned he opens the door abruptly to see you preparing food. You stand straight feeling the intimidating aura around him, you watch him exhale a sigh of relief before talking a large step in your direction. On instinct you back away giving him space, every step Max takes is a step backward from you.

Unknowingly your feet hit the corner of the marble countertop and like a cliché scene Max remembers from the books he’s been reading you stumble backwards.

Max is a racer for a reason, and with swift reflexes he managed to catch your fall and brought you up to your feet. “You should watch where you’re going. I don’t want you falling just like how I fell for you.”

Silence. Complete, utter silence from the both of you paired with the low buzz of the booming air conditioner right near you. You blink your eyes incredulously, “What?”

“I mean. . . I do want you to fall for me, it would be sad to find out that my feelings are one-sided. But I mean my words YN.”

You adjust your posture and back away. “What are the words Max? About me falling to the ground or you. . . you f- falling for me?” Your voice thins out at the end unsure of what you just heard.

“Both. I don’t want you to fall, it’s dangerous just like how you did to me. You enamored me with those charms, I just want to know how you did it.” Max spoke with the most bored and plain looking face he could muster up. His palms were sweating inside his pockets in extreme nervousness.

“Is this- is this your confession perhaps?” You try to piece things together, like the subtle clues Lando and George have been leaving out of nowhere.

“Yes. This is my confession.” Max blurts out as sweat drips from the side of his forehead. And just as he was losing hope from this failed confession your bubbly laugh bursts the silence in the air.

“You know, you need to work on your confession more. That was unlike any other, but I understand what you mean. Do you want me to fall for you, Maxie?” 

Max stares at you and you don't miss the soft gaze he set upon you. You note the light blush spread around the apples of his cheeks as his eyes light up the moment you called his name. The once awkward silent air was now filled with a warm feeling that spread all over your body, leaving goosebumps all over your skin.

“I do. I fell for you, I like you, and I want to mean something to you.”

His way with words caught you off guard, Max Verstappen, who would’ve thought. You smile at him, this time it’s you walking towards his direction.

Max stiffened at the proximity between the two of you, his feet stuck to the floor preventing him from backing away. Your face gets closer to his and all the thoughts clouding his mind have been wiped away.

You face him and whisper something in his ear before walking away towards the kitchen at the back, legs shaking and breaths heavy. 

Taking a moment to himself Max meditates in an attempt to calm his bouncing heart, legs shaking as if they ran a hundred miles, and his mind whirring into different ideas and possibilities.

Max never falls- literally and figuratively.

Yet you managed to be the root of all his problems. The person who made him fall, there was no doubt that Max fell and will still be falling for you.

[mistydeyes]

first line treatments: how the pharmacist met the 141

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: After your time as the pharmacist in the army, you think back to your days when you first started at the pharmacy. You were in your late 20's, less experienced and also less stressed, and more importantly had not familiarized with your patient. However, you fondly remember how you got to know each member of the 141.

pairing: Task Force 141 x pharmacist!Reader

some other parts of the pharmacist!series:

counseling the 141 - first part to the pharmacist! story

weird dreams when they are injured on the field

being sick and having the 141 come to the rescue

warnings: medical/pharmacy terminology, medical inaccuracies, swearing, depiction of wounds and violence

a/n: this took me a while to think of because I knew I wanted to continue my pharmacist!series but I wasn't sure where to go with it! hope you enjoy!

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price

"Alright Captain, here's the keys," the head of the medical department said as she dropped them in your hand, "the pharmacy opens in an hour." You held the heavy chain in your palm, noting the various tags on the individual keys. "Wait, what do you mean in an hour?" you questioned as you stood outside the locked gates. She let out a laugh before responding. "An hour, Captain," she corrected and your eyes widened, "you're the new pharmacist in charge and the Army wouldn't have picked you if they didn't think you would be able to do this." With that, she walked off, leaving you to fumble around and try to orient yourself in the new area.

Despite the awful time you had waking up at 05:00, any sense of sleeplessness was gone and you were fully running on adrenaline. You felt like someone injected you with epinephrine based on how you ran around the pharmacy, trying to fill scripts and get your logins in. At 06:30, you heard a knock on the door to the pharmacy. You practically jumped, almost dropping the bottle of Metformin in your hand. "Hello?" you questioned as you saw a uniformed officer standing with a water bottle. "You must be the new pharmacist," she smiled and you opened the door to fully, "I'm your technician." You could feel your stress subside as she gave you a quick tour of the pharmacy. By the time she was finished, she informed you she would take care of the incoming scripts while you managed the queue and the verification process.

To your delight, the automatic pharmacy doors opened and you saw there was not a large queue of soldiers waiting for their scripts. You took a moment to catch your breath and review some of the new scripts as well as the occasional filled prescription that required your verification. You were focused, drowning out the sounds of the pills hitting the tray and the occasional conversations in the hallway. "Um Captain," your technician called, "I think someone is waiting." You felt your face flush as you quickly walked over to see a captain politely waiting. "I'm so sorry," you apologized as you looked up at him, "first day on the job." "It's alright," he reassured and you smiled, relieved he wasn't an irate customer.

"Did you check in with the app?" you asked and he shook his head. "I like to come early to avoid all that nonsense, I believe medical sent something down for me," he spoke gently, "the name's John Price." You turned to the computer and took a few moments to orient yourself with the system. Eventually, you were able to find his file amongst the surprising amounts of John Price's in the system. "Yes, looks there's two here for you," you said and turned to search around the bins. You thought searching the system took you long but navigating the bins took even longer. You eventually found the clear bag of his items and returned. "Here you go," you responded, "any questions?" He shook his head and you handed over the bag. Before he left, he turned back to you. "It's already half past 7, you're making it through your first day," he commented. You weren't sure if it was a compliment or a complaint based on your slow time, however, you were comforted knowing the day was going quickly.

soap

After a few more patients, you finally had time to review your emails for the day. You sighed as you clicked through the reminders for meetings and on-boarding. You finally reached something of note. You sat back in the chair as you read through the email and attached file carefully. In summary, it notified you of a certain non-compliant patient who would be visiting your pharmacy soon. You laughed at the bold red letters that read “PLEASE ADVISE SERGEANT MACTAVISH TO TAKE THE FULL COURSE OF ANTIBIOTICS.” This was the first email of its kind you’ve received and you laughed at the childlike recommendation.

The incoming scripts had dissipated and your technician decided to take over the counter for you. Eventually, you heard your name being called and you walked over. "Captain, there's a mandatory counseling notification for you," she remarked and you nodded. You looked up to the patient who seemed to know what this was about. "If you don't mind Sergeant, you can come to the vaccination area and we can discuss," you explained with a smile. He nodded at your command and you walked to the private corner. You settled into the plastic chair and he sat across from you. “You're not in any trouble," you joked, "I’ve actually heard a lot about you, Sergeant.” He let out a laugh as you grabbed his medication. “You can drop the formalities,” he said before you began your counseling, “it’s just Johnny.”

"Well Johnny," you returned the conversation to you, "medical wanted me to talk to you about how to take these." Another laugh and this time you looked at him a bit confused. "Doctors are always tellin me that," he said as his voice boomed in the small area. "They are right after all, you should be taking the full course of these," you advised, "they even come counted out for you." You turned the bottle of Amoxicillin/Clavulanic acid in your hand, looking at the nine white tablets. "I'm serious, Johnny, you know the types of recurring infections you get if you don't take these," you said, sternly, as if you were a mother chiding their child. "I know, I know, Captain," he said defensively, hands in the air. "Good," you said handing the pills over, "then I shouldn't be seeing a script for you anytime soon." With that, he nodded and you dismissed him before returning back to your computer. Little did you know, you would be cursing at the pharmacy system as a script for Mactavish, John came in for MRSA infection.

gaz

After a week, you were finally comfortable in your role as the pharmacy officer. You were able to fill and verify scripts quickly and keep the queue from turning into an angry mob. The constant self-dosing of paracetamol was a thing of the past for you. However, as your technicians were frantically running around when you returned from lunch, your mood changed. After one of them sheepishly explained the situation, you felt like screaming. "What do you mean the medical file system is down?!" you exclaimed as your heart dropped. Apparently, it would be fixed once it was determined to be an error and not a malicious hack. You were also advised to stay off the phone lines and other systems as a precaution. This didn't help you as a platoon of soldiers was coming in for their prescriptions and were leaving on a 6-month deployment.

It would be no issue but you found that you were unable to verify an NSAID allergy for a patient. "Guess I'm doing this the old-fashioned way," you mumbled before walking out the pharmacy doors. As you exited the pharmacy, you soon realized your haste. Despite receiving a full tour on the first day, you had no idea where to go. You spent 15 minutes exploring the halls but to no avail. Finally, you threw in the towel and decided to ask someone. You looked around and saw a sergeant walking down the hall, casually. "Excuse me, Sergeant!" you called out and he walked closer. You read his name tag before continuing. "Sergeant Garrick," you asked as you looked up at him, "would you mind directing me to the medical wing?" "The directions are a bit confusing, so I can walk with you," he offered and you nodded happily.

As you walked, you made pleasant conversation. He asked you many questions about your short time on base and took an interest in your hospital pharmacy job before this. "The career change came when I was tired of mixing IV bags" you explained, remembering how after that shift you went to a recruitment center. In contrast, he described how he enlisted after secondary school and eventually worked his way up the ranks. "Do you ever regret it?" you asked, hoping not to offend the soldier. He let out a small chuckle which rebounded in the linoleum hallway. "Lots of people ask that but there's never a day that I do," he responded, smiling back at you. After the afternoon you had, Sergeant Garrick was a fresh of breath air. His optimism and smile made you think he was his squad's dose of Vitamin C.

Eventually, you saw the sign for the medical wing. Part of you had forgotten this is how your stroll had begun. "And here she is," he presented, sarcastically having his hands. "I can't thank you enough, this would've taken me ages to find," you said with gratitude. He nodded before turning around and walking back to his initial destination. "Thanks for the walk, Captain," he called and you smiled to yourself before navigating through the various doctor's offices.

ghost

As you looked up at the clock, you watched it painstakingly go second by second. Fridays and weekends were especially slow as most soldiers were on leave or off-base. You even relieved your technician as the hours slowly passed with no scripts being entered. Eventually, you heard the doors open and you walked to the counter.“Can I return this?” the man spoke, pushing over a small bottle of pills. You looked up at him, reading his name tag. “Well, Lieutenant Riley. If it’s an antibiotic you can toss it once the course is completed, you don’t have to come back here,” you clarified, expecting him to take the bottle back. But he simply shook his head. You placated the lieutenant and picked up the bottle. It looked like one from a civilian chemists and you turned the label to find it was a prescription for fluoxetine.

"Oh I see now," you realized, "I can dispose of this for you." As you threw the bottle into the bin to process later, you realized he was still standing at the counter. "Did you need something else, Lieutenant?" you asked as he stood in place. "Is there any way to get it off my file? The chemists gave this to me for the third time and I don't take it anymore," he requested and you were more than happy to oblige. "Yes, I'm sorry that it still gets sent out when you're on leave," you apologized, turning your gaze to the computer. You typed in a few things and after requesting his full name and date of birth, you were able to pull up his medical file.

Despite looking like a well-oiled machine, his file was as long as the base itself. You scrolled past various psych evals, mandatory therapy notes, and hospital records until you reached his prescription list. You tried to hide your dismay when you saw he was initially prescribed this in 2001, over 20 years ago. You wondered if this was the first time he had ever thought to get it discontinued officially in the records. "Everything alright?" he asked, noting how you stared at the screen and you nodded. "I can remove it for you now and add a note to prevent any further refills," you said and with a few codes and your confirmation, it was successfully removed. You returned back to the counter, letting the lieutenant know it was completed. "Thank you, Captain," he said quietly and turned to probably head back to his quarters. You made sure to close his file before you returned the item, trying to avoid the copious amounts of alerts regarding his plethora of scripts and refills. "Guess I'll be seeing you soon, Lieutenant," you said under your breath, not realizing how often you would be seeing certain patients.

[sunmarketing]

Dr. Mary Travelbest - Venice Italy Part 3 of 3

In this episode, the FAQ is: How do I keep track of travel memories so I don’t forget them?

  Today’s Destination is: Venice, Italy Part 3

Today’s Misstep: Tickets to the Opera in Venice were sold out

  Travel Advice: Stick to the outskirts for fewer tourists

  FAQ: How do I keep track of travel memories so I don’t forget them?

Answer: Our memories may not be as sharp as we age, so recording our best thoughts in writing may be more critical. I use the Notes app on my phone, my audio recording app, and take lots of photos and videos while I travel. I do not post to social media while I travel, but wait until later most of the time to curate my memories in blogs and podcasts like this one.

  How you record and save your memories is really up to you. Whatever your process is, make sure you have enough memory and battery and that you capture the essence of your travel, whether it’s a person you met, a place you want to return to, or a special meal you ate.

  Today’s destination: Venice, Italy Part 3

  To really enjoy Venice, Italy, as a tourist, you have to learn to get in synch with the city's vibe. It would be best if you had a lot of patience.

My experiences were as a solo female, and yours may differ depending on your adventure step. It’s a Step 5 destination. 

If you visit Venice now, you will pay a daily fee. Show notes have more on this. 

https://www.cnn.com/travel/article/venice-entry-fee-explained/index.html

The highlights were on the water, where I spent almost all of my time.

  https://en.venezia.net/venice-vaporetto-tickets.html

Study your transportation options ahead of time, if possible.

Patience. 

  https://www.parrocchiecavallinocavio.it/ancient-church-of-saint-mary-elizabeth/

Saint Elena and Saint Mary Elizabeth are at the end of line 1. I'm heading to the beach here for a swim. Swimming 🏊‍♂️ free was good. Private clubs charged 50 euros to swim. I had to walk a bit, but it was free. The water was pretty clear and refreshing.

I had breakfast with a German young man from Bonn. He will serve in the NY area this fall, but until then, he will tour Europe solo. He is a nice guy.

I took bus 3x in Lido ferries Saturday (6), to Murano, all over…

Sunday thru Grand Canal to Lido 1: then another to Lido SME. train 2x plus paid 1x 1.50 euro. I got good value for 24 hours. 

  I needed a shower after that beach swim in Lido Santa Maria Elizabeth. For the first time, my name was a neighborhood/church.

Prep for the rest of the trip. Figure out texting, airalo, bank.

This morning, bus #2 to Venice was packed and hot. The train now has AC, and that’s great!

Loved the ferries. Took them all day, often.

Met Matteo, who helped me find the train station. Nice and humble. Maybe 25 years old. Runs the ferry for tourists each day. It must be stressful at times. 

Strikes are possible here. They are announced in advance.

 Today’s Misstep: Tickets to the Opera in Venice were sold out

  I thought I could get a ticket to the Opera on the day of, but that was wrong. Book your tickets in advance.

Today’s Travel Advice- Stick to the outskirts for fewer tourists

  You don’t need to be amid the traffic, so arrive early, siesta mid-day, and relax with your shade umbrella in Venice. Cool down in advance.

I want to bring meaning to your future travels. Sign up for the Dr. Travelbest newsletter. We can connect on my websites, Facebook page, group, or Instagram. Find the 5 Steps to Solo Travel series on Amazon. The show notes have more details for you to connect. Please support this podcast with a review. We need your help to help others.

  Connect with Dr. Travelbest

5 Steps to Solo Travel website

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In the news

  Check out this Dr Travelbest episode!

[idy-ll-ique]

Paparazzi.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warnings: TOO META, m*sturbation, mentions of s*x

Requested: nope

Summary: I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me... Y/N Y/L/N writes Marvel fanfictions. One day, Sebastian stumbles upon her account and, unable to help himself, reads all the stuff she has written about him. He didn't mean to fall so hard for her but he does. How can he not? She has shown him parts of himself that he never even knew existed.

Author's Note: Hiya peeps! Okay so a few weeks ago I read a similar (but dark) fanfic and I really wanted to write a softer version of it... Enjoy!

---

Same old, boring routine.

Y/N hit post and slumped against the headrest of her bed, sighing. She waited; a minute, then two passed and she noticed that someone had liked her post. She smiled to herself as she kept her phone away. Though boring, she wouldn't trade her life for the world. Y/N… well, she was a university student first and foremost but she was also a writer.

Being a big fan of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, she had started writing fanfictions a few years ago. She posted them on Tumblr, where her blog, though not very well-known, stood out enough for her posts to get around 800-1000 likes per post. She loved it; she loved writing, she loved posting her stories and especially, she loved the feedback.

Sometimes people were rude, but most times, the reviews she got were fantastic. She read each and every one of them, smiling goofily as people freaked out over her fanfictions. It warmed her heart. A smile automatically blooming on her face, Y/N lay down on the bed and decided to go to sleep, it being almost 3 am.

Unbeknownst to her, someone else was up at the same time, tossing and turning in his bed, restless.

Sebastian sighed as he sat up, running a hand through his hair. He drank some water and lay down again, closing his eyes but it was like sleep was mad at him. Refused to be anywhere near him. He groaned to himself and picked up his phone from the nightstand, deciding to go through Instagram, hoping he'd finally fall asleep to the glare of the screen.

As he logged into his account, he skipped the activity page and went straight to the explore page. Bored, he continued scrolling until his eyes landed on a specific photo. And the breath escaped his lungs when he clicked on it; the woman in the picture was absolutely gorgeous. He just couldn't resist going to her page, smiling widely when he read her bio.

It gave him her basic information; her name, her age, the university she attended. But what caught his eye was the link below the bio. My Marvel Fanfictions Master List. Marvel fanfictions? She was a writer? Smirking, he clicked on the link and it took him to Tumblr. Of course, he'd heard of the site, but didn't have an account on there. At 3 am, his mind sure wasn't working right.

A post popped up on the screen, the same master list she had mentioned earlier. And his eyes bulged out of their sockets; damn, those are a lot of fanfictions. He went through the whole thing, smirking again when he noticed that she had written the most fanfictions about him. Not Bucky Barnes, no, Sebastian Stan.

He clicked on the first one. The date of posting was way back, in 2019. He started reading; nothing about it felt weird to him; he was intrigued, if anything. And as he continued reading, he couldn't help but imagine her being in the stead of the female protagonist. Her, the writer. The woman whose picture had made him end up reading in the first place.

When he finished the story, his heart thudded wildly in his chest. Wow, she really has a way with words. And he had also noticed how in the author's note, she used a lot of slang but reading the story had made him realize that she had an amazing, extensive vocabulary. He went back to the master list and clicked on the latest post under his name.

Posted: 15 minutes ago.

His breath hitched in his throat when he read the warnings: there was going to be sexual intercourse in this one. For one moment, he hesitated; did he really want to read this? "Oh fuck it," he huffed and scrolled, starting to read. The more he read, the more his shaft twitched in his pants. He wasn't really like that during… but oh damn, he wasn't complaining.

"Oh, Seb…"

His hand slid down and he rubbed himself through his boxers, unable to take his eyes off the text in front of him. His strokes got harder and faster as the sex got steamier. "Ungh, I'm gonna cum—" And he suddenly came in his boxers, groaning. Slumping down on the bed, he quickly finished reading the rest of it, going back to the master list.

He took a screenshot with the account's name in it and then went back to her Instagram account to take another screenshot. Keeping his phone away, he slipped out of his boxers, cleaned himself and pulled the covers on top of him, finally feeling tired enough to fall asleep.

---

Y/N was walking across the campus of her university, going to the cafeteria when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Taking it out, she opened Tumblr to read the message someone had sent her just then.

his-username: Hi there! I was binging your account last night, you write really well

your-username: Omg thank you!!!! I really appreciate it, I love getting feedback! 🥺❤

his-username: You're welcome! Especially your latest post, that was really good ;)

your-username: hehe 😈 glad you liked it!

Smiling widely, she kept her phone away and continued walking, not knowing that the person who had texted her was the same man she had written about. Sebastian smiled to himself when he read her text. After getting up in the morning, the first thing he had done was install Tumblr on his phone. Then he made an account for himself.

Figuring out the app was easy; he found out that there was an option to keep your liked posts and the accounts you followed hidden, and selected it immediately. No one needed to know what he did on the app. Then he went back to her account, pressed the follow button and started binge-reading her fanfictions again. Last night had he read only two, and that had left him wanting more.

Funny how much things can change in a night. He liked and reblogged all her posts without a second thought; he even read all her Bucky Barnes posts. She understood his character so well, put him on what he thought was an undeserved pedestal while writing about him. Some of the stories were AUs, which he found out stood for Alternate Universes. Mostly mobster or mafia stuff.

He had the day off, and he spent the entire time cooped up in his apartment, on his bed, reading. The more he read, the more he started fawning over her, over the version of him that she put out to the world. Dominating, suave and just perfect. He loved it. At the end of the day, he decided to text her again, hoping she wouldn't think he was weird or find out the truth.

his-username: do you wanna be friends, maybe? I'm new to the app, don't really have any friends here ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

That was a lie, he knew Mark Ruffalo had an active Tumblr account. But it's not like he could tell him.

your-username: Yes sure!!!! I was also thinking of making some friends on this app lol

his-username: You don't have any on here? But you've been here for years, haven't you?

your-username: haha yeah, but I don't really reach out to people much. Sometimes people leave their feedbacks on my posts, text me but that's that

his-username: Ohhh

his-username: well, let's start with names. Mine's Sebastian

your-username: Really?????? omg that's so cool lmaooooooo (didn't think you were a boy but 😳👀)

his-username: Not a boy, I'm a man 😤😂

your-username: 🤣 im y/n, btw

his-username: Y/N, that's a nice name

your-username: thank you!!!! So, what do you do?

his-username: nothing really that interesting, I'm in theatre

your-username: theatre is nice! I'm studying at [university] in New York lmao

his-username: Wait you're in New York? So am I!

your-username: ASDFHKSHKGF that's awesome!!! also I noticed that you've been going through my account the whole day 😏 notifications upon notifications keeping my phone busy

his-username: Oopsie?

your-username: 😂😂 I really don't mind, it was great! Despite the amount of likes on my posts, I only have a few loyal followers lmao gaining one more felt nice

your-username: You a big fan of Sebastian Stan? Cuz I noticed that you were only reading his and Bucky's fics 👀

Sebastian's face heated up.

his-username: kinda yeah 🤷🏻‍♂️😁

your-username: Cool cool cool, I'm a big fan of his too!!!! also got a crush on him but whatever 😳

Sebastian smirked at his phone. A crush on him, huh? That… was acceptable. He suddenly felt his cocky side coming out; the one she described in nearly all her fanfictions.

his-username: wouldn't blame ya, I mean, look at him. You have also written the most fics about him and Bucky

your-username: right????? damn that man has raised my standards. Anyway, I gtg now, I have to finish a paper before midnight. ttyl!

his-username: Bye! 👋🏻

He kept his phone away and took in a deep breath. This was the most fun he had had in years, and he was not letting her go so easy. He realized he was quickly falling for her; rather unhealthy, but he couldn't help it. Look at her. She looks like a goddamn angel, writes like one, makes him feel like one, do you really expect him not to fall for her? That's insane.

---

Months passed by like a breeze. Y/N and Sebastian had become very good friends, and he knew his way around words just enough to keep her from finding out his identity while not lying to her. Y/N also appreciated his friendship, because he was the one to whom she could rant about her most favorite man in the world— Sebastian Stan.

Sometimes, she thought about how weird of a coincidence it was that her new friend and the actor shared the same names, but then she used to brush it off; that was a common name, right? They talked for hours on end; Sebastian (her friend, not the actor) was extremely witty, smart and fun to talk to, she had to admit. Sebastian felt the same way.

His feelings had worsened. Y/N entirely owned his heart now. Somedays, he'd just go on Instagram, go to her account— her username memorized by him— and stare at her photos until he grew tired; he'd never get tired of looking at her beautiful face but his stiff body afterwards begged to differ. She was just so Elysian. He longed for the moment when he could meet her in real life.

His personality had also changed majorly, and people had caught on. Especially his Marvel co-stars, who knew him to be introverted, shy and, in Anthony Mackie's words, "boring". They were surprised at his sudden change in attitude; he knew his worth and Y/N had helped tremendously in finding it. Now, all those adjectives that she used in her fanfictions fit him perfectly.

Sebastian was never tempted to read fanfictions about himself from authors other than Y/N. No, he only loved her work. He was sure no one else could write as beautifully as she did, he was her #1 fan. Y/N even sent him funny Marvel memes she found on the app and he used to enjoy them heartily; God, the others have no idea what they're missing out on. Our fans are awesome.

Everything was going well.

Until one day.

Sebastian was getting bored at home, so he decided to go to the nearby library to clear his mind. He had read not one book in the past few months, hung up on Y/N's fanfictions. At this point, he was obsessed with her and he knew it. It was nothing dark, per se, it was— it was similar to how Y/N was attracted to Sebastian. How she was a fan of his work.

Just the same. He was a fan of her work in the same way. Just how she was attracted to him, he was attracted to her. Walking into the library that he visited often, he gave the librarian a smile and ventured further into the dark place. He checked his watch; the library closed at 12 am, it was currently 9:30 pm.

Not many people were around, heck, nobody was around. He thought himself to be all alone until he heard it. A sigh, coming from a few aisles away. He walked in that direction and peeked around the corner, freezing when he saw the other person. Y/N? Her books were strewn all across the table as she sat alone at the booth, rubbing her temples.

"You okay?"

She looked up and her breath caught in her throat. I'm dreaming. This is not real. Now I know for a fact that Sebastian Stan is not standing in front of me, asking me if I'm— "Hello?" He snapped his fingers in front of her face, pulling her out of her thoughts. "I, uh— I'm— h-hi," she stammered and he almost chuckled. "Hi." She gulped visibly and blinked at the table, not meeting his eyes.

"Can I have a seat?" He wants to sit with me?! "Y-Yes, sure, sir," she blurted out and he easily slid into the booth next to her. "Hey, please, call me Sebastian. What's your name?" He gave her a friendly smile, even though all he wanted to do was push her back into the booth and kiss her wildly. His shaft twitched just by thinking about it; Y/N was a thousand times more beautiful in person.

"I'm Y/N, it's very nice to meet you, I'm… I'm a fan," she admitted, playing with the ring she wore on her left thumb. I'm your fan too, sweetheart, the biggest one. "Y/N, nice name. You come here often? I haven't really seen you around." She shook her head. "Oh no no, I moved to this part of the city just a week ago, this is my first time here. The library is cozy," she shrugged, easing out of her tense position.

Sebastian nodded. "Yes, I know, this place is awesome. Got all my favorite books here," he chuckled and she smiled at him. "What's all this?" A groan left her lips. "Ugh, stupid university work. I have to write a book report but I don't even know what to write about." He smiled gently. "Well, I have a few favorite books, would you like some suggestions?"

"Oh, please! Tell me!"

He started listing some of his favorite works and Y/N noted the names down until he said the last name. At that, she froze. That's the name of my latest— She looked up but he had a smile on his face. "Oh, and the last one is by my favorite author." He took a pause. "Y/N Y/L/N." She froze completely, staring at the man with her jaw dropped.

Sebastian grinned. "We finally meet, Y/N, I've been waiting for months." Her mouth opened and closed several times as she recalled every interaction she had had with her online best friend— scratch that— her celebrity crush. All the times she had confessed her love for Sebastian Stan, all the dirty and inappropriate memes that she'd sent him…

Embarrassment flooded her entire body as she exhaled shakily. "It was you," she croaked out, "On Tumblr, the account— I'm so sorry—" Sebastian frowned in confusion when she blinked back sudden tears, a few still rolling down her cheeks as shame replaced embarrassment. "Y/N, please don't cry…" She looked up at him, his figure blurry due to her tears.

"You've read everything, haven't you? I just— I'm sorry, I don't want to make you uncomfortable—" He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. Y/N couldn't hug back, though she appreciated the hug especially since it came from him. "You don't know how much you mean to me, doll," he mumbled into her shoulder, using the nickname she often used in the stories she wrote about him. He grew accustomed to it easily.

"Huh?"

He pulled away to wipe her tears. "It was an accident," he admitted, "But I stumbled onto your Instagram account from my explore page. Then I clicked on your account, saw that you wrote Marvel fanfictions and I just couldn't resist the urge to read what you had written. Blame it on 3 am me, to be honest. You're a great writer, and I was immediately drawn to your works. They're awesome.

"They've helped me so much in the past few months. You see this changed attitude that everyone's been talking about lately? All because of you, sweetheart. I'm sorry for keeping my identity secret, but after reading your works, I knew I had to get closer to you. I made the Tumblr account just for you, just so I could talk to you. I'm sorry for lying, but thank you."

Y/N dumbfoundedly stared at him for a few moments, her heart beat getting steady with each thump. Here was a man she admired, loved more than anyone else in the world, telling her that he harbored the same feelings for her. How crazy was that?! Not trusting her words, she simply pulled him into another hug. Sebastian wrapped his arms tight around her, pulling her flush against him.

"Can I kiss you, doll?"

She slowly pulled away from him and nodded, shyly biting her lip. Grinning at the endearing gesture, Sebastian cupped her face and leaned in, gently pressing his lips to hers. The kiss grew hungry in a matter of seconds, and Y/N responded just as eagerly. His hands slid down to her waist and tugged on it, pulling her on his lap. She straddled his thighs as they continued kissing.

"Fuck," he groaned when they finally pulled away from each other, out of breath and panting. "You see what you do to me, doll?" Sebastian spoke huskily as he took her hand, placing it right on top of the tent that was forming in his pants. "Oh," Y/N whimpered when she felt him, the sound going straight to his shaft. "How about I take you home and we recreate some of the scenes from your stories, hm?"

"O-Okay."

"Good girl."

---

A/N: What a meta experience 🤡 Leave a like if you enjoyed, thanks for reading!

[kodzuvii]

CLUB STUPID [EXTRA: there’s a pretty girl in our kitchen]

PAIRING - suna x fem!reader ft. suna rizu aka the little sister :)

GENRE - crack + fluff

warning - just grammar and spelling mistakes lol + y/n cuts her finger + y/n is implied to be really short + suna is a bit ooc but that’s because he’s a simp for you <3

wc - 7k

SYNOPSIS - Club Stupid, an anonymous podcast meant for the dumb and dumbest to send in unspoken and nonsensical thoughts about issues they face in their day to day lives and for Y/n to speak out and give her opinions and feelings. Normal feelings though, nothing romantic like how she thinks this lazy guy with questionable hair in the volleyball club is actually pretty cute.

a/n: bringing this baby back because we recently hit 5k notes :D this is also my peace offering for my sudden absence on this blog LMAO sit back and enjoy as we catch up with suna and yn as well as witness whipped!suna 

[Somewhere at the start of December]

“I don’t understand”

“Don’t understand what?”

“You’re the one who failed your test, why am I the one buying groceries?”

“Because I paid during our last date”

“Rin, I’m helping you study. Does this even count as a date?” 

You looked down at your hands that were holding bags full of ingredients you needed to make some sukiyaki. With the boys being on break from volleyball, Suna had texted you after school asking for help to review for a retake on a test he failed. 

You had to take a double-take while reading the text because, Suna? Studying? Willingly? A rare combination.

The original plan was to go straight to his house since his family owned a really nice kotatsu table that also acted as a couch. With winter settling in and the weather starting to get much colder, you and Suna quickly realized that neither of you enjoyed going out during this time of the year. Sure, the snowflakes were pretty, but sitting comfortably under a warm kotatsu surrounded by snacks while you tried to get his mind around trigonometry sounded more appealing

Suna looked down at you, “You’re acting as if you’re not craving a hot pot right now,” You rolled your eyes, “I never said I wasn’t craving it, I just know that I’m gonna be doing most of the work because your ass can’t cook” you reasoned. Suna shrugged, “not my fault you decided to upgrade your cooking skills during the past 5 months we’ve been together” You rolled your eyes and buried your face deeper into Suna’s scarf that was wrapped around your neck in an attempt to cover up the blush rising up on your cheeks. 

A smug smile came upon Suna’s lips as he watched you get embarrassed. You two were still going strong and had hit 5 months just a week ago. Even though you both had your minor little arguments here and there, you were both still content and happy with each other. 

With 5 months flying by, Suna didn’t think that it was possible for him to fall for you even more. By now, you had both settled into a comfortable state in your relationship. Regular dates about once or twice during the week with a couple of sleepovers and late-night facetime calls thrown in between. Since it was colder, he had at least two hoodies on him at all times. One for you and one for him (but he wouldn’t mind if you took both.) He enjoyed seeing the sight of you curled up in his hoodie when you stayed over at his place or when found himself keeping you company as you edited your podcast for the week.

Once the second semester of the school year started, you started to branch out a little bit more on your own and found yourself being busier as you started joining clubs of your own interest. 

Sure Suna was a bit disappointed that he wouldn’t be seeing you sitting by the bleachers anymore during practice, but he understood that you had your own passions and needed your own group of friends outside of the boys on volleyball team.

He liked seeing the smile on your face when you talked to him about something your friend had said or about how fun of a day you had after hanging out with them. He had to reassure you many times that he didn’t mind you hanging out with other people at all, you both knew and did your best to balance your time with friends and each other anyways.

Plus, he thought it was quite cute that you’d always give him a quick kiss on the cheek when you’d walk by the water fountain before running off with your club members.

[“Suna hurry up!” he heard Atsumu call for him by the entrance of the gym. 

Suna spared him one glance before straightening himself up and lifting his palm off the button of the water fountain. He gave the setter a nod as he wiped the corner of his lip with the back of his hand. 

Just then, he could hear a familiar voice calling for his name behind him. Not too long after that, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist and a chaste kiss pressed on his cheek. The corner of his lip twitched up and he looked down to meet your e/c eyes. “Hey bub, don’t you have club activities?” he asked. You nodded, still not letting go of his waist, “just wanted to come and say hello, so...hello” you grinned. Suna smiled and pressed a kiss to your temple, “well hello to you too” he muttered before wrapping his arms around you and embracing you with all his warmth. 

“Y/n you piece of shit there you are!” 

You jumped back at the sound of your friend’s voice from around the corner. You pulled out of Suna’s embrace and gave him an apologetic smile while rubbing the back of your neck, “Sorry Rin gotta run, see you after school!” you didn’t even give him a chance to respond as you placed one last kiss on his jaw before running off to your friends. 

Even though he could hear the faint yelling of Atsumu’s voice calling for him at the back of his head, his eyes were focused on the way your face turned red as your friends teased you. 

God, who let you be so damn cute]

Suna took out one of his hands from the pocket of his coat and wrapped it over your shoulder and pulled you a bit closer to his side. You leaned into his side and let your hair rest lightly onto his chest.

“You’re so annoying, I’m not making any hot pot for you”

“I will lock you outside of my house”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Stepping inside the Suna household, you were instantly met with warmth. Suna flickered the lights on as you slipped off your shoes. Suna slipped off his own jacket and motioned for you to give yours to him as well so he could hang it up inside the coat closet. You smiled and put the groceries you were holding in one hand and let him help you shrug off your coat. 

“Here give me your bag, I’ll place it by the couch,” he said with his hand out. You nodded and handed him your backpack as you slipped on some house slippers and made your way towards the kitchen and settled the bags down onto the island. 

As you took the ingredients out of the bag, Suna walked into the living room and turned the TV on to a random show. You were way too invested in deciding which vegetables you wanted to include in the hot pot that you didn’t hear Suna walk towards you with his phone in his hands and the camera app open.

“Babe smile”

“Huh”

Just as you looked up, with mushrooms and green onions in your hand, you hear the sound of the camera shutter go off and Suna snicker. “Cute” he grinned. 

You rolled your eyes, “I thought you only took blackmail of the twins” Suna put his phone down and raised his eyebrows at you, “would you rather have your face or Atsumu’s all over my gallery?” he asked. You thought about it for a minute before nodding, “yeah no never mind you have a point” he chuckled and walked over to you and placed a kiss on your cheek. 

“I need to grab my charger really quick, you know where everything is right?” you nodded, you’ve been over at the Suna residence before and this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve cooked there. 

“Do you need anything upstairs?” he asked. Your ears perked up at the sound of his offer, “Can I borrow a hoodie?” you asked. Suna eyed you up and down, “you’re already wearing one of my hoodies” he stated and narrowed his eyes on the navy blue hoodie over your figure. “No, no, I mean can I wear the really soft one? The black one with the embroidering and cool design on the back” you smiled and gave him a look that you both knew he couldn’t say no for. 

Suna knew what hoodie you were talking about, it was a hoodie that you often wore of his that he hasn’t brought to school in a bit since it was in the laundry. “Think of it as your payment for me since I’m cooking you a meal” you grinned. Suna sighed, “fine, hands up,” he said as put his phone into his pocket and made his way over to you. 

You giggled and did what you were told and lifted your arms up and watched as he held onto the ends of the hoodie and lifted it over your head. Once you felt the sleeves of the hoodie be pulled off your arms, you put them down and straightened your hair and your shirt and smiled up at him, “thank you~” he rolled his eyes “you’re lucky you’re cute” he muttered and looked away which made you laugh. You made your way back to the kitchen and heard his steps going up the stairs.  

You sighed as you eyed down the ingredients, you forgot to ask him if his parents may have wanted some. You didn’t wanna cook too much and not have the means to finish it all but you also didn’t wanna make too little and leave you both hungry. “Better more than less” you thought. 

You turned around and grabbed the cutting board from one of the cabinets and a knife from one of the drawers. Placing the cutting board and the knife on the marble island, you grabbed the bagged vegetables and placed them on a clean plate and discarded the plastic in the trash bin beside the fridge. You ran the vegetables under some water from the sink to clean them before placing them back on the plate and setting them to the side so you could grab another pot and start boiling the water on the stove.

You were silently thankful that Granny and Shin had helped you learn how to make a proper hot pot. As you opened the packet of udon noodles, you were too much in your zone to notice what was happening around you. 

Your cooking was sometimes a hit or miss and with the day you’ve had, you were hungry, and the last thing you wanted was for the meal you took some time to make to taste terrible and leave you hungrier than when you started. The sound of the TV playing in the background drowned and you focused your attention on the cabbage you were cutting. 

You were way too concentrated on making sure that each cabbage slice was the same in length as the rest that you failed to hear the sounds of the front door opening and closing and a female figure walking into the home. 

“Nii-san~oh what the fuck since when did you cook-”

The sudden voice coming into the kitchen and cutting through your concentration made you jump and unfortunately for you, your finger slipped off the cabbage and met the blade of the knife you were using. 

“Oh shit” you hissed in pain and lifted your finger off the cutting board. However, instead of immediately tending to the cut, you looked up at the figure to whom the voice belonged to. 

You looked up and made eye contact with a little girl who was definitely not that much shorter than you. Judging from her middle school uniform, she was definitely between the ages of 11-13. She had brown hair tied into two pigtails, rosy cheeks that were the result of the weather outside, and slim grayish-yellow eyes that were awfully familiar. 

Your brain must’ve short-circuited as two and two didn’t click in your head and a good couple of seconds passed as you both stared at each other in complete silence, mirroring the shocked and confused expression both of you had on your faces. 

Just as you were about to open your mouth and say a word, you watched her face become completely red and she dashed up the stairs leaving you stunned and completely lost while your finger continued to bleed. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Suna hummed to himself as he rummaged through his closet and tried to find the hoodie of his that you were asking for. He had changed out of his uniform into some more comfortable clothes and had his back towards the door. 

“Shit, where did I put it?” he muttered to himself and closed the doors to his closet. Just as he turned around, the door to his room opened making his eyebrows furrow in annoyance at the amount of force that was used to open his door. 

“Babe did you need something-”

“Nii-san! There’s a pretty girl in our kitchen!”

Oh, that was definitely not the voice of his girlfriend.

Suna sighed and went back to his task of finding the hoodie that you wanted, completely ignoring the sudden appearance of his little sister. However, a small smile tugged on his lips as he heard his sister call you pretty. 

His sister came into his room and looked at her brother in annoyance as she noticed how nonchalant he looked, “hello?? There’s a pretty girl downstairs that is definitely not ‘kaasan so who-” “Idiot. That’s my girlfriend”

His sister blinked at him once,

Then once again,

And one last time just for good measure.

“HUH??” she yelled with a face of disbelief. Suna looked at her weirdly and watched as she flopped down onto his bed with a bewildered expression as she tried to wrap her mind around the new information she was just given. 

“You? Girlfriend? For real?” she asked in shock. The concept of her brother actually getting a girlfriend not clicking in her head. “Are you sure she’s not some group project partner or something?” Suna scrunched his face, “Why do you look so shocked, I told you about her before-” “Nii-san I thought you were lying!” she exclaimed. Suna gave her a blank look and sighed, a part of him not even surprised that his sister thought he was joking.

He rolled his eyes and walked over to slap the back of her head, “Stupid. Why would I lie about that” She gave him an exaggerated shrug, “uh because she’s too pretty for you! She’s even cooking for you! I’m calling it right now that she’s too good for you” she stated and crossed her arms. 

“Rizu, you’re so stupid I swear to god-” he asked. Rizu shook her head “Don’t blame this on me!” Suna gave her an unamused look, “even ‘kaasan and ‘tosan know” Rizu rolled her eyes, “I thought they were in on the joke too!” she exclaimed.

Suna shook his head but took a sigh of relief as he finally found the hoodie he was looking for hanging on the back of his chair, “You’re such a twerp. Did you at least say hi to her?” he asked as he looked down at her once he got the hoodie. Rizu’s face flushed in embarrassment and she scratched the back of her head, “Kinda I guess” Suna narrowed her eyes as he caught on to how nervous she got. He suddenly got suspicious, “what did you do?”

“Nothing bad! I think? just don’t get mad ‘kay?” Suna already began to worry about what she was gonna say. 

“I came in and called for you, but I didn’t know she was cooking so she must’ve been startled and then next thing you know I come in, and we make eye contact and -oh yeah good job Nii-san, you might be stupid but you’ve got a good eye. She’s wow, took my whole breath away you know?- anyways I had to take a sec to admire her, but I think I startled her and I think she cut herself because her finger was bleeding and then I panicked and yeah now I’m here,” she said all in one breath and met eyes with his blank once as she gave him a bright smile. 

“Rizu”

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna throw out all your posters”

“Wait what?! No Nii-san come back!!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“Rizu say sorry”

Your eyes shifted from your boyfriend who was wrapping a paw patrol bandaid on your finger to the same little girl who stood beside him and was sheepishly looking down at the floor and avoiding all eye contact with you. 

Suna sat you down on a chair in the dining room and a part of you was zoning out as you tried to wrap your mind around what was happening. Looking at the girl who has a striking resemblance to Suna, it didn’t take a genius to know that this was his sister. They had the same striking eyes, cocoa brown hair, and she was even a bit taller for her age. 

There was no denying it, this was definitely his sister. 

But for the life of you, you can’t remember if your quiet bean pole of a boyfriend ever told you of her. Surely you would’ve remembered if he had told you. Did he forget? Or maybe you just failed to notice her presence. Then again you had been over multiple times but you don’t ever remember seeing her. 

“Sorry” she muttered quietly and began to play with the material of her school uniform top. 

Suna rolled his eyes and nudged her with his elbow, “at least look at her when you’re gonna say it” Just as you were about to interject and say that it was okay and it really wasn’t a big deal, Rizu looked up at you, her eyes glassy and her lip slightly jutting out as she puffed her cheeks, “I’m so sorry! You’re very pretty! My head malfunctioned! Please don’t break up with Nii-san! He’s lonely!” she cried. Your eyes widened, taken back by her “apology” and Suna only rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue in annoyance.  

“I-it’s fine really, it’s just a small cut anyways, no biggie Rizu-chan” you assured.

At the way you said her name, Rizu’s whole mood flipped. Her eyes instantly sparkled and she looked up at you with a face of adoration. She wiped away her tears away with the sleeve of her top and harshly pushed her brother to the side making him let go of your hands as he stumbled over. Your eyes widened at the amount of strength inside the little girl in front of you as she managed to push away your 6ft tall boyfriend to the side like it was nothing. 

“Really? Are you sure it’s okay? Y/n right? I’m gonna call you Y/n-chan! I think we’d make great friends” she beamed, her eyes still twinkling as she looked at you with an excited daze. “How come we’ve never met before? I thought Nii-san was lying about you. Do you like drama? how about musicals? You can come to my show next week! And are you sure you’re dating Nii-san? You can run now I can distract him for you-” your mind couldn’t even process the words she was saying with how fast she was talking. You felt your palms starting to get clammy and a part of you began internally panicking at how overwhelmed you were feeling.

In Rizu’s perspective, she had always wanted an older sister but was instead cursed with (in her words) a musty older brother. Now that she knew of his girlfriend, she wasn’t gonna let the opportunity slip away. They were gonna become the best of friends. She knew it.

You laughed nervously and nodded along during her incoherent ramble before turning to Suna with a slight look of panic as you didn’t know what to do or how to handle her sudden change of emotions and the never ending fountain of words leaving her mouth. 

Suna sensed your need for his help, he knew that little kids were never really your strong point. Along with Kita, you also lived with his little siblings who were your little cousins. They were the ages of 4 and 9 and you often complained to him about how they gave you a headache with how loud and rambunctious they were. 

He had to hold back a laugh at how panic you began to look when his sister began to talk your ear off. She kept switching topics and was now rambling on about how pretty you were and asking what moisturizer you used because your skin looked so soft and why you decided to date her brother who she considered looked like a malnourished raccoon. 

Shaking his head and holding back a smile, he walked over and flicked his sister’s forehead making her stop midway into her sentence and whine. “The hell was that for!” she cried as she rubbed the sore spot on her head. 

Suna rolled his eyes at her dramatics and stuffed one of his hands into his pockets while the other found its way to rest on the small of your back, drawing shapes on the cotton fabric of the black hoodie that he slipped onto your figure when he got back downstairs. “Stop being so rude brat. Relax and introduce yourself first before you start thinking about getting buddy-buddy already” he scolded in his usual bored tone.

You were baffled. Seeing your boyfriend act like a responsible big brother was something you were definitely not prepared to see today. 

Hell, you didn’t even know he had a sister until literally a couple of minutes ago. 

Suna felt you staring at him and looked down at you with one of his brows slightly raised up as if he was asking if you were okay. Before you could reassure him that you were fine, Rizu cleared her throat and took a step back from you. 

She put a hand on her hip while she proudly pointed her thumb to her chest as she looked at you with a confident and prideful smile. “Suna Rizue, Rizu for short, Class 2-B Representative and Vice president of the Nobara Middle School drama club” she exclaims proudly. She flipped away one of her pigtails back behind her shoulder before crossing her arms, the same prideful smile never leaving her lips while her eyes had a flash of mischievousness in them. “I’m also known around this household as the prettiest Suna sibling. ‘Kaasan said so herself” she spoke triumphantly. 

You stifled a laugh as Suna clicked his tongue and muttered “dramatic brat” under his breath. 

As you felt yourself slowly relax, you stood from your seat, realizing not too long after that you were barely taller than his little sister but chose to ignore that minor detail, you extended your hand out to his sister and watched the way her face lit up. “L/n Y/n, Class 2-5 and member of the Inarizaki art club. While your brother is cute, I have to agree that you are the prettier Suna sibling” you joked and turned to Suna momentarily with a teasing glint with your eyes. Suna only narrowed his eyes at you and furrowed his brows which made both you and Rizu laugh. 

You turned back to Rizu and smiled, “It’s nice to meet you Rizu-chan, Rin doesn’t really bring you up much-” or ever “so I’m sorry it took so long for us to meet.”

Rizu shook her head, “It’s okay! Nii-san talks about you sometimes but I thought he was just lying. He’s kind of lame and he zones out a lot so I thought you were just some weird figment of his imagination that he made to cope with his loneliness” your jaw dropped, were kids always this blunt? 

Rizu shrugged and pulled her phone out of her backpack, “But whatever, I guess the universe felt bad for him and decided not to make him some lonely loser. Anyways, can we exchange numbers Y/n-chan? I wanna send you Nii-sans baby photos” she smiled and looked up at you hopefully. At the sound of Suna’s baby photos being offered up on the table, you quickly nodded and typed in your contact info into her phone. 

Suna’s jaw dropped ever so slightly before scoffing and looking away as he crossed his arms. “Can’t believe my own girlfriend is ganging up on me with my sister” he thought in disbelief. 

“Rizu-chan you’re brother and I are gonna make some hot pot, want some?” you asked as you handed her phone back into her hands. Rizu nodded enthusiastically, “that sounds great! Can I help? Please!” she asked in a hopeful tone as she brought her hands together. You laughed and nodded and watched her beam and skip away to the kitchen. 

Before following her, you turned around to look up at Suna with a frown on your face and your arms crossed over your chest. Suna looked back at you, unsure of why you were giving him that look. “What?” he asked, which only made you look at him in disbelief at his cluelessness. You scoffed and rolled your eyes before making your way towards him and slapping his arm, “You idiot! You never told me you had a little sister” you hissed. 

Suna blinked at you, “I didn’t?” he asked, genuinely confused, while raising one of his eyebrows. You looked at him incredulously and shook your head, “no!” you exclaimed. “God I can’t believe you didn’t tell me” you muttered and looked away, cheeks warming up in embarrassment.

Suna eyed your actions and sighed knowing that he must’ve upset you. If he’s being honest, he didn’t mean to keep you in the dark about his sister. He just always had his mind on you whenever the two of you would hang out so he truthfully forgot about his sister whenever you two were together. He sighed, he leaned back to sit on the edge of the dining room table before grabbing your arm and pulling you closer to his chest. 

When you didn’t budge against him, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and he leaned his head on your shoulders before muttering a quiet, “sorry” into the fabric of his hoodie. A couple seconds passed before you gave in and wrapped your arms around his waist, embracing his warmth. 

Truthfully you weren’t upset or mad at him, just a bit embarrassed that you never knew about his sister until literally a couple of moments ago. You remember how nervous you were when you first met his parents and felt all those nerves coming back because you wanted to impress his little sister. 

You pulled away first and scratched the back of your neck, “It’s fine Rin I’m not mad. If anything I’m just a bit embarrassed that I never noticed. I mean I’ve met your parents and been over multiple times. Plus I’ve slept over like twice already!” you exclaimed. 

Suna moved his arms off your shoulder and used one to support his weight on the table while the other moved your hair away from your face and tucked some strands behind your ear. “It’s not your fault, The brat is always away doing her drama club stuff or whatever so she doesn’t get back until I’ve already walked you home for the night. For the sleepover, I think it’s just a coincidence that she would be away while you were over” he said and you nodded. 

Suna stared at you for a moment, he caught onto how uneasy you looked and immediately figured out why. “Babe, don’t worry about impressing Rizu too much. Trust me, she already likes you a lot” he said while using his thumb to rub the side of your neck gently. 

You nodded slowly before looking up at him with a confused expression, “how did you forget to tell me huh?” you asked. Suna thought back for a moment before shrugging nonchalantly, “I only think of you when we’re together, the brat is old enough to take care of herself” he admitted bluntly.

Your cheeks warmed up and you chuckled making Suna’s chest erupt in butterflies at the sight of your smile. “Calling your sister a brat is kind of rude you know?” you teased. He looked at you with an unamused expression, “you call your little cousins' demon spawns as if that’s any better” he pointed out. You opened your mouth but quickly closed it as you realized he was right. 

Suna pushed himself off of the table and walked towards you and you already saw the mischievous look in his eyes. He leaned down, his lips just barely brushing over yours, “am I forgiven?” he asked in a hushed tone. Your face quickly turned into a bright shade of red once you realized how close he got. While the offer was tempting and his lips were right there, you remembered that his sister was only just a couple feet away from the two of you and you didn’t want to risk her seeing anything. 

You didn’t answer and only looked away, flustered, which made Suna chuckle. He pecked the corner of your lips before straightening himself up, “I’ll take that as a yes” he smirked, making you roll your eyes. 

Suna then grabbed your shoulders and turned you around as he pushed you into the kitchen where his little was sitting on top of the counter wearing a blue apron while a pink folded apron was in her hands. 

She looked up at the two of you entering the kitchen, she smiled at you and noticed how flustered you. She shot her brother a look of disgust. “Ew don’t tell me you were making out in the dining room. So gross Nii-san” she commented as her brother walked towards her to grab the extra apron in her hands. 

Suna looked at her with his normal bored and lazy expression, “shut it brat” he said before turning his back and making his way towards you. Rizu rolled her eyes and turned her attention back onto her phone. It wasn’t until she started to hear the two of you banter when she put down her phone in her lap and watched the way you and her brother interacted. 

She listened to you ask about what vegetables he would want in the hot pot and watched as he moved behind your back and pushed your hair over your shoulder so he could tie the strings of the pink apron behind your neck. 

The sight was strange and oddly sweet. Rizu always thought that her brother would be a terrible boyfriend. He was quiet, borderline lazy, and had no romantic bone in him. He seemed like the type of partner who would do nothing but the bare minimum when they’re in a relationship. He was often annoyed at the sight of other couples and he never had much interest in being in a relationship himself which was partly the reason why Rizu didn’t think to believe him when he told their parents that he had a girlfriend out of the blue one day.

[“Rintarou stop playing around” Their mother chuckled. 

“No for real, I have a girlfriend and she wants to go stargazing so I’ll be home late” he said monotonically before slipping on his shoes and heading out the door.

Rizu watched as her parents exchanged a lost expression with a mix of disbelief towards each other. Part of them were surprised, part of them were happy, but part of them didn’t know if he was playing around or not. 

“Did you know about this?” Their mother asked their Dad who was grabbing a glass from the cupboard. Their Dad only shook his head, “No. You think that’s why he’s been so busy lately?” he asked only to receive a clueless shrug from his wife. 

Rizu rolled her eyes and jumped up from the couch to face her parents. “Come on this is Nii-san we’re talking about. He’s probably just lying. He can’t even talk to girls, let alone get a full on girlfriend”]

“That statement didn’t age well” Rizu thought.

Her eyes followed the way he had the smallest smile on his face as he adjusted your apron, asking afterwards if it was comfortable or if you needed him to adjust it better. Once you told him it was okay, he moved onto gathering your hair into his hands and tying it back with the small black silk band he had around his wrist. Suna placed his hands back onto your shoulders to turn you around to face him. He brought his hand over your face and moved the fly-aways to the side while tucking the loose pieces behind your ear. 

After he was done, you stood on your tippy-toes and pressed a kiss onto his cheek and whispered a quiet “thank you Rin Rin.” She narrowed her eyes and had to hold back her urge to laugh at how the tips of his ears lit up into a bright shade of red. It was then that she concluded one thing:

“he’s so fucking whipped” she muttered under her breath.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

“Wait are you serious? He really gave you a can of lemonade for your birthday?” you asked looking up from the meat you were slicing in bewilderment as Rizu nodded. “Mhm! It wasn’t even the brand I liked, it was the generic ones that had too much sugar” she explained as she moved past you to set the bowl of mushrooms she had cut up with the other vegetables. 

You turned to look at Suna who was sitting on a stool by the kitchen island with his attention fully on his phone. “Is this true?” you questioned. Suna didn’t even look up from his phone as he simply replied, “she likes lemonade.”

 You stifled a laugh at his answer and Rizu only scowled. She nudged your arm and whispered “I dunno how you put up with him” into your ear making you giggle. 

Cooking with the Suna siblings was definitely interesting, to say the least. You weren’t surprised to see that Rizu was a complete polar opposite from her brother. Judging from her first words to you, you knew that she was a lot more outspoken than her brother. While Suna was quiet, Rizu spoke as if she had a microphone taped onto her mouth. She was talkative and energetic while Suna always seemed like he was close to shutting off at any given moment. 

Their dynamic was different, to say the least. Rizu lived up to the annoying little sister type while her brother looked as if he could care less about whatever she did. However, all siblings had at least one thing in common and between them, and you figured out what that thing was quickly. 

They both shared a high level of pettiness. 

If one said something the other didn’t like, they’d find something expose worthy to embarrass the other person. It was a constant back and forth of how could embarrass the other person the worst. 

When Rizu told you that Suna didn’t learn how to tie his shoelaces until he was 8, Suna told you that she failed her math test. When Suna told you that she once slipped on stage mid-performance, Rizu told you that Suna came to their mother when he needed dating advice. 

[ Nii-san shut up! The stage was slippery and my costume was a long dress!” Rizu cried out dramatically. Suna rolled his eyes, “the costumes of your classmates were long but you didn’t see them tripping all over the stage” he teased. Rizu’s jaw dropped, a fire inside lit up as she felt herself getting angry with her older brother. ‘Two can play at this game’ she thought. 

Rizu scoffed and turned to face her body towards you as she leaned onto the counter. “You know Yn-chan, Nii-san always asks ‘kaasan about what he should do to impress you! You know that sunflower field date? He and ‘Kaasan planned that whole thing together ‘cause Nii-san is a clueless idiot and didn’t know what to do” You turned your head to the side and looked at Rizu with a curious expression before briefly looking at your boyfriend who had tensed up. 

“Really now? Rin had me convinced that he did all the planning himself” you teased as you narrowed your eyes at him. Suna huffed, “she just let me use her card to pay for the stupid tickets, I did everything else.” he muttered. 

You chuckled, noticing the way his cheeks puffed out and how the tips of his ears started to turn red. You smiled as you nodded at what Rizu saying, momentarily glancing at him every so often. 

How cute.

Suna then looked up from his phone, a devious smirk on his lips as he knew the perfect moment to us in order to one-up her previous statement.

“Babe did you know that Rizu sleeps with an Eren body pillow-”

“shut up!!” ]

It was a never-ending petty battle between the two siblings. 

Nonetheless, you could tell that they still cared about each other. Albeit in their own special way. 

Rizu rolled her eyes and turned to you and leaned closer, whispering loud enough so that her brother could hear, “Y/n-chan are you sure you’re actually his girlfriend? Like willingly? If he’s paying you then I can guarantee that he’s not paying you enough. Blink twice if you need help-hey!” she whined as she felt a mushroom hit her arm. You both turned to Suna who had a smug smile on his face, “stop talking shit about me brat.” Rizu narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, “or what Nii-san?” she challenged. “I’ll tell ‘kaasan that you walked home with that boy yesterday,” he shot back. 

Rizu’s smirked dropped, “hey! You promised you wouldn’t tell her!” she whined. Suna shrugged his shoulders, “I lied” he replied simply. Rizu scoffed, “I can’t believe you’re dating such a meanie!” she exclaimed and began to angrily stir the broth in the pot.

You watched her actions momentarily before walking around the kitchen island and towards Suna and whacking his arm with a towel you were using to dry your hands. “Stop being so mean to your sister!” you scolded. He looked at you with an unamused expression as he rubbed his arm, “she was mean to me first,” he defended himself bluntly. You rolled your eyes and turned your back to go and start frying the beef.

A comfortable silence came into the kitchen as you and his sister continued cooking. Of course, this silence didn’t last long as the two siblings would go back to their back and forth bantering but nonetheless, there was a comfortable and homey aura in the atmosphere. 

The hot pot was coming together and you occasionally would have Suna try the meat and make sure that it tasted okay. Suna may not be the one cooking, but he had offered his assistance early on by cutting some of the tofu and cooking the udon noodles. You and Rizu would trail off and have your own conversation, missing the way Suna would glance up at the two of you, his hands propping up his phone as he took photos of the two of you laughing and joking around together. 

The rest of the night went by smoothly. Once the hot pot was ready, you asked Suna to prepare the table while you and Rizu set the food down. Since it was nearing 6pm by the time you and Rizu had finished cooking, you all considered this an early dinner. You sat beside Suna while Rizu sat across from you as you all enjoyed a warm bowl of hot pot during a cold winter night. 

Suna watched as you and Rizu talked about a certain anime you both had been watching and took everything within him to not smile at the moment. Seeing you interact with his sister warmed his heart and a part of him was relieved that you two got along well. 

He knew that Rizu was a bit overbearing and you weren’t a big fan of younger children so he was worried that you two would clash. 

But alas, seeing that two of you laugh together put him at ease. 

After dinner, Rizu knew better than to try and third wheel you and her brother. She could see from the way his shoulder kept brushing past yours and how his hands kept getting closer and closer to yours during dinner that he was itching to get any sort of alone time with you. 

She could be a little shit and steal you from him during another day.

Before scurrying off to her room, Rizu gave you a high five before exclaiming once again that you’re really pretty and way too good for her stupid brother while also saying that she would text you his baby photos later. You laughed and nodded along and she flashed Suna a cheeky smile before running up the stairs. 

Once his sister was finally gone, Suna grabbed your wrist and dragged you over to the kotatsu sofa in his living room and practically dragged you down. “Well aren’t you clingy” you teased as he pulled up the blankets over your legs. Suna rolled his eyes, muttering a quiet “shut up” as he laid down and made himself comfortable under the blankets. 

You mirrored his actions, shuffling under the blankets and finding a comfy spot to lay on. Suna’s hands found their way around your waist and he moved you closer to him, letting your head rest against his chest. You couldn’t help but laugh at how clingy he was being as you watched him shift so you were laying on top of him while he hugged you as if you were a teddy bear. 

Suna leaned his head back comfortably on the couch cushion as closed his eyes and a content smile came over his face. “You’re so warm,” he muttered quietly. You smiled “I think that’s just the kotatsu heating Rin,” you said quietly muttered into his chest. “No it’s definitely you, I always feel warm when I’m with you” he whispered. 

You smiled, not failing the way his words made butterflies erupt in your stomach “how cheesy” you teased while momentarily lifting your head so you could poke his cheek. “Whatever” he sighed, his arms around your waist slowly holding you just a bit tighter. “I thought we were supposed to be studying Rin” you said quietly. “Tomorrow, too comfortable right now” he answered back. You giggled, “you just want me to come back huh.” Suna didn’t even bother to deny, only simply nodding and humming a faint “mhm” before relaxing his body. 

A wave of comfortable silence came once again as you two embraced each other's warmth. Your ear was pressed against his chest and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into sleep. Slowly but surely you found yourself getting drowsy from your comfortable position and you no longer had any energy left in you to stop your eyes from closing.

Suna wasn’t surprised to hear the faint sounds of your gentle snoring not too long after. For a moment he sat up, careful not to wake you, and he took a moment to just admire you. How soft, gentle, and unbothered you looked in his arms. He removed one of his hands from your waist and gently rubbed your arm, he stiffened for a moment as watched as you shuffled slightly before relaxing against him once again. His body loosened up and a small smile spread on his lips, ‘How could someone be so damn pretty’ he thought. 

He admired you for a moment longer. His head replaying the memories you two made in the past 5 months while silently looking forward to what you two had in store together in the future. 

He petted your head gently as he wondered starting about what he should do for your 6 months. You’ve been talking about ice skating after seeing it in a movie so he considered that as an option. The idea of seeing you excitedly skating under the twinkling lights of the ice rink made Suna excited. He knew he couldn’t skate, but he didn’t really care. Just sharing the moment with you was enough for him. 

Slowly, his own exhaustion from the day soon caught up to him and soon enough he was getting tired as well. He shuffled back down and rested his head on the cushions. He lifted his hands off your waist to adjust the blanket over you two, make sure you were all snuggled up and warm. 

Just before he surrendered himself to sleep, he pressed a soft kiss on the top of your head and another one on your forehead. Whispering a faint “love you” before closing his eyes, failing to notice the small smile that grew on your lips.

However, he didn’t fail to feel the heart that your finger softly drew on his chest. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Bonus Scene 

“Nii-san can I borrow a pencil?”

Suna looked up from his phone and narrowed his eyes at his sister who was standing by his doorway. Suna looked at her blankly, for a moment he grew suspicious of why she suddenly wanted a pencil but he was honestly far too tired to even try and figure out what she really wanted. “It’s on my desk,” he said plainly as he nodded his head over to his desk on the other side of his room. 

Rizu nodded and made her way over to his desk that was placed in front of his window. Rizu came in front of his desk and scanned the surface for what she needed. He had an open notebook with unfinished work displayed in the middle while his pen holders lined up the top of his desk. 

Rizu saw a pencil sitting inside his pen holder and reached out her hands to take a hold of it. Just as she was about to turn around and leave his room so she could finish up her work, she noticed something taped on the side of his wall that was being covered up by the curtain blowing in front of it. 

While she knew it was wrong to snoop around other people's things, she was empty of blackmail against him and that reason alone was enough for her to justify her actions. She turned around to look back at her brother and saw that he was fairly distracted and took that moment as an opportunity to push the curtain aside. 

However, instead of finding incriminating blackmail, all she saw was a picture of you and him taped from what looked like to be the inside of the photobooths at the movie theatres. The first picture was of you two smiling (well more you than him), the second was you kissing cheek, the 3rd one he had pulled you to sit on top of his lap and he was now the one kissing your cheek, and the last photo was the two of you smiling genuinely to each other, paying no attention to the camera as you both got too caught up in the moment. 

“I hate how they're so cute,” she admitted in her head.

Rizu’s eyes then drifted from the wall that had a bunch of other taped printed photos of you and him to his window sill where a bunch of little trinkets were displayed along with a singular photo frame. 

Her eyes looked over the little trinkets. He had some action figures and random knick-knacks. Nothing interesting in her opinion. “Typical boy stuff, nothing I can use against him,” she thought. Looking past the small transformers' action figure, she kept looking at his window sill until she stopped and stared at a paper box full of little things inside. She squinted her eyes, her eyes having a hard time seeing what it was with how dark it was in his room. She leaned closer and upon further inspection, it finally dawned on her what was inside the box.

It was a bunch of little origami strawberries. 

A bunch of little origami strawberries piled on top of each other, some had wrinkled leaves while others had bent corners. Rizu then looked back at his desk and saw a small stack of red and green papers neatly set on the corner of his desk. 

“weird,” she thought. 

Her eyes shifted from the paper box to the small white square frame where there was a photo of you inside sitting at the edge of the window sill. 

Surrounding you were rows and rows of sunflowers that were facing towards the sun. You were clad in a pretty dress with small floral patterns along with a small sun hat on your head that was tipped back so the sun was hitting your face. Your hair was blown back behind your shoulder, your left hand was holding a bunch of sunflowers while your right hand was resting on top of your hat, holding it down so it wouldn’t be blown away by the wind. Your eyes were closed and you had the warmest smile on your lips as you were basking into the afternoon sunshine. The sunlight was kissing your skin so perfectly that she swore you were glowing. You looked so peaceful, relaxed, and content. It was clear that you weren’t trying to pose for the camera, this photo captured you and all your natural beauty. 

You looked ethereal. 

She looked back at her brother and back at the basket of origami strawberries and the photo frame and concluded one other thing.

“what a fucking simp”

a/n: yes it’s may but this story takes place in december oops

UGH WORDS CANT DESCRIBE HOW SUNA AND Y/N MAKE ME SO HAPPY. DEADASS THIS EXTRA WARMED MY HEART AND SO I HOPE IT WARMED YOUR HEART TOO. 

I promised a while back that I was going to make an extra that featured suna’s little sister. Personally, I feel like Suna’s sister with be the complete opposite of him. Hence why I wrote her to be very dramatic and enthusiastic. He’s probably able to put up with the miya twins bullshit because his sister already made him go through so much LMAO

I’m uncertain if this is going to be my last extra for club stupid. I have one last long fic idea in mind but truthfully I’m not sure when I’ll get to writing it </3

Regardless, thank you guys so much for the love and appreciation for this series. It really means a lot to me and I’m glad to see people continue to enjoy it :)

a/n 2: ayo where do i find myself a suna? genuinely asking and in need of help. 

taglist! [CLOSED] @aircorumble​@elianetsantana​ @versatilewindow @introvertatitsfinest​ @aristatrois​ @mizukisonoda​ @amberisnotcrazy​ @kritiiiii​ @iloveyouasmuchaspoohloveshoney​ @a-moon-fairy ​ @akaasht​ @lotusweebs​ @marvelous-maxi​ @laughingismorefun​ @hhmnvm​ @sweetyrina​ @honeydrip​ @miracleboy420​ @rachelexe​ @charsdummb​ @mjoork @loser-keiji​ @dinablossom​ @ntimacy​ @kac-chowsballs​@unhappyraspberry @sbaepsae ​ @doebopeepeebbod @missalienqueen​@ssuna​ @violenthead​ @unstableye​ @tycrackculture​​ @a-applepi​​ i @lollyzen​​ @aisawa-reo​​ @ashybitch89​ @sunflowerirl​ @sapphicstarss​ @melodiamore​ @valrubiii @urbasicaveragegirl @mint-mai @4kaashl @sugawsites @anngelllla @applekenm @bumblebeesofspace @dreamstormings @milkingkageyama @tsumu-core @luvelyxp @aquariarose

[it’s been a long time since I updated this series so i apologize if I am unable to tag you 🥲]

[aliwritesfic]

First Date (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader)

Summary: Frankie only downloaded Tinder after Santi basically forced him to one night, and he never expected to actually meet anyone on there.

Word count: 2.4k

Content warnings: Oral (F receiving), P in V, age gap, online dating, condom used

(I haven’t written creatively in almost 7 years so if this is a waste of time I apologise, also tagging @absurdthirst because i sent them an anon last night about being nervous to post this lmao)

Frankie looked at your photo again and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. He wasn’t used to this whole online dating thing, and he certainly hadn’t expected to meet anyone on it. Pope swore by it for one-night stands and fuck buddies, and practically forced him to download the app and create a profile while they were all at their favourite bar and Benny had gone home with some girl. He’d swiped right on only a few people and made even less matches. Any conversations he’d had on there fizzled out after a few hours after telling them he didn’t have Snapchat, or Facebook, or Twitter, or anything else like that.

Then he’d matched with you.

Your profile was simple – a couple selfies, a photo on a hike with a beautiful staffy, and a group shot on a night out. Your bio was short and sweet – criminal justice and community welfare student, intersectional feminist, nerd. Lover of cheesy one liners and bad jokes.

Frankie had swiped right almost immediately. The only thing that gave him pause was the age gap – twelve years between you. There were bigger gaps, of course, but he’d never dated anyone more than two years younger.

“You’re both grown adults,” Pope said looking over his shoulder, “what the fuck are you waiting for?”

So, with that, Frankie swiped right and was instantly greeted with a match. His stomach jumped again as you sent the first message, a simple but effective ‘hey, what do teachers and ancient history have in common? They both Babylon!’

You both chatted for a few more days before Frankie decided enough was enough. He asked you out for dinner and drinks at a local sushi place that had recently opened. He felt ill as he waited for your reply, wondering if it was too soon. It was almost an hour later that you replied ‘YES! How’s fri at 8:30 sound?’

It was a date. His first in over a year. The boys had come over to help him get ready, feeling like he was in high school all over again.

Frankie stood outside the restaurant, wishing he hadn’t left his cap in the truck, or at least wishing he’d picked somewhere that didn’t seem like it had an unwritten dress code. But he’d wanted to impress, and the reviews of this place had been positive.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside and moved towards the hostess. “Table for two, under Morales.”

“Right this way sir,” the hostess smiled at him and led him towards a table near the back, and Christ you were already there.

You were even more beautiful in person, in a tight dark dress, heels and a denim jacket thrown over the back of your chair. You were reading the menu, a small frown on your face as you squinted at it. You didn’t even notice him approach until he was standing right next to you. When you looked up, your mouth transforming into a grin, his heart skipped a beat.

“Frankie?” You said, your name sounding like heaven on your lips. Frankie sat down opposite you, his palms suddenly sweaty.

“Hey,” he went to say your name and you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

“Please, everyone I like calls me Sunny,” you grinned at him and he knew exactly why.

“Well, Sunny,” Frankie felt himself grin back at you, “it’s nice to finally meet you properly.”

“I’ve been so nervous all day,” you admitted, “but a good nervous, like nervous excited. I was supposed to be making notes on one of my lectures today, but I couldn’t stop thinking about this date. It’s been so long since I’ve been on one, I just stressed myself out about it all day.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Frankie laughed, relieved to know that the insanely beautiful woman in front of him was just as out of sorts as he was. He was beginning to feel more at ease with you already, something he hadn’t felt with someone new in a long while.

The waitress arrived then, beaming down at you as she asked if you were ready to order. Frankie ordered a plate of sashimi and a spicy crab roll, while you got a veggie roll, and you both ordered a shot of soju.

“Don’t like fish?”

You shrugged, “I’m allergic, not like deathly or anything but I get a rash and a really bad stomach ache. It sucked when I was travelling through Asia a few years ago.”

Frankie frowned, instantly regretting even suggesting the restaurant in the first place. “We can go somewhere else if you like,” he suggested, ready to do anything he could to make this a perfect first date.

“Oh god, no!” You smiled and Frankie’s stomach jumped. “I’ve been wanting to come here for a while now, so when you suggested it, of course I was gonna say yes.”

Frankie felt a little relieved at that, and you two talked for a while, waiting for your meals. He found out your dog was called Lola, you loved old music, and you were a disability support worker before your close cousin went to prison and you decided to enrol in university to study criminal justice. You found out he was a pilot, ex-military and he loved classic lit.

You continued to talk through your meal and several more drinks. He was beginning to deeply enjoy the sound of your voice, your laugh. You made him feel like you two were the only people in the room, everyone else was insignificant.

Eventually though, you both felt it was time to give up your table to someone actually paying. You tried to pay for your own meal and drinks, but Frankie insisted on paying. You both walked outside into the chilly night air, and Frankie couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you were even under the streetlights. You cleared your throat and Frankie noticed a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I uh, I don’t really want this night to end, do you?” you asked. Frankie decided to do what he could feel himself wanting to do all night.

He stepped forward, closing the gap between you as he cupped your soft cheeks in his rough, calloused hands and kissed you. Your reaction was almost immediate, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and running your fingers through his hair, pressing your bodies together. Your tongue darted along his bottom lip and he instantly granted you access, his own tongue sliding into your mouth. He wanted you. Desperately.

“Do you want to come back to mine,” Frankie asked, his hands slid down to your waist, he kissed along your neck, feeling your pulse flutter under his lips. You moaned softly as his mouth found your collarbone.

“Yes,” you whispered, “god yes.”

He kissed you again, before breaking away to lead you back to his truck.

“How far?” you asked.

“Five minutes,” Frankie said, resting his hand on your upper thigh where the hem of your dress ended. He felt himself tighten in his jeans as he thought about what he wanted to do to you. He driver faster than necessary, turning the journey into a quick three minutes. Once the truck was off you didn’t waste a moment, pulling yourself onto his lap, straddling him between your thighs. Your lips met his frantically, like you were both starving for each other.

Frankie’s hardness pressed against his jeans as you ground against him. He kissed down along your neck and jaw, relishing in your soft moans. One hand stayed planted firmly on your ass, the other snaked up your body to your breasts, pulling your dress down to expose them. You weren’t wearing a bra, and the sight of your breasts in the silver moonlight was irresistible. Frankie’s lips kissed a path down your neck to your collarbone, down further still until he had a hard nipple in his mouth. His tongue flicked over it gently, while his hand played with the other, rolling it around between his finger.

“Frankie,” you moaned, arching your back to give him better access. “Fuck.”

“You like that baby?” he whispered looking up at you. You whimpered in response as the hand on your breast moved down your body toward your thighs.

“Please,” you spread your legs a little further for him, and his fingers began to massage your clit though your soaking underwear. Frankie’s tongue continued to work at your nipple licking and sucking while you cried out in pleasure.

His fingers teased the outside of your entrance, his thumb working your clit in methodical circles.

“Cum for me,” he murmured, his voice husky. You moaned in response, unable to form any words as his fingers slid easily inside of you. Frankie watched your face as he fingered you, his own cock straining against his jeans. God he wanted to fuck you, but not until you’d already cum for him.

Frankie moved his thumb in faster circles and you began to fall apart. You clenched around his fingers, crying out as your body shook with your orgasm. He moved his mouth up to kiss you, whispering between kisses.

“Fuck you’re so sexy,” he groaned.

“We need to go inside,” you panted, your body still trembling slightly. Frankie couldn’t agree more, fumbling with the door of his truck, then his house keys. The moment the door was open you were on him, pulling his jacket off his shoulders, unzipping his jeans. Your bodies moved together in the direction of the kitchen, knocking something down in the process.

Frankie moaned into your mouth as your hands glided up his torso under his shirt. He pressed you against the counter and lifted you up, yanking your dress down to your ankles in the process.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered in your ear, “do you want that?”

“Yes, Frankie, please,” you begged, desperate for him to touch you. He grinned slyly as he crouched down slightly in front of you and spread your legs. The sight of your underwear, drenched with desire, made his mouth water.

Frankie didn’t want to waste a single moment more. With one quick move he slid your underwear down your legs and was working your clit with his tongue. Two fingers moved inside of you and quirked in a come-hither motion.

Your whine of pleasure spurred him on, his tongue massaging your clit expertly. Frankie wanted to tell you how good you tasted, how sexy you sounded, but he didn’t want to waste a moment that could be spent pleasuring you.

“Frankie!” you gasped, your back arching. Your thighs pressed into the side of his head and he moved faster, harder, cock aching with the need to be inside you.

“Frankie, I’m gonna-“ your words were cut short by your orgasm, this one somehow more intense than the one in his truck. Frankie looked up at your face as you came, mouth never leaving your sweet wetness. Your head hung back, moans the only sound you’re able to make. Licking his lips, Frankie stood and cupped the back of your head gently, lifting it so he can look in your eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve someone as beautiful as you come home with him, but he wants to make certain it’s worth your while.

He leant down and whispered your name, the sound sweet on his lips. You sat up and kissed him gently, tasting yourself on him.

“Where’s your bed?” you murmured and Frankie smiled against you. Without another word he picked you up easily, wrapping your legs around his waist and carried you to his room, laying you gently on the bed. You looked beautiful, naked in the moonlight, staring up at him with desire.

Frankie discarded the rest of his clothes and climbed onto the bed so he’s hovering over you. His fingers traced soft circles on your waist.

“Are you sure you want to?” he asked

“I need you in me,” you reached up and pulled him closer, “I need you.”

Frankie reached over to his dresser and grabbed a condom, saying a silent thanks to his past self for buying them, and fitted it onto his shaft. Then he couldn’t wait a moment longer.

He lined himself up at your slick entrance, and slowly, gently, not wanting to hurt you with his larger than average size. You whimpered slightly as he pulled out, bucking your hips to stay closer to him.

Fuck you felt so good, you tight walls clenching slightly with each thrust. His thrusts became harder, slamming into you as his own ecstasy built. He moaned your name as you held onto his biceps, nails digging into his warm sweaty skin.

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold off on his own release, and with you looking at him they way you were, you made it almost impossible to hold back. But no, he wouldn’t. Not until you came a third time for him. He needed to feel you cum with his cock inside you.

Frankie moved his hand so it was between you both, and began to massage your slick, swollen clit. You cried out and clenched his biceps harder, and he felt the moment you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer, your walls tightening around his cock, coating it with your pleasure.

“Cum, Frankie,” you whispered in his ear, and god he wanted to. Frankie grunted as he finally couldn’t hold back any longer. Pleasure flushed through his body as he came to the sound of you moaning his name. In that moment, the only tangible things were his orgasm, the feel of you and your voice. It was a few moments before his thoughts became coherent again. He had never experienced pleasure like that with any other woman.

Reluctantly, he pulled out of you, noticing a bead of sweat that had formed between your breasts. Your eyes were half closed, but you watched him as he discarded the condom into a wastebasket, grabbed a box of tissues and with a touch gentler than he thought possible for him, began to clean up between your legs.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured. “Do you know how amazing you are?”

You giggled softly, sitting up to kiss him. “You’re the one who made me cum three times. Most guys can’t even manage once.”

Frankie stroked your cheek, his forehead pressed against yours, deciding in that moment you were someone he did not want to let go of. “Wanna stay the night?”

“Fuck yes.”

[hoekageyama]

cmfrt

yaku morisuke x reader

warnings: nsfw, smut, uhhhh grey sweatpants (ik im sorry ew)

wc: ~3k

a/n: hi hi! this is my first piece, so pls go easy on me ._. this started off as something fluffy bc my desire for yaku content is thru the roof (as it should be), but ofc i got off the rails and went the soft smut route lmao oops. anyway, i hope u enjoy! 

~ also! please don’t consume this content if you are not of age, thnx <3 ~

You and Yaku had been best friends for years. Having gone to the same middle school and practically being next door neighbors. Needless to say, you spent a lot of time together; you two were pretty much attached at the hip. So when Yaku told you that he’d also be going to Nekoma for high school, you were pretty excited but not really surprised. 

Throughout high school, the two of you spent as much time together as possible, proving to be difficult at times with every ounce of Yaku’s free time being devoured by volleyball and the endless amounts of studying that was required for prepping for uni. All that aside, the two of you always found time for each other. Whether it be little lunch dates on the weekends, small study sessions in the library, or even facetime hangouts when you were both exhausted and too lazy to actually meet up face to face.

It felt like any other Friday when you and Yaku met up in the early morning to walk to school together. “Y/n, did you finish that history report yet? I’m almost done, but I need someone to review it so I don’t look like an idiot when I present on it.” Yaku ran a hand through his light brown hair and looked over to your slightly shorter form.

You turn to Yaku, noticing how his cheeks were slightly flushed due to the cold wind blowing directly in your faces. “Just about. I just need to finish my conclusion, but it shouldn’t take me too long to power through it. Also, yeah, I can take a look at it. No worries.” You turn away after answering the boy, and continue on your walk, thinking that was the end of that conversation. You can feel his gaze on you suddenly, leaving your cheeks to tint to that familiar shade of red. “Thanks. Also… are you free tonight?” he asks with slight notes of hesitation in his voice. You glance at him through the side of your eye noticing his fidgeting hands. “Yea, I’m free. What’s up?”

Without looking at you or answering, he slows his pace until he’s stopped. Standing and gazing out at the trees that lined the roads, watching as the Maple leaves are shed from their branches, showing the first true signs of winter. You stop alongside him and nudge him slightly with your elbow, “Why’d you ask so suddenly, Mori? Something up?”

He jumps slightly being pulled from his thoughts. He glances over at you, “Oh, uh, no reason really. I was just wondering if you’d wanna come over tonight to study and hangout. We can chill and watch movies like the old times. I have the house to myself and all so…” When you see his raised eyebrow and sly smirk grace his features, you feel your face heat up slightly.

You turn to him giggling, “Oooooh, Mori! I didn’t know you could be such a flirt!” He wraps an arm around your shoulders and forces you to start walking again. “If that’s what you call flirting, then the guys you talk to must be braindead.” He pulls you a little closer into his chest, laughing along with you now. You nuzzle your head into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, “Of course I’ll come. As long as you treat me to some takeout tonight.” He nods and smiles, looking at your slightly smaller form clinging to his for warmth. “Deal. We can stop by the store on our walk home, and I’ll get you whatever ya want.” You only nod in agreement, leaving the two of you to walk the rest of the way in a comfortable silence.

As the day moved on, you found yourself getting a bit anxious for your hangout with your best friend. It’s not like you haven’t slept over at his house before. In fact, you and Yaku practically slept at each other’s houses every weekend for as long as you can remember. But what was so different now? Oh yeah, that’s right. It’s because now you were painfully aware of your burning crush on the mighty libero. 

The final bell signaling the day’s end rings as you make your way through the double doors of Nekoma. Making your way towards the gym, you see Kuroo and Kai standing by the entrance chatting. “Yo Tets! Kai! You guys seen Mori anywhere?” The two both wave in greeting as you move closer to the duo. “Yea, I think he’s getting changed right now. Should be out in a bit.” Kai states. “You two still aren’t dating yet? You guys act like you're married already.” says Kuroo, rustling your hair. “Oh shut uuuuup already.” you hear Yaku groan from inside the gym. “You’re so worried about our relationship when you can barely hold a conversation with a girl without looking like a nerd.” Yaku scoffs, punching Kuroo’s arm. 

The four of you eventually split off into your own groups, making your way home for the weekend. The walk home doesn’t take very long. It’s filled with Yaku telling you about Kuroo’s horrible chemistry pickup lines and complaining about the test you both had coming up. Midway through, you both stopped at the store, picking out ample snacks for your movie night and some dinner for later.

Upon finally trudging through the icy winds, you arrive at Yaku’s house. He unlocks the door, but steps aside to let you in first. “What a gentleman!” you say jokingly as he laughs from your reaction. You slide your shoes off at the door and make a beeline straight for Yaku’s bedroom, plastic bag filled with goodies in hand. Yaku lets out a happy sigh and soon follows suit. 

Once in Yaku’s room, you lie face down on his bed groaning. “What’s wrong now, princess?” he asks as he closes the door. Plopping down on the bed next to you with two juice pouches already in hand he nudges you gently to sit up. “I completely forgot to stop by my house to pick up clothes for tonight. All I have in my bag are gym clothes.” you sigh in exasperation as you take the pouch from his cold hands.

“Oh stop. You know you can always just use some of my clothes.” he shrugs while taking a sip of his juice. “I mean.. You’ve done it before. It’s not that big of a deal. I- if you’re ok with it, that is.” he says looking over to you, waiting for your response. You nod in response moving to lie in his lap.

If you didn’t know Yaku well enough, you wouldn’t have noticed the way he tenses slightly, ears the tiniest bit redder than they were moments ago braving the cold of the outside world. “Well then, get me something comfy because I need to get out of this skirt asap!” you say brushing down the edges of your skirt, putting them into place. “I’ll say..” he mumbles. You barely heard it, but it makes your cheeks grow a little red.

After you both finish your drink, you see him disappear into his closet only to emerge moments later with two sets of clothes in hand. He tosses a black t-shirt and a pair of red shorts to you on the bed. Both of which, landing right on top of your face. “I’ll go shower up first since I don’t take ages like some people.” he says with a smirk as he reaches the door.

You giggle hearing his mocking tone “Ok that was one time! And to be fair, it was all your fault. My hair smelled like Yakuult for days after!” He blushes slightly remembering the incident, but chooses to only shake his head laughing to himself as he continues his pursuit for the bathroom.

You lie in his bed scrolling through some app on your phone when you hear the door open. Yaku returns, toweling off his lightly dampened hair, clad in just a pair of grey sweatpants that seem to barely hand onto his waist. You feel your thighs press together tightly as he throws a hoodie on, turning to see your flustered state. “What? Am I too hot for ya?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh shut up!” you groan, rushing passed him and right out the door. You quickly hop into the shower once in the bathroom to cool off your burning cheeks, praying that you can keep it together for the rest of the night. 

Soon enough, you’re all dry, dressed, and heading for Yaku’s room. As you close the door, you see Yaku sitting at his desk running his fingers through his hair. Yaku had been working on his history paper while you were in the shower, and it seems he isn’t making much progress. You grab your back and move to sit by him, brushing against his leg with your own on the way down. He feels a shiver rush down his spine at the sudden delicate touch. “You ok, Mor?” you ask when you see him nodding profusely in response. “Yeah just can’t get this paper done. It’s like my mind is racing, but I can’t focus.” You rub his back and lean over to view his paper in front of him. The way you’re positioned isn’t helping Yaku’s brain one bit. 

Yaku places a hand on your lower back, ogling at the way your back arches naturally reacting to his touch. He smooths out the back of your shirt, admiring the swell of your ass. He flushes a bit, feeling a dull throb and a tightness beginning to form in his sweatpants, when he notices how short you made the shorts after rolling the waistband up a few times to ensure they’d fit. 

You subconsciously rub your thighs together a little while reading through his history report. You hoped that Yaku wouldn’t notice, but unlucky for you he did. He continued rubbing your back, slightly lowering his hand little by little until you felt his rough hand caress your ass. You turned around to look at him, but were met with eyes glazed over in lust. “Hey Mor, you ok?” you ask confused. “I’m fine, baby. Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.” he says as he drops his hand into his lap in an attempt to conceal the bulge that began growing in his sweats. You shake your head giggling, moving back to your original position next to him. “Nah it’s all good, babe. Just…” you lose all train of thought you possibly had when you glance down and notice the outline of something in his sweatpants. “Hey, y/n, listen. I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen, I promise. I- I just think you look really good in my clothes…. Sorry.” he quickly spits out. 

He began shuffling to get up from you when you reach out and clamp a hand around his wrist. “Why are you apologizing, babe? I should probably be the one apologizing. Especially when you’ve made me like this.” you say bashfully, leading his hand to the wet spot that was now visible in the red shorts you wore. He groaned upon feeling the dampness. “What’s all this, princess? Why so wet already?” he coos into your ear, continuing to rub his rough hands against your clothed core. 

After building up the courage to get this far, you threw all caution to the wind. “You, Mori. Fuck! I want you to touch me, please.” you let out a little moan as you palmed him through his sweats. You could tell just how hard he was through his pants. “Fuck, baby, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please let me fuck you.” he groans when you press a little harder onto his hardened cock.

Everything that happened next was a blur. Lips smashed together, tongues dancing, teeth clashing every now and then. You finally part lips, gasping for air as he tugs his hoodie off over his head. You follow suit, removing your shirt and shorts, leaving you standing nearly bare in between his legs as he lounged in his desk chair. 

His eyes never leave yours as he unhooks your bra, allowing it to fall to the floor with a thud. His hands smooth over your breasts, rolling and pinching a nipple in between the rough pads of his fingers. He places open mouthed kisses from your jawline down to the swell of your breasts. Leaning back to take in the view once more he groans, saying, “You’re so beautiful, baby. I can’t believe you’ve been hiding these from me all this time.” you only moan as he moves in to nip at one of your pert nipples. Your hands immediately reach for his light brown locks and begin to tug in response to the stimulation. 

His hands move to your lower body pulling off your lace underwear until they drop to the floor. You kick them aside before he grips your hips tightly. “Mo- Mori please, let me ride your cock.” you say through moans as he lightly trails a finger through your soaked folds. He removes his mouth from your chest with a lewd popping sound. He stands up to pull his sweats lower and sits back down in his seat. You take a moment to ogle at the sight before you. His cock, painfully hard, dripping precum from the swollen head. You grab his shoulders and move in to kiss him as his grip returns to your hips. 

He hoists you up onto his lap, making you straddle the length in his lap. When your wet core makes contact with the length below you, you let out a lewd moan and grind in his lap. He hisses at the contact and tightens his grip on you to stop you from moving. “Patience, princess.” he groans out as you finally stop your ministrations. He lifts you slightly, aligning himself with your hole before looking up to you for approval. You simply nod your head and lower yourself onto his cock little by little. It isn’t too above average in length, but damn did he make up for it in girth. 

You both hiss at the feeling of him being sheathed completely inside your tight cunt, neither of you moving to allow for you both to regain some composure. “Fuck baby, you’re so tight!” he groans, “Just let me know when you want to start moving.” You only nod your head, savoring the delicious stretch in your core. 

As soon as you regain your bearings, you look up to him with glazed eyes, “Mori, mo- move please.” He attaches your mouth to his and gently lifts you, gripping your ass tightly. Before long, he let you take control. The pace you set is slow at first while you kiss him tenderly, running a hand through his hair, tugging gently every so often. His cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, causing you to erupt in another lewd moan of his name. You feel him twitch inside you, he speeds up the pace a bit bringing your ass down harder each time he lifts you. 

Before long you feel that familiar heat in your core building inside you. “Ah fuck, I’m c- close” you moan out as he snaps his hips up to meet yours. The sound of his balls slapping your ass is nearly enough to set you off, but when he reaches a hand down to place sloppy circles around your clit. The coil of heat building up finally snaps, and you’re thrown head first into the bliss of ecstasy.

Yaku groans feeling you tighten around his length. He continues fucking you through your high, and his pace begins to get sloppy before he pulls out frantically. Before he can ask you, you get on your knees in front of him and take him into your mouth. He hisses at the feeling of your tongue gliding over his swollen head and throws his head back in pleasure. With one hand in your hair, he pulls you lower onto his cock as he bursts ribbons of heat down the back of your throat. 

After removing himself from your mouth and tucking himself back into his sweats, he pulls you back into his lap. He places a gentle kiss on your lips, holding you tightly in his arms. “Mori, I’m cooooooold.” you whine into his shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed, huh?”

He moves you onto his bed and quickly disappears to the bathroom. You see him return with a damp washcloth and a cup of water in hand. You let him clean you off as you look around the room for your clothes. “I’ll get you some new clothes ok? Just relax and drink your water while I put these washing.” he says, motioning to the pile of clothes on the floor. He hands you some garments and you quickly get dressed as he moves about the house.

He later returns, only to see you waiting for him with the takeout you had gotten earlier. He plops down beside on the bed for the second time tonight and pulls you into a hasty kiss. “You’re mine, right? I love you so much. I’ve dreamt of this for years. Please stay with me.” he says as he looks deep into your e/c eyes, while cupping your cheeks with his hands. “How can I say no?” you giggle, smashing your lips into his once more before chowing down on your takeout meals. The rest of the night is spent with the two of you cuddled up watching terrible rom-coms. The history report, long forgotten. That can wait for tomorrow.

- again, i’m so sorry at how trashy this is written lmaodfadfj 

- if u did read it tho, tysm! ily & maybe send me some suggestions on what to write next. i’m down for whatever rlly. i’m trying to write more often so this is kinda just a warm up for now.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 22

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, smut

; Word Count: 6.4k

; Warnings: Brief mention of antidepressant side effects, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sex toy use, insinuated sex

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: I’ve half proofread this but I hate reading through smut again so...I hope you enjoy it all :) please reblog if you did and leave me feedback in the form of comments, reviews or other asks! I’m always happy to read your thoughts on the Flower couple and their evolving relationship <3

; Flower Masterpost

-

“Okay so...I know it probably doesn’t look like I’ve got you all that much,” You give him a disbelieving stare before eyeing the small pile of books and games he’d already gifted you. “But I got you one more. And I had to hide this because it’s very heavy and I didn’t want you accidentally kicking it and opening it up or anything.”

Watching as he stands up, his cheerfully festive Christmas Simpsons sweats looking very out of place on his tattooed body, he darts off to your bedroom. Frowning, you lean back to try and see what he’s doing, wondering how’d he’d managed to hide something from you in your own room.

He was completely lying because he’d gotten you everything you wanted and more. The new Final Fantasy game, the new Villainous expansion, some of the books you’d been wanting for a while and a few Eeveelution plushies to finish off your set. So what on earth would he have gotten?

It’s even more confusing when he comes back and you see the size of the box in his hands, elegantly wrapped in silver wrapping paper. There’s a pretty fabric bow on top with a tag on it and your brow rises when you see how hard he’s struggling with it.

That brow goes even higher when he sits down with a grunt, the box dropping onto the floor with a heavy thunk. Eyes widening, you stare at it before looking at him in amusement.

“Holy shit Hoseok, what did you do? Kill someone?” He gives you a smirk before cuddling up to you on the floor, gesturing to the wrapped gift with more than a little excitement. You welcome his warmth and idly poke his thigh as you eye the present.

“Nope. You’ll love it though, I promise.” Giving him a suspicious look, you look at the tag first and read it. Much to his amusement. Apparently he wasn’t one of those people who particularly cared about reading the tags, which had horrified you when you found out. Not that you’d written him any sweet notes or anything, but still.

Unsurprisingly, the tag doesn’t have some love filled sonnet on it, just your name and ‘love, Hoseok’. But he’d obviously shown his love through the careful presents he’d bought you, each one something that you loved and adored. 

Smiling, you carefully began to peel away the wrapping paper where it has been folded, tugging at the tape until it came away gently. You feel Hoseok’s laugh vibrate through his body before actually hearing it, causing you to look at him in confusion.

“God, you open presents so neatly. It’s like watching my sister all over again,” His smile stays warm, growing even more affectionate. “She used to open presents like you do, as if afraid that you’ll ruin the wrapping paper or something. I don’t have the patience.”

“Gee...I hadn’t noticed.” Turning your head to stare firmly at the bag of torn wrapping paper next to you both, the remnants of what had remained of what you’d painstakingly wrapped. 

He snorts before poking your side and nodding with his head towards the present that you’d only begun opening. “Okay Miss Sarcastic, please proceed with the present opening before you cut yourself on your wit instead of the paper.”

You do as asked, or instructed rather, and carefully peel back the paper. As soon as you have a glimpse of the box cover though, all care is gone as you gasp loudly and quickly tear the rest off. Staring down at the colourful box, you take in the words ‘Gloomhaven’ along the top before squealing with excitement and bouncing in place.

“Oh my god! Hoseok! Oh my god! What the fuck? This game is so expensive!” You’re beyond happy to get it though, as if your reaction wasn’t obvious and the amusement in Hoseok’s face is more than apparent. But you still feel a little guilty at the fact he’s bought you this alongside everything else so far. The two of you haven’t even been dating a year and you’re already feeling spoilt.

He wraps his arms around your waist before kissing your cheek sweetly, watching as you pull the rest of the paper from beneath the box and toss it to the side. It’s only when you go to lift the box that you let out a deep groan of surprise and effort, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, holy shit. This thing was 10 fucking kilograms. I feel like I almost died bringing it here. And that’s with the freaking elevator. Open it up, I wanna see what’s in this damn thing.” Laughing, you let him turn the box upside down and use the scissors that had been brought over earlier to slice through the clear stickers that were keeping the lid attached. 

Kasumi was currently playing with a ball of scrunched wrapping paper that Hoseok had thrown to her earlier. She had, obviously, been thoroughly enthralled with it and completely ignored the toys she’d been bought by Hoseok and you for her Christmas presents. He’d been thoroughly amused by that but you’d just shrugged and said this was what cats did.

Between the two of you, you manage to get the lid off the box that feels like it’s been vacuum packed in and sit back to admire the interior contents. Carefully, you lift the map board out and open it up, scanning over the intricate map with interest while Hoseok lets out a low whistle.

“Fuck, there’s a lot of shit in this box.” He pulls out a wirebound book along with a rule book, placing them on his lap before flicking through them with interest. Holding up the wire book, he looks at you with wide eyes. “Dude, this is the scenario book...it has 96 scenarios in it.”

Grinning at him, you peer over his shoulder and take them in before carefully taking the book from his hands and placing it on top of the now folded map.

“Yep. It may be expensive but you get your money’s worth at least, right? And you can’t look at it, it’ll spoil the game for you. It’s like an RPG game for a PC or console. You’re only supposed to find out what’s happening as you’re playing, so don’t go spoiling it. And apparently we can only only look at a certain number of characters and stuff. We unlock those through the scenarios.” Reaching in, you pull out one tiny box with what reminds you of a singularity on the top, opening it carefully and pulling out the tiny figure inside.

“This is one of the starter ones, a spellweaver. I want to be this one.” Hoseok takes it from you and looks over it equally as carefully before shrugging, his expression giving away that he was no idea what you’re on about. Giggling, you kiss his cheek and place it back into the box.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” He glares at you as you begin to place everything carefully inside. It impresses you how well everything fits in, and you already feel some dread at the prospect of trying to fit everything inside after a few scenarios.

“I’ll have you know that I played and loved all the Dark Souls games.” Biting your lip, you try to contain your amusement as you slide the lid back on and simply admire the game with reverence. 

“Oh yeah? Is that because it’s all gothic and hardcore. Did you git gud?” Your teasing of him instantly gets a repercussion as he begins to tickle you furiously, your laughs loud in the apartment and causing Kasumi to pause with her own wide eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah I did git gud. Actually, I got so gud that I finished all of them multiple times. What was it you told me once? That you don’t like those games because they’re too hard for you? So...who’s the one who needs to git gud now?” He says, pausing his fingers from his relentless assault and giving you a smug look. Breathing heavily, you let out a quiet laugh before tracing along one of the tattoos on his arms.

“Me, apparently.” Pausing, you take him in before smiling with happiness, your stomach bubbling with joy. “Thank you. For buying me that, it’s really expensive and I can’t believe you bought me it! I’ve been contemplating it for ages.”

“I know. I’ve seen you look at it online often enough. Got me a little stressed when you almost bought it the other week. But I like playing games with you, I’ve decided. So...I got this one so that we can play it together. It can be our game.” Sitting back up, he reaches out and pulls you up with him as you stare at him with wide eyes.

Logically, you’d known that he’d probably have to play it with you as there was no way that Chungha or Soyeon would be interested in something as in depth and long lasting as Gloomhaven. But hearing him say that he’s spent well over $100 on a board game just to play it with you was something else entirely.

It makes your stomach go funny, just like he always made it, and you feel the fluttering of almost anxiety in your throat, making it a tiny bit harder to breathe. Not because you were upset or anything, but you just didn’t really know how to process the love you’d been blessed with from one Jung Hoseok. It was hard for your head to really comprehend that he genuinely meant every word he said.

“Are you sure? It’s supposed to be intense. And long.” Hoseok smirks at you, moving closer until you’re almost nose to nose. His warm breath, smelling faintly of the mint ice cream he’d eaten for dessert at his parents after Christmas dinner, fanning your face. You should be disgusted, but you’re not.

“I know something that can be intense and long tonight. And I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise.” Rolling your eyes at his obvious innuendo, you try hard to stop the smile that wants to break free at hearing him obviously trying to initiate sex. The two of you had agreed to spend the mornings at your respective parents' houses before meeting up here, opening the presents you’d bought each other and spending Christmas evening together for the first time.

Looking over his elegant features, you can’t help but smile as happiness fills you at the sight of him. He’s not paying attention to you anymore, instead having reached over to take one of the books you’d gifted him earlier. 

Hoseok had begun to read biography and memoir style books lately, enjoying a wide array of topics. As such, you’d gotten him the entire back catalogue of Mick Wall biographies, which meant he had a whole stack of metal and rock n roll band biographies to go through.

At the moment, he was scanning over the back of the Metallica book with his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. The other pile included Lemmy, Guns n Roses and more. You’d be lying if you said that you knew half of the bands or whatever that were in the books but you knew that he’d love them all anyway.

And he had, his face lighting up with excitement when he’d unwrapped each one. It had been a worry that he’d find them boring or something, but instead you’d been given many kisses of thanks. Which had been rather delightful, you would admit.

You’d found it particularly stressful buying him presents for Christmas; panicking that he wouldn’t like whatever you bought or having anxiety that he would already have it. He’d given you a few hints to make it easier for you but you’d struggled over it still. As much as you loved him, and as much time as you spent with him, it was hard to figure out what he’d like.

Hoseok loved his music, but he already had everything he wanted in regards to that. There were no concerts coming up that he didn’t already have tickets to, he bought whatever books he wanted to read and he bought whatever films he wanted. Given he spent so much time at yours, you couldn’t even consider something bigger as he wouldn’t get any use out of it as he spent so much time with you and there wasn’t space in your apartment.

Why was buying presents for men always so much harder? And on top of that, you’d had to dissuade him from buying anything that you’d already bought him. Because he was like a cat whose eyes went wide when he saw something he wanted. That had been the case with the James Bond Blu-Ray collection you’d gotten him as well.

It was limited edition, and he’d spotted it online a week after you’d bought it. It had taken some careful persuasion to make sure he didn’t buy it, along with a lot of internal eye rolling.

“Did you like everything?” You don’t realise that there’s a touch of insecurity in your voice, a hint of uncertainty that you hadn’t done it right. This was the first time you’d ever had a boyfriend over the Christmas period, so you weren’t sure if you’d done it right. 

Looking up at you with wide eyes, he makes a small noise of question before looking back at his pile of gifts. It now looks smaller than yours and you get warm with embarrassment but he gives you such a bright smile. 

“Yes, thank you! Got everything I wanted and stuff I didn’t know I wanted until now.” He leans back against the couch, giving you another smile before reaching out to you and pulling you into him. Besides the books and the Bond collection, the only other thing he’d gotten was a bottle of his cologne, which wasn’t cheap. 

So his pile might not look like much, but it was actually a big chunk of money. It made you feel a little ashamed that your gifts were obviously more expensive, but you reasoned it away to yourself. Hoseok earnt more than you, a lot more than you. You had worked within your means for him while also buying for your friends and family.

“Are you happy with what you’ve got?” Hoseok asks, tilting his head to look at you with expectant brows. You give him a sweet smile of your own before nodding and hugging him even tighter.

There’s a moment of pause before you move your head to kiss him, lips gentle against his for a few seconds. He doesn’t hesitate any further though, moving his hand to cup your cheek and you relax into the kiss, almost sighing into his mouth contentedly. 

You’d shyly admitted to him the other week that you really liked kissing him. He’d thought it was amusing that you’d told him that so sweetly, but you’d been particularly awkward about it because you’d never had makeout sessions as a teenager. And it hadn’t been fantastic in college, but you got the urge to just kiss Hoseok for hours on end like an excitable teenager.

It was pretty easy to guess that Hoseok found it endearing, and you’d found he’d been indulging you more often with kisses and just taking the time to let you feel like a loved up teenager once more. You were positive it was no great hardship on his behalf, but you were surprised that he controlled himself well enough that it rarely resulted in sex. 

He was indulging you right now and you hummed contentedly, enjoying the casual and lazy way he was kissing you. The smell of the Christmas cookie candle you’d started earlier and the gentle twinkling of the lights on the tree you’d decorated with Hoseok at the start of December make it all feel more...homey. Which you don’t want to think about too much right now; you’re too concerned with enjoying your Christmas kisses to care too much.

Finally though, he pulls away slowly and the tiny whine you let out has him laughing against you. “Calm down, you can have plenty more later.” 

Shifting away from him slightly, you push out your lower lip in a pout before giving him big puppy eyes. A year ago, the very idea of acting like this around him, or anyone, would have been beyond humiliating. But you felt comfortable with him, and you felt that this was fast becoming part of the language of your relationship with Hoseok.

He did the same to you when he wanted something. And it worked just as well on you as it did on him.

Hoseok smiles, giving you another quick kiss before gently rubbing his nose against yours. The look in his eyes is no longer sweet and soft, but instead a little more intense. Irises darkening ever so slightly while his pupils widen and you narrow your own at him, recognising that look now.

“Someone’s horny.” You mutter, causing him to smirk. He disentangles himself from you and stands, gesturing to you to stay there before disappearing off into the bedroom. Frowning, you try to see around the couch to get an idea of what he’s getting but when he comes back, whatever it is is hidden firmly behind his back.

“What are you doing?” 

“Well, we bought this and never got round to using it. So...I figure that we can see if it’s worth the money. A little...Christmas orgasm? Ever had one of those?” He smirks at you, brows wiggling as he shows you the glass dildo and bottle of lube.

Almost instantly, you go all hot with embarrassment at the sight of him just waving that around so casually. He’d been disappointed a few weeks back to discover you had no sex toys, apparently they were fun for couples too, and so he’d sat with you and ordered some. You say he ordered some, but it seemed most of them were for you.

Which had confused you as to why he was so determined to use them all on you instead of getting something for himself. But he’d just waved off your questions, telling you that he got pleasure out of seeing you pleasured and there was plenty of time to explore stuff for him in the future.

You also got the idea that he still wasn’t entirely happy with the fact that the successful orgasm ratio was leaning very heavily in his favour. He’d given you plenty through oral and with his fingers, eventually figuring out what made you tick while having sex until he could successfully bring you to the brink if you were in the mood.

And then you’d started the antidepressants, and your sexual libido had plummeted. Not only had you shown no interest in intiating sex, though you were fine if he wanted it, it had become almost impossible to orgasm. Even by yourself you’d struggled, unable to fall over that precipice into the pit of pleasure to the point that you’d cried in frustration over it.

As such, he hadn’t pushed the issue too hard because he knew it was a sore point, but you’d slowly discovered that it was possible to orgasm still. It just required...a lot of work. When you’d shyly discussed this with Hoseok, he’d taken it almost as a challenge. Hence the sex toys.

The dildo he’d set on the table was made of clear glass, a pretty centre of pink and blue that swirled around each other and a flared base that allowed it to stand on its own. You eyed it carefully as he sat next to you, a smirk on his face. It was one that you hadn’t used yet and you found yourself squirming with the knowledge he was going to use that on you.

A thin shaft met a bulbous head, the tip reminding you of a closed flower bud. Reaching out, you ran your fingers down the glass slowly, noting how smooth and firm it felt. Along with being a lot cooler than you’d anticipated.

“You up for it? I figure...I can try this on you, see if I can get you to orgasm.” Lips twisting, you take the bottle of lube from him and place it on the table as well, carefully pushing the gifts away to make space. You were positive he’d noticed this too, but you didn’t want to vocalise it.

“What about you?” Hoseok snorted in amusement, giving you a quick kiss before running his hands down your waist.

“Okay, first of all. I love doing things with you sexually. So if that’s all that happened then I’ll just get acquainted with my hand in the shower later. Otherwise...well...it is Christmas so...” Shifting, you bite your lip before looking down at your hands and then reaching for his.

“I think we can work something out.” Despite how bold the words are, they sound a lot shyer with your soft tone. Especially the way you avoid his eyes and he just laughs, kissing your temple affectionately before playfully tugging at your leggings.

You resist for just a moment before relenting, shifting awkwardly and laughing as you both struggle to peel the tight fabric from your legs. There’s a particular moment where Hoseok accidentally bumps his forehead against yours when he leans forward, trying to tug them from underneath the rounds of your ass. 

“Ow.” He mumbles and you coo to him, trying not to laugh as you gently rub at his forehead. Hoseok finally pulls them off you, taking your socks with him before moving groaning at the fact he hadn’t managed to get your underwear off too.

Now you can’t help but laugh at the way his lips automatically pout, leaning forward to peck at them before wiggling your underwear off yourself. Almost instantly he’s distracted, eyes focused between your legs and you bite your lip in amusement at how easy it is to get his attention when it involves sex or you naked.

You’d never thought you’d be someone who drew that kind of distraction in men and it makes you feel simultaneously powerful and shy. But you don’t get a chance to think any further about it when Hoseok lightly tugs on your shirt, raising his brows in silent question. The two of you have been having sex for months now, but he’s still respectful about your lingering insecurities.

Nodding, he pulls off your shirt in one quick movement before kissing you deeply once your head is free, causing you to hum in delight as his hand roams your naked skin. You no longer feel fear or panic at the touch of him against your waist and stomach. Instead, it feels reassuring.

A gasp leaves you when his hands move to cup your breasts, Hoseok smiling into the kiss as he runs his thumb along your soft skin before playing with your nipples. You’d gotten changed as soon as you’d come home from your parents and Hoseok had long gotten used to you going braless. Much to his appreciation.

But he doesn’t waste too long, leaving your lips to kiss down your jaw and suck rosettes of desire into your neck and chest. He deviates from what you presume to be his route momentarily to lavish attention onto your nipples, playing with them for a moment with his tongue and ever so gently his teeth and being careful to give both equal attention.

While he loved your chest, he wasn’t a boob man. No, he was firmly an ass man, which was evident by the way his hands had slipped down your body and were now squeezing and massaging the rounds of your ass in an almost reverent way. It amused you and you lip at your lips, tasting him once more and whining at him.

As much as you enjoyed the foreplay he was willing to give, you preferred it when he spent his time down below. Given your feelings towards your body, you weren’t particularly a fan of foreplay involving the area he was currently enjoying. And he knows this, which is why he presses a kiss to the centre of your chest before shifting backwards.

“Okay, are you okay to lay back? The rug should be okay and I’m gonna put one of these cushions under you.” He grabs the nearest cushion and you almost make a scandalised noise as you realise it’s your Pusheen unicorn cushion, but you don’t get chance to say anything as he’s already trying to move you.

So you relent, letting your back relax onto the soft rug and lifting your hips to let him place the cushion beneath them, lifting your lower body up to a place that was more comfortable for him to reach. Stretching slightly, you let out a slow breath before looking at your boyfriend.

And that breath turns into a low whine when you see the way he’s looking at you hungrily, desire almost a living force in his eyes. Given how ridiculously gorgeous he is, it’s an expression that makes your thighs clench in anticipation and your inner muscles convulse in an ache for him. You’ll never not be surprised that you’re the one to inspire that look in his eyes.

“Fuck,” He whispers, running a hand over his face. “Have I told you today that you’re beautiful? And I love you?” 

You look away from him then, shyness flooding you and you go to hide yourself from his roaming gaze. He loves to make you go shy with his compliments, knowing that you love them despite the way you protest meekly. And he’s not afraid to lavish his words on you, no matter how cheesy they are.

“Anyway, enough of that.” Hoseok mutters and you’re about to query him, but by the time you look back over at him you’re moaning out in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut while your head presses back against the floor. He darted down while you were distracted and all you can feel right now is the heavenly touch of his hot, wet tongue against your pussy.

“Ah fuck.” You gasp, one hand grasping the rug tightly while your other inevitably moves to grasp Hoseok’s hair tightly, the black strands soft between your fingers. The quiet grunt he gives at the pressure of the pull vibrates against your clit as he sucks on it lazily, causing your breath to quiver.

If there was something you’d discovered about yourself during sex with Hoseok, it was that you weren’t a dirty talker. In fact, you weren’t even much of a talker. Instead, you were a babbler. You just mumbled and moaned and whined whatever came to your mind at the time, utterly unaware of the noises you were making.

Hoseok had commented before that he thought it was hot, that the knowledge you couldn’t control your mouth was a turn on. He on the other hand, tended to be either pretty quiet until the end or he’d run his mouth. You’d never thought you’d like dirty talk until you’d heard him whispering utter filth into your ear, his voice strained and hoarse from the effort.

It was surprising, and also not unwanted. 

Now though, he spent the next few minutes with his mouth fully occupied. The tongue piercing that you had grown completely fond of pressed against your clit perfectly when lapped at you slowly, letting every centimetre of his tongue press against as much of you as possible before undulating it against your clit, letting the pressure and friction of the ball rile you up.

Whining, you tug at his hair desperately, feeling the familiar ball of tightened pleasure that is building. And yet it feels just out of reach, as before. Limbs tightening, you begged him to let you orgasm, to bring you over the edge that was so close and yet so far away.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he sits up and licks his lips contentedly, the slickness on them from you and not his own mouth. It’s an attractive sight and you whimper, pussy tightening on nothing at the sight of it. He doesn’t notice though, using his hand to wipe away the rest before looking over to the coffee table and grabbing the lube.

“I’m gonna use this still. You’re pretty wet but I read that you should use plenty, particularly with glass. And I don’t want to hurt you.” You’re almost bemused by the casual way he’s talking now, like he hadn’t just had his tongue buried into your pussy for the last five minutes. In fact, he’s even reading the damn label.

Frustrated, you reach and grasp his hand to attract his attention. “Just fucking put it in me.”

That gets a close lipped smile from him, the expression looking distinctly like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing and you scowl. Yes, you were being abrupt with him. But god dammit, you were lying naked in front of him, desperately horny and needy after being given excellent oral for given minutes and you just wanted to orgasm with your boyfriend once again and not just your own hand.

“Yes ma’am.” Uncapping the bottle, he tilts it up and you jolt slightly at the cool, thick liquid as it hits your swollen clit. He lets a good amount drip onto you before placing it back onto the table, his free hand moving to push the lubrication inside your entrance. For such an intimate motion, Hoseok is showing almost zero interest in having his fingers inside you as his attention is on the glass dildo.

But you moan in relief, tightening around him. He only has the one in you, but your moan attracts his attention back and he grins before adding a second, fingers curling in you and moving easily with the added lube. An almost grateful sigh escapes you and he laughs before pulling his fingers out and grabbing the dildo, wiping the excess onto the head before carefully adding even more.

The head of this dildo is bigger than Hoseok’s dick, and you’re a little nervous as he runs it along your pussy slowly. It’s incredibly cold and firm against you, the temperature causing you to shiver as it presses against the heated bundle of nerves at your centre.

“I’ll go slow, okay? You have to talk to me this time, let me know if it’s hurting or uncomfortable.” Nodding at him, you give him a small smile before your eyes widen as he pushes the tip inside you. It stretches you far more than you’d anticipated and you gasp, fingers grasping the rug tightly as he moves it.

Once it’s past your entrance, the slide is much easier given the shaft’s thinner girth but all you can focus on is how thick the head feels. There’s a brief moment of pause as Hoseok evaluates you before you nod at him and he slowly pulls it out. You grimace as it leaves you, deciding instantly that you do not like the feel of it entering and exiting.

“Don’t pull it out entirely. It...kinda hurts. Like not too bad but, I don’t like it.” You admit, causing him to frown before he nods in acknowledgement. The next few thrusts from him are much gentler as you both experiment with it and you comment on how it feels to him.

The glass is far firmer than anything you’ve had inside you before and you tell him to be careful, knowing that if he moved too hard or rough then it would probably really hurt given the lack of give in it. But you can’t deny that the overly large head is beyond pleasurable as it presses against the squishy patch of nerves on your inner wall, each movement sending sparks of overwhelming feeling through you.

“Move it like...a little down. No, not that way, so the head of it is coming up. Yeah, yeah like tha-ooh my god.” You moan, eyes falling closed as Hoseok does exactly as you suggest. The movement you’ve instructed him to do has the head pressing firmly against those nerves, the pressure intense and you convulse slightly when he moves it again.

“Oh god yes, there. There.” You pant to Hoseok, one hand moving instinctively for something and only stopping when Hoseok grasps it with his free hand, linking your fingers together and giving you something to squeeze. Like the good boyfriend he is, he keeps the dildo in that position as he moves it and you start to beg him to move it faster.

Moaning, you writhe on the floor as pleasure floods through you from the constant pressure and you half recognise the fact that you’re babbling to him to let you cum. But he knows as well as you do that you can’t orgasm from penetration alone, although given how good this feels you’re not entirely sure on that front.

Still, he understands and you almost jump off the floor when you feel the heated pressure of Hoseok’s wet tongue against your clit. A ragged moan leaves you, your free hand grasping his hair once more and tugging tightly as he licks and sucks at your clit almost playfully, enjoying your reactions for him.

You’d curse him out but you can’t quite focus, your entire body and mind centering on your pussy and the tight ball that has once more built up inside you. A small thought wonders whether you’ll not be able to reach it once more but it’s swept away quickly by the feeling of Hoseok’s piercing pressing against your engorged bud, the movement perfected over the months when he could bring you to orgasm.

And then it all combines together and your entire body tightens, loud and ragged moans being ripped from your throat as you shudder almost violently. Your hips move so powerfully that Hoseok can’t even keep movement with you, his mouth leaving you while he still moves the dildo within.

It just adds to the pleasure and you’re struck by the odd sensation of not being able to hear properly for a few seconds, the orgasm so strong that it literally knocks your senses offline. Once the wave has reached its crescendo and begins to soften again, you let out a soft whimper as Hoseok continues to move the dildo, only much slower this time.

It feels good, but almost too good and you push at his hand, telling him silently to stop. You don’t see the look of complete awe on his face when he pulls the dildo out, how he admires the visible signs of your pleasure on the transparent glass as white streaks of your own making coat it.

Instead, you’re just staring at the ceiling as your chest heaves, silent tears slipping from your eyes from just how...overwhelming everything was. The quiet clink lets you know he’s put the dildo on the table and you sniff, feeling particularly pathetic for getting so emotional over an orgasm.

“You came!” Hoseok coos, leaning over and gently resting some of his weight on you. He’s on his elbows, but your raised hips mean that you have the full weight of his own hips against you. Including the very hard erection pressed against you now. “Oh baby, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“I’m not upset or anything, it’s okay. I just...I don’t know,” Muttering, you wipe at the tears in an almost annoyed fashion and Hoseok smiles. “I’m just feeling emotional. Which is silly. It was just an orgasm but…”

Looking at him, your heart swells with emotion for him and even more tears fall, causing him to smile softly before he wipes them away himself and kisses you. You don’t push him away, instead wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him to you so tightly, fingers pressing into his shoulders.

“It’s okay, you’ve been stressed about it for a while now. Cry if you want, I don’t mind,” He pauses, kissing your nose quickly before smiling. “I said it earlier, but I love you.”

Wiping at your eyes again, you sniff and give him a return smile that’s more than a little shaky. Letting go of him, you watch as he sits up onto his knees, looking down at you while he bites his lip. The tent in his pants is now emphasised by the wet patch that’s been caused by the combination of lube and your own excitement and you feel bad, knowing he’s put off his own pleasure.

Sitting up, you push the cushion away before taking a deep breath. You feel a little sluggish from the strength of the orgasm, but you’ll be damned if you leave him high and dry. And on Christmas no less!

“So...how about some sex for you now?” Hoseok grins immediately at your words and you can’t help but laugh at his eagerness.

“Are you sure? Are you okay? Will you be up for it?” Despite his excitement, you appreciate his words of concern and squeeze his hand in response. Giving him a quick kiss, you take a deep breath to give yourself strength before letting go of him and turning around. There’s a pause, before you get on your hands and knees and look back at him.

This was his favourite position and any playfulness has left his face as he stares at the slick mess between your legs. Licking your lips, you push away the shyness before smiling at him.

“I’ll even let you cum on my back.” His jaw drops immediately. You’d discovered Hoseok liked orgasming onto you. He proclaimed he had no real reason for enjoying it but you thought he got turned on at the physical act of ‘marking’ you in a possessive way. At least...that’s why you enjoyed it anyway.

But you don’t offer it often, so it’s not something he gets to indulge in too much.

“Happy fucking Christmas to me.” He mutters under his breath and you can’t help but laugh as he pulls his clothes off at record speed. Happy Christmas to him indeed.

[hrina]

Serotonin

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M for mature WORD COUNT: 23.7k REQUESTED: nope!

hi everyone 🥺🥺🥺 she’s here 🥺🥺🥺 please be kind to her 🥺🥺🥺 i poured my heart out into this fic. it’s the longest (and probably the best) standalone piece that i’ve ever written. if you want to let me know your thoughts, reblogging and sending feedback to my askbox would mean the absolute world. 

p.s. since this fic is extremely long, it may cause the tumblr mobile app to glitch. if that happens to you, i suggest opening it up in google chrome or safari instead. enjoy 💕

~*~

September 4th, 2019

You always sit in the middle.

The front makes you feel far too exposed. It’s more likely that you’ll be called upon by chance, and your professors are liable to notice your absence if they’ve grown accustomed to seeing you sat squarely before them during every class.

The back is riddled with too many distractions. You know that you’ll end up watching the shows playing on the laptop screens of the students in front of you. You might not even be able to hear the lecture all that well. Despite your aversion to sitting at the front, you still want to pass with a decent grade.

The middle of the lecture hall serves as a happy medium.

Margaret and Mateo agree. That’s why the three of you push through the door and make a beeline for the trio of free seats located directly in the middle of the room. They seem to be calling your names. You nudge past a pair of girls who are absorbed in a hushed conversation, taking the time to apologise for the inconvenience. A moment later, you plop down into your chair; Margaret takes the seat on your left, while Mateo slumps against the one on your right.

“You’d think that with the thousands of dollars we pay each year, they’d be able to afford more comfortable chairs,” Mateo mutters, resting his chin on a closed fist. You snort in response.

Margaret flips her silky hair over her shoulder. “It’s because they’re too busy offering ridiculously-high salaries to profs who can’t even teach.”

You shoot her a look, cocking one eyebrow teasingly. “We all know that you want to namedrop Allende. It’s okay—you can say it.”

“She’s horrible,” Margaret groans, burying her face into her hands. “She speaks the language perfectly, but she can’t fucking relay the knowledge in an effective way. Isn’t that the entire point of teaching?”

“That’s what you get for minoring in Spanish,” Mateo mutters.

You laugh and nudge him with your shoulder. “Oh, like your minor is any better? How do you say ‘dumbass’ in Latin?”

“It’s the root of most European languages!” he protests.

“It’s a dead language!” You and Margaret say at the same time. You turn to face each other with wide eyes; an incredulous giggle slips past your lips. Mateo opens his mouth to form a rebuttal, but then the door to the lecture hall slams shut, and every head in the room snaps in the direction of the sound.

“Glad to see that trick still works.” Dr. Renault claps his hands before rubbing them together excitedly. Subconsciously, you sit up a bit straighter in your seat.

Dr. Renault is a short, balding man, with a face framed by thin gold spectacles and a belly that bulges slightly over the waistband of his suit bottoms. He fiddles with his red tie as he makes his way over to the podium at the front of the room. You’ve heard good things about him; almost everyone who has taken his class has left shining reviews and gushed about his skills. The buildup has set your expectations high. You don’t think that you’ll be disappointed.

Your eyes drift away from your professor, drawn, now, to the person walking a few paces behind him. The man has wavy brown hair that curls just behind his ears. He’s wearing a patterned green sweater and black trousers; a pair of dark brown loafers adorn his feet. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up slightly, and you can’t help but to notice the smattering of dark ink that decorates his left forearm. Big, bulky rings cover nearly all of his fingers. Tortoise-shell glasses keep his dark hair pinned back—you think that the strands would flop over his forehead if left untamed.

“Welcome, everyone,” Dr. Renault starts, and you turn your attention back to him. He’s standing behind the podium now; there’s a small stack of papers in front of him. “First things first: can you all hear me properly? Or will I need to use a microphone for the duration of this course? I don’t mind.”

A low rumble of responses travel across the room. You shake your head; Margaret and Mateo do the same. You can all hear him just fine.

“Alright,” your professor clears his throat. “My name is Gabriel Renault, but you can call me ‘My Lord’.” He smiles, and the class laughs weakly. Dr. Renault holds out his arm, gesturing to the tattooed man that you’d been studying before. “This is my assistant, Harry. He’ll be grading most of your work this semester, so if you’re looking for someone’s ass to kiss, it should be his.”

Everyone laughs a bit louder this time, including you. Harry steps forward and offers a small smile but doesn’t say anything.

Margaret leans into you. “He’s kind of cute,” she mumbles, shrugging. “In an old-man sort of way.”

“Oh my God.” You cover your mouth and shake your head at her words, but you have to admit that she does have a point. Realistically, Harry can’t be more than four or five years older than you, but the clothes he’s wearing don’t exactly fit the dress code for someone his age. In fact, his outfit looks like something that you could probably have pulled from your grandfather’s closet.

Margaret giggles quietly and recoils, sitting up properly again. When you look back up, your eyes lock immediately with Harry’s. Even from thirty feet away, you can see the mossy green of his irises and feel the intensity of his gaze. A lump forms in your throat, but nonetheless, you shoot him a faint, barely-there smile. He looks away.

Your brows knit together in confusion, but you force yourself to shrug it off. “Bit of a prick,” you breathe to no one in particular.

Mateo looks over at you inquisitively. “What?”

“No, nothing,” you whisper, waving his question away. You turn to face the front again, watching conscientiously as Dr. Renault takes hold of the stack of papers in front of him and splits it into two. He gives one half to Harry before addressing the class.

“Harry and I will be handing out the syllabus for this semester,” he announces. “There will be a short quiz at the end of each class. Don’t worry,” he smiles wryly when quiet murmurs begin surfacing amongst the seats, “They’re only composed of five multiple choice questions. They’ll each count for two percent of your grade; I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but I find that sometimes students will need that two percent to stay afloat in the course.”

“Me,” Mateo mutters quietly. You and Margaret snicker.

“There will be a quiz at the end of today’s lecture,” Dr. Renault continues. “I’ll be going through the syllabus with you for the first half of the class, and then we’ll do a quick review of the content that you should already know.” He and Harry begin distributing copies of the syllabus to each student, coaxing your classmates to pass the papers down their rows.

“So today’s quiz should be relatively straightforward. An easy two percent,” Dr. Renault says, before casting a glance at his assistant. “Wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”

Harry nods. “Yes, sir.”

You balk at the huskiness of his tone. The words are impossibly deep and throaty. Margaret stares at you with wide eyes and leans in closer.

“If I could fuck a voice…,” she hisses.

“Shut the hell up,” you retort, trying not to laugh at her candour.

Something nudges your arm; you turn and find Mateo holding out a few copies of the syllabus for you to take. You slip one out from the pile and pass it on, but not before glancing up and spotting Harry standing a few feet away at the end of your row. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. The two of you make eye contact again, but this time, it’s you who turns away first.

“There will be a short paper due next week.” Dr. Renault is speaking again. “Don’t fret—it only has to be seven-hundred-and-fifty words. One thousand is the maximum, though I doubt anyone will want to be writing that much after only the first week of class.” He chuckles to himself. “I’ll go into more detail as we read through the outline of the course. Grades for any tests and assignments will be posted online, but we’ll always give the physical copy back to you so that you can use it to study for the exams.”

A girl in your row raises her hand. When your professor nods at her, she asks, “What exactly did you mean when you talked about a review? Like, what kind of information? Just the basics?”

“Yes,” he replies, his cheeks rounding out as he smiles. “Only the content you learned in the introductory course. I believe they taught a chapter on neuroscience, am I correct?”

Everyone releases a quiet murmur of affirmation. Dr. Renault pushes his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. “Excellent,” he says. “So that would be the basics of this course—the three main components of an axon, the chemistry behind an action potential, the parts of the brain and their general functions, etcetera. All of that serves as a foundation for neuropsychology.”

“Okay, thank you,” the girl says. You recognize her—you’ve had a few classes with her, but her name escapes you.

“You’re very welcome.” Dr. Renault beams, and you fight to suppress a smile. He seems so nice—you find yourself predicting that this will quickly become one of your favourite classes.

“Is anyone missing a copy?” Harry pipes up, holding the remaining papers aloft. Your spine stiffens at the guttural rasp of his voice, and you take note of the slow drawl that crawls past his lips.

He has an accent. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Margaret fanning herself in small motions, and you roll your eyes with a soft snort.

When nobody raises their hand, Harry lowers his arm and turns to make his way back to the front of the lecture hall. You train your eyes on him, studying the way his shoulder blades protrude with every slight swing of his arms. His back is broad, tapering off into a narrow waist and long legs.

He’s probably six feet.

You cross your thighs over each other.

“Alright.” Dr. Renault resumes his initial position at the podium. “If you all look at the first page of the syllabus, you’ll find my email, as well as Harry’s. I’ve also taken the liberty of including our office locations and the hours during which we’ll be available. Please don’t hesitate to come in for extra help; it’s what we’re here for.”

“Maybe I’ll head on down to Harry’s office for some extra help,” Margaret murmurs. You don’t miss the suggestiveness lacing her words. You scoff and bump her gently with your elbow. Mateo peers over at the two of you, but you just shake your head.

“She’s being gross again,” is all you say.

He puckers his lips and nods knowingly. “Of course.”

“Are you guys down for a latte at Grounded later?” Margaret pokes her head into the conversation, her voice a bit louder than it should be. You and Mateo shush her; she pouts.

“To answer your question, though,” Mateo says, “Yes.”

“I’ve missed their coffee,” you say wistfully, staring off into nothing. The three of you fall silent, instead deciding to tune in and listen to what Dr. Renault has to say about the layout of the course. Despite your sharp concentration, your ears tingle with the feeling of being watched, and your eyes reflexively fall to the side.

You catch only a glimpse of green, and then it’s over just as quickly as it had begun.

  September 11th, 2019

“How much are you willing to bet that Mateo wrote exactly seven-hundred-and-fifty words?”

Margaret cackles. “He probably didn’t even reach the minimum.”

“You’re so mean!” you laugh, turning the corner and zeroing in on the door of your lecture hall. “Have a little faith in him.”

“Let’s wager an iced coffee from Grounded,” she suggests, lifting an eyebrow. You nod and push open the door. The room is full of students buzzing around and chatting. A quick glance upward reveals that Mateo has already reserved three seats in one of the middle rows. You and Margaret climb the steps of the hall and squeeze past a few students sitting right next to the aisle.

“Sorry…excuse us,” you murmur.

“Hey.” Mateo smiles when the two of you finally reach him. You drop down into your chair, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of your face and yawning loudly.

Margaret doesn’t waste any time. “How many words did you end up writing for the paper?”

Mateo grimaces. “Like…seven-hundred. I’m hoping Renault doesn’t actually count them all.”

“Oh, fuck yes!” Margaret beams and points a finger at you. “You lose. I like my iced coffee with a shot of vanilla bean, bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” you groan, batting her hand away before turning back to Mateo. “And technically it’s Harry who’ll be grading them. Hopefully he’s lenient with that stuff.”

Mateo doesn’t seem to have registered your last two sentences; in fact, he disregards your correction completely. His gaze bounces between you and Margaret, creases weaving into his forehead. Eventually, it dawns on him, and he releases an affronted squawk.

“You guys bet on me?”

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt!” you protest, lifting your hands in the air. “Margaret’s the one who—”

“Good morning, everyone!”

Dr. Renault is at the front of the room, standing behind that same podium from last week. He’s wearing a bright red polo shirt and a pair of blue jeans, which makes you smile for absolutely no reason. The colour of his top brings out the rosiness of his cheeks, and when he offers up a bright grin for the class, his teeth appear to be even whiter than normal.

Behind him, Harry’s standing off to the side with his hands clasped at the small of his back. He’s clad in a black button-up and black trousers. The outfit would have been completely appropriate had it not been for the suspenders striping up his sides; the silver buckles on each strap glint teasingly in the light.

“Why does it look like they swapped closets?” Mateo mumbles. You giggle softly.

“The first thing we’re going to be doing this morning,” Dr. Renault says, “is giving back your quizzes from last week. They’re short, so Harry had no trouble getting around to marking all of them. He’ll be handing them back to you in just a moment.”

You wait with a bated breath as Harry pulls a stack of sheets from his messenger bag. He begins calling out names, and each person quickly scrambles up from their seat in order to retrieve their grade. Mateo’s name is one of the first to echo around the room. He grimaces offhandedly at you and mutters something about wishing him luck. You and Margaret make a show of crossing your fingers and holding them up as a proclamation of your support.

Mateo clambers down the steps, graciously accepts his quiz, and folds it up without looking at it. He makes it all the way back to his seat before thrusting the sheet into your hands and averting his gaze. “Tell me what I got,” he pleads. “I can’t look.”

You chuckle at his theatrics before opening up the paper and letting your eyes rake over the mark circled in red. “Perfect,” you say quietly, a small smile playing on your lips. Your friend’s eyes go wide, and then his cheeks split apart with the force of his grin.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighs, slouching back in his chair and rubbing his palms over his face. “That two percent is going to keep my ass from failing. I’m calling it now.”

“You’ll be fine,” you scoff, swatting at him half-heartedly with the hand clutching his quiz. Mateo thanks you as you hand the sheet back, pleating it once more and tucking it into the sleeve on the inside of his binder.

Margaret’s name is called a moment later, and yours follows immediately after. You both look at each other and shrug, standing from your chairs and stumbling through the row. Margaret ends up in front of you; you stare down at your shoes to make sure that you don’t trip down the stairs. Your face heats up at the mere thought of humiliating yourself in front of the class, in front of Dr. Renault, in front of Harry.

In a matter of seconds, you’re standing before him. Margaret moves out of the way and treks back up to where Mateo is waiting, subtly flapping her page around to indicate her mark. You stare at Harry evenly, your gaze never leaving his face—he’s looking down at your quiz, and he’s hesitating.

His apprehension makes you nervous. Had you done poorly?

Eventually, he pulls the paper out of the pile and looks up. His eyes meet yours.

The green of his irises is even more vivid up close. It knocks the wind straight from your chest. You can see the flecks of hazel dotting the area around his pupils, and the way his eyelashes brush along his browbone when he lifts his head. There’s a small mole beneath the corner of his mouth. His lips are full and pink; they look soft.

“Here you are,” Harry says, and for a moment, you’re confused. Here you are, stationed in front of him. Had he been waiting specifically for you?

Then, you realise that he’s got his hand outstretched, offering you the marked quiz clutched between his long fingers.

You’re an idiot.

“Thank you,” you say dumbly.

Your hand brushes his when you pluck the sheet out of his grasp. There’s a cross tattooed on his hand, right above the divot of his thumb. You turn around, and for a moment, you think you hear him say something from behind you—it sounds suspiciously like “good job”—but you shake your head free of the thought. He doesn’t seem like the type.

On your way back up to your seat, you allow yourself to glance at the grade scrawled across the top of the page. A perfect score. You exhale in relief. Your attention is drawn to where a small, messy smiley face has been drawn in red pen. Beneath the doodle, there’s a few words of encouragement:

Well done. Keep it up. H. x

You gnaw on your bottom lip, so focussed on the note that you nearly pass your row. Margaret hisses at you, and you stop cold in your tracks, silently berating yourself. After a few painful moments of squeezing by the other students sitting closer to the aisle, you drop back down into your chair and fold up your quiz quickly.

Had there been a note on Mateo’s quiz?

You can’t remember. Maybe there was, and you’d merely skimmed over it. You don’t want to ask him about it right now, though, because the room is silent save for Harry calling out names and your peers shuffling forward to received their tests.

You lean forward and pull a brand-new notebook from your bag, sneakily slipping your page inside the knapsack and zipping it back up. Neither Mateo nor Margaret make inquiries regarding your grade. It’s like an unspoken rule: you always do well.

The three of you settle into your seats and wait for the lecture to begin.  

~*~

“Hi.” You lean forward and shoot the barista a friendly smile. “Can I get a medium iced coffee with one sugar and a shot of vanilla bean?”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Um…” You say, biting your bottom lip. “Actually, can you make it two? That’s it, thanks.”

“That’ll be five dollars and ten cents.”

You fish your wallet out of your bag and produce the correct amount of money. Margaret grins from beside you; you both move down the counter as you wait for your drinks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I can tell you want to brag.”

“That’s what happens when you come to expect too much from Mateo.”

You laugh. “You’re such a bitch.”

“But you’re the one who’s friends with me,” she shoots back, lifting an eyebrow teasingly. Her straight brown hair is braided today, draped over her shoulder and cinched at the bottom with a sparkly pink hair tie. You reach out and play with a loose thread on her sweater before yanking your fingers and snapping it off cleanly. She yelps, but the sound quickly dissolves into laughter.

“How’s Spanish?” you ask wryly, mostly because you’re in the mood to see her fly off the handle.

She scoffs. “Allende is…a demon. It’s only the second week and she’s already fucking killing me.”

“Just drop the class,” you suggest, shrugging your shoulders. “You can always take it next year—maybe she won’t be teaching it, then.”

“I thought about it,” Margaret says, sighing. “But Valentina would murder me. She wanted me to be able to speak the language fluently so I could learn more about our culture and shit. Even if I tell her that I’ll retake the class next year, she’s still gonna flip.”

“That sucks.” You pout and shoot her a sympathetic look. “Valentina should learn to trust her daughter’s judgment.”

A low, hollow laugh echoes in the back of your friend’s throat. “Not likely.”

You try a different approach. “Well, at least you’ve got me—since you’re stuck taking the course, I promise that I’ll listen to all your rants and complaints.”

“Oh, really?” Margaret grins. “Is there an expiration date on that offer?”

“Nope,” you reply, popping the syllable playfully. “This coupon is valid until the end of time.”

“Two medium iced coffees, one sugar and one shot of vanilla bean!”

You and Margaret accept your drinks, sending out quick spiels of gratitude. The barista smiles and tells you to have a good day. As you walk away, your friend guides her straw into her mouth and takes a lengthy, obnoxious sip of her drink. She throws her head back and moans dramatically at the flavour.

“Mhm,” she says, smacking her lips. “It tastes so much better when it’s free.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, shaking your head. You fix her with a begrudging smile, but something behind her catches your eye. Stupidly, you freeze right in the middle of the basement corridor, the straw of your coffee resting against your parted lips.

Inside the room, Harry’s sitting behind a desk, his tortoise-shell glasses perched on his nose as he rifles through a sizeable stack of papers. There’s a red pen nestled between his fingers, and the sleeves of his black button-up have been rolled a handful of times, leaving his forearms exposed. His tattoos are much clearer now that there’s less distance separating the two of you. You spy an anchor, a rose—

“What are you—?” Margaret scowls and spins around. “Oh.” She turns back to you. “His office is right here? That’s convenient.”

You reluctantly tear your gaze away from Harry so that you can look at her properly. “How so?”

“Well, if he wants to get coffee, he doesn’t exactly have to go very far.” She smirks before taking another sip of her drink. “Plus,” she swallows, “It’s convenient for me, too. I can grab a latte and then pay him a visit right after for some of that extra help.”

She wiggles her brows. You snort.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell her earnestly. She just giggles, shouldering the strap of her purse and angling her chin to the left.

“Let’s go,” she says. “I really don’t wanna get stuck in traffic again. Last week, it took me, like, two hours to get home.”

“Yikes.” You grimace at the thought, but Margaret’s already pedalling away.

“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. You follow her, but not before deciding to spare one last glance into Harry’s office.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you find a pair of grassy green eyes staring back at you intently. Harry’s gaze is unwavering; there’s a certain peculiarity about it. It’s searing, like he’s taking you apart piece by piece, unravelling every layer to study what lies beneath. Your skin crawls with the humiliation of getting caught, but something else, too. Anticipation? Exhilaration?

The exchange doesn’t even last a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Your lips curl up into an uneasy smile as you try to quell the nervous frothing in the pit of your stomach. For a moment—a foolish, optimistic moment—you think that he might actually return your friendly expression.

Harry merely blinks, twirls his red pen over in his fingers, and looks back down.

  September 18th, 2019

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, looking down at your phone. Your class starts in five minutes, and you’ve just made it onto campus. You’d texted Mateo already and kindly asked him to save you a seat, but your eyes are drooping and you’re absolutely exhausted. Before you can even weigh your options, your feet are carrying you down into the basement of the building to retrieve a cup of coffee from Grounded. You can’t even be upset about it—your body clearly knows what it needs, and right now, that need is manifesting itself in the form of a massive dose of caffeine.

You hop in line, pulling up Mateo’s contact and composing a quick message regarding your whereabouts. Before you send it, you ask if he or Margaret would like for you to buy them anything. A short moment later, he replies, assuring you that they both already bought their coffees and are as awake as ever.

You guys didn’t even offer to get one for me? How rude, you type back, a small smirk on your face.

Mateo’s response is instantaneous, like he had already rehearsed what he was going to say.

In our defense, we thought you were dead.

You snort softly and shake your head as the message sinks in. Your phone clicks quietly when you lock it, but as you lift your gaze, you catch sight of an intricate drawing and freeze. Your eyes nearly bulge out from their sockets when you register that the left arm of the person standing in front of you is littered with tattoos.

An anchor.

A rose.

A mermaid, whose chest is on full display in all of its naked glory.

There are countless others, but you don’t have enough time to study each one, because just then, Harry is stepping up to the counter to recite his order.

“Morning, love,” you hear him greet the barista. She blushes profusely and grins at him in return. Your shoulders tense at the gruffness of his voice, and you briefly wonder just how deep it can get.

You don’t catch the rest of the trade, trying to focus instead on anything other than how good Harry’s ass looks in the khakis adorning his legs. He cracks a low joke, and the barista laughs. Smiling slightly, he casts a casual glance over his shoulder, and you stiffen when his eyes land squarely on you. His pleased expression fades.

“Also…,” he says, keeping his gaze on you for a moment longer before turning back to the counter.

You don’t tune in to the remainder of his sentence, mostly because your ears are ringing and your heart is hammering wildly beneath your ribs. Harry pulls a crisp bill from his pocket and hands it over before moving to the side and waiting for his drink. It takes all of your willpower to look at everything except for him. The barista abandons her post at the cash register to prepare his coffee. You stand awkwardly at the beginning of the line, waiting for her to come back.

She finally does after a couple of minutes, greeting you cheerily and subconsciously leaning in so that she can hear your order properly.

“Hi,” you say. “Um, can I get a large vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso?”

“Sure,” she replies, but as soon as you begin to pull your wallet from your bag, she stops you. “Actually,” she says, “The man who was just here paid for you. He gave me a ten and told me to keep whatever was left over.”

“I’m sorry?” You blink.

“The man in front of you,” she elaborates. “The one with the accent.”

Your lips part in surprise. Instinctively, you whip your head to the side, just in time to watch as Harry disappears around the corner.

~*~

You end up being a few minutes late. The sound of the door being pushed open is painfully loud, and you have to conceal an embarrassed cringe when your entrance is met with dozens of faces staring down at you. Dr. Renault is in the process of speaking, but when you walk in, he injects a quick, “Welcome, good morning, pull up a chair!” into the middle of his sentence. You try for a sheepish smile and hope that it comes across as sincere.

“That was humiliating,” you mutter when you finally collapse into the seat next to Mateo. He’d saved you a spot right beside the aisle; you send out a silent prayer of thanks. “This is why I’m never late.”

Your friends both shoot you knowing looks, their features soft with compassion. You sigh quietly, taking a long sip of your latte and trying to shrug off the mortification looming over your head.

“As I was saying,” your professor continues, unperturbed by your brief interruption. “The midterm is next week. It will cover chapters one through three; I trust that everyone has begun reviewing?”

Low murmurs are all that he receives as a response. Dr. Renault chuckles and pushes his glasses further up his nose. “I’ll be going into further detail regarding the exam during the last twenty minutes of today’s class. As for right now, Harry will be handing back your quizzes from last week, as well as the assignments that you all submitted. There were a few bumps, but overall, I think most of you did well.”

And just like that, all eyes fall on Harry. He steps forward, a stack of sheets balanced in the crook of his left arm. He clears his throat and licks the pad of his thumb to effectively grasp the corner of the first page.

“Morning, everyone,” he says huskily. “I’ve paired your quizzes from last week with your papers, so you’ll be getting both at the same time. If you’ve got any questions regarding your grades, please feel free to consult me at the end of today’s lecture.”

That’s the most that you’ve ever heard him speak, you realise.

Harry peers up at the class, his eyes skimming over the rows of students before landing on you. You’re not sure if it’s real, or if your mind is just playing tricks on you, but he seems to stare at you for a beat longer than anyone else. You swallow heavily, hoping that he can’t see the violent bobbing of your throat from down below. A moment later, he calls out a name. The girl in the chair in front of you jumps to her feet, and the spell is broken.

One by one, each undergraduate stands and ambles down the stairs of the lecture hall to retrieve their marks. Margaret’s name is called; Mateo’s follows a few moments later. You smile encouragingly at them and watch as they descend the steps.

You grow nervous as the stack of papers nestled in Harry’s arms begins to dwindle. It’s silly, but whenever your work happens to be located near the end of the queue, you always feel a niggling sense of paranoia biting at the back of your brain. Realistically, you know that your assignment will most likely be present in that pile, but there’s always that small what if.

Finally, though, you hear your name ring out.

You immediately decide that you love the way it sounds exiting Harry’s lips.

You stand, grateful that you don’t have to squeeze past anyone. Maybe you should aim to sit in a seat next to the aisle more often—it’s awfully convenient.

Your heart is thudding wildly in your chest, and as you make your way down to where Harry waits, you grow afraid that he’ll be able to see it pulsing through your shirt.

Don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip.

Fortunately, you reach the bottom stair without a single misstep. Harry’s staring down at your papers, his lips tucked into a thin line. When you clear your throat gently, he looks up at you. Twin pink spots dot his cheeks when he realises that you’ve been standing in front of him for a moment too long. He holds out your assignment and your quiz, the pages held together by a skinny silver clip.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You hesitate for a second before adding, “And thank you for paying for my—”

“Evan Ross.” Harry cuts you off without blinking, the next name rolling off his tongue seamlessly. You blink in surprise, stiffening. Your mouth pops open as a mixture of shock and hurt washes over you.

Your chest grows tight with emotion, and your eyes burn as you whip around and hurry back up the stairs. You keep your head low as you slide back into your seat; Margaret and Mateo are too absorbed in a hushed conversation to notice the distressed expression on your face, but you don’t mind. In fact, you’re thankful for it.

Your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. Needing a distraction, you unfold the small pile of papers in your hand and glance down at your grades. You’ve achieved a perfect score on your quiz. At the top of the sheet, scrawled in red pen, there’s a smiley face and a brief note:

Well done. Glad to see that somebody’s been paying attention. H. x

You direct your awareness to the written assignment in your other hand. A bright 95% stares back up at you, along with another few words of encouragement:

Very insightful. Great job. H. x

Your eyes narrow. You sit back in your chair; a quiet, incredulous laugh bubbles up in your throat. Luckily, it’s faint enough to avoid being detected by anyone else. You shake your head in disbelief, skimming over Harry’s comments one last time before angrily shoving the pages into your bag. They crinkle loudly—you know that they’ll be all bent out of shape by the time you’ll need to retrieve them, but you don’t care.

You straighten up and risk a glance down to where Harry is still handing assignments and quizzes back to last of your classmates. He smiles at one boy and gives him a reassuring nod before his green eyes stray upward, as though drawn by an invisible magnet. His gaze locks with yours, and the mild curl of his lips quickly flattens out. You clench your jaw and look away, huffing petulantly through your nose.

What a fucking dick.

  September 25th, 2019

“I’m not ready,” you declare, slapping your binder down onto the small foldable desk attached to Mateo’s seat. Your friend jumps in surprise, his eyes growing ludicrously wide, and Margaret cackles loudly from beside him. Despite the panic coursing through your veins, you crack a small smile.

“Good morning to you, too,” Mateo grumbles, his shoulders still hunched from your sudden intrusion.

You groan and collapse into the chair next to him, massaging your temples in hopes of avoiding an oncoming headache. The sensation tends to creep up on you, and you’re sure that it’s due to the measly amount of sleep you’d acquired only a few hours prior. Margaret leans over, extending her arm and offering you a sip of her coffee. You take it and flash her a grateful (albeit pained) smile. Her latte is still a bit hot, but that doesn’t stop you from swallowing down a large gulp.

“What’s wrong?” Margaret asks as you hand the cup back over to her. “Did you not study enough?”

“Yeah,” you say, scowling deeply. “The proposal for my experimental psych class was due last night, so I spent pretty much all my time working on that.”

“Don’t worry,” Mateo says. “You always do well, even when you think you won’t—you’ve got this.”

“Thanks,” you mumble nervously, blowing him a meek kiss. You shift closer to him so that you can scan the contents of his open textbook, hoping to memorize a few final facts before the exam starts.

Dr. Renault and Harry walk in a few moments later, both carrying intimidatingly-tall stacks of paper. A hush falls over the classroom—the abrupt silence makes your professor laugh.

“Don’t worry!” he says. “It’s not that difficult, I promise.”

Somehow, you don’t believe him.

In a matter of minutes, the tests have been distributed, and all of the students in the room are sitting with one seat separating them from their neighbours. Dr. Renault announces that he and Harry will be perusing up and down the aisles, ready to answer any questions regarding the exam. Subconsciously, your toes curl in your shoes—you definitely won’t be asking Harry for further clarification, no matter how badly you need it.

“You will have one-hundred-and-twenty minutes to complete the midterm,” your professor says. His smile is supportive, but it does nothing to soothe to anxious knot in the pit of your stomach. “Good luck, everyone.”

With that, you flip to the first page of the packet. The next two hours are filled with the sounds of pencils scribbling on paper, the hushed whispers of Harry and Dr. Renault, and the occasional lone, hacking cough.

  October 9th, 2019

You’re sitting in the library with Mateo when your phone buzzes with the notification. You glance down at the screen and gasp loudly when you read the words:

Harry Styles has posted to the forum.

“Mateo!” you hiss. He doesn’t reply. Looking up, you see him bopping his head along to the music playing through his white earphones. He’s twirling a pencil through his fingers absentmindedly and skimming through his neuropsychology textbook. You kick his shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” he yelps. The sound is far too loud, considering that it’s only nine in the morning and you’re both situated in an establishment that demands silence.

“Shh!” you say, frowning slightly. He pulls out one of his earbuds and stares at you with bewildered eyes. You choose to stay tacit, simply holding up your phone and letting him read the notification lighting up the glass screen.

“Okay…,” he whispers, glaring at you. “Why the fuck did that warrant such a hard kick?”

“I’m sorry.” You wince. He’s right. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine.” He waves off your apology before fishing his own cell phone out of his pocket and unlocking it swiftly. Together, the two of you pull up a browser tab and type the name of your school’s website into the search bar. You log into your student accounts and click on your neuropsychology class. The link takes you to the collective forum, and your eyes sweep over Harry’s name at the top—the most recent post. You tap it gently and begin to read.

Hi all,

Attached to this post is a spreadsheet containing your scores on the midterm. In the first column, you’ll find your student number. In the second, I’ve provided your mark as a percentage. As always, I will be available after class today if you have any questions regarding your grade.

See you soon.

Sincerely,

Harry

You hold your breath as you scroll down and open up the spreadsheet linked below his message. After a few prolonged, painful seconds of searching, you find your student number and zero in on the percentage located right beside it. You swear that your heart stops.

62%.

Sixty-two percent.

Your lips part in surprise. You take a long, hard look at the spreadsheet, wondering if maybe you’d landed on the wrong row, but no. Your number is there. And a few pixels away, a dark, insidious 62% stands out in black. You inhale deeply, trying to keep yourself from hyperventilating.

“I got a seventy,” Mateo breathes, looking up from his phone and closing his eyes in relief. A moment later, they pop back open. “How about you?”

“A sixty-two,” you whisper, unable to tear your gaze from your screen.

He balks. “Come again?”

“A sixty-two,” you restate, a bit louder this time. “I—”

“Don’t panic,” Mateo says immediately, holding up his hand. You finally manage to focus on him, your eyes growing damp with anxious tears.

“Hey,” he says sternly, reaching over and laying a comforting palm on your forearm. “Don’t panic. It’s only worth twenty-five percent, okay? You’re doing really well on the quizzes so far, and you did great on that first paper, too. That was, like, another five percent or something, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding weakly.

Mateo chews on his lips, but his expression is determined. He mimics your nod, though his appears to be a bit more assured. “Okay,” he tells you. “So, here’s what you’re gonna do: you’re gonna go see Harry after class today and set up an appointment so that he can go over the exam with you. And then you’re gonna take in all that information, and you’re gonna ace the final at the end of the semester, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeat, but this time, there’s a bit more conviction behind the word. Mateo knows how bad your anxiety can get—he’s caught you in the middle of an emotional breakdown more times than you’d care to admit. But he also knows how to keep you grounded, and he’s almost always able to bring you back down when your thoughts take you elsewhere.

“Thank you,” you tell him, swallowing heavily. “That’s a good idea, I’ll do that.”

“Yes, you will,” he says, and then he sits back and flips his textbook shut. “Come on, let’s go grab a coffee before class. My treat.”

~*~

When you get your exam back, there’s another haphazard note scribbled at the top in red.

It’s okay. I know you’ll do better on the next one. H. x

~*~

As your fist lands the first perfunctory knock on Harry’s door, you find yourself wanting nothing more than to spin around and speed away as fast as you can. Harry lifts his head from where it’s buried inside a book, fixing his gaze on you and cocking his head to the side.

“Hi,” you say nervously. “Um, sorry to bother you. My name is—”

You’re shocked to hear it escape Harry’s lips before you can say it yourself. You clamp your mouth shut and nod silently, too afraid to utter anything else.

“Hi,” Harry replies. His voice is the epitome of a lazy drawl. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering,” you start, pausing to clear your throat. “If—um—if I could talk to you really quickly about my midterm?”

“Sure,” he says, shrugging indifferently. “You can sit.”

As you step forward to position yourself on one of the padded chairs in front of his desk, Harry shuts his book and stands. You can’t stop your eyes from following him. He tucks the hardcover back into a vacant slot on the tall shelf located in the corner of the room.

“You have a lot of books,” you note. Immediately, you want to strangle yourself for letting the observation slip out.

He simply bobs his head. “I like to read.”

“Me too.” God, why the fuck won’t you just shut up?

But when Harry turns back around, you’re shocked to find the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips. His gaze locks with yours, and it fades just as quickly as it had come. You swallow forcefully; your mouth feels like a desert.

“Do you have your midterm with you?” Harry asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You look away immediately to keep yourself from ogling his biceps. He’s wearing a dark green crewneck and a pair of khaki pants again. His hair is tousled, like he’s been raking his fingers through it incessantly, and his glasses are tucked into the collar of his shirt. There’s a slight shadow of stubble scattered across his jaw. His lips are flushed a perfect shade of pink; they look smooth and soft.

“Yeah.” You snap out of your stupor and answer him quickly. Leaning down to unzip your bag, you say, “Sorry. It’s right—”

“Why’re you apologising?” Harry asks, creases of confusion etching themselves into his forehead. You pause and peer up at him, your hand buried in your knapsack.

“Sorry?” you ask, afraid that you hadn’t heard him properly.

The corners of his lips jump only slightly. He repeats his question with the same amount of ennui. “Why’re you apologising?”

You blink. “Er…I don’t know, sorry. I mean—!” You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, feeling your cheeks grow warm. Eventually, you give up on searching for the right words, instead pulling your exam out of your bag and thrusting it forward. “Here you go.”

Harry takes the packet from you, bringing it up to his face. He grabs his glasses from where they hang on his chest and slides them onto the bridge of his nose. You look away when his eyes land on the shameful grade scribbled at the top of the first sheet.

“I didn’t do too well,” you say, training your gaze on the floor. “As you can clearly see.”

Harry hums in response. He flips through your midterm quickly, spending only a few seconds on each page. “That’s odd,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

You peek up at him through your lashes. “What’s odd?”

He shrugs. “If I’m remembering correctly,” he begins, fixing his green eyes on you, “You’ve been doing well on the weekly quizzes. So…what went wrong this time?”

You swallow heavily, bringing your hands together in your lap and fiddling with your fingers. “I was working on a research proposal that was due the night before the exam,” you explain timidly. “So, I guess…I just wasn’t able to study as much as I should’ve.”

Harry nods. Quiet ensues. Your attention stays glued to the ground.

“Well—,” he clears his throat. “I can go over it all with you now, if you’d like.”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head immediately. “I’ve actually—I’ve got to be somewhere after this.”

It’s a complete lie. You don’t have anything scheduled for later on. But your heart feels like it’s about to give out any second now, and the hairs on your arms are tingling apprehensively. You feel like an idiot, tripping over your words and second-guessing every syllable that leaves your lips. Harry’s unwavering, unforgiving stare is making you want to curl up into a ball and sink into the floor. You can’t imagine any torture greater than spending another minute in this office.

“I see,” Harry says. A long moment passes as you wait for him to say something else; when he doesn’t, you jump in to fill the awkward silence.

“I just came by in hopes of scheduling an appointment,” you rush out. “Is that okay?”

“It’s what I’m here for.” There’s no humour in his tone. You nod, gnawing on your bottom lip.

“What day works best for you?” you prod gently. The air is thick; you don’t think that even the sharpest of knives could slice through the tension. Harry rubs his nose with two fingers and taps his thumb against his lips, lost in thought.

“How does ten in the morning on Monday sound?” he says at last.

“The one coming up?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fine,” you tell him. “Thank you so much—I really appreciate it.”

He doesn’t reply, choosing instead to return your exam to you and retire to his chair. You zip your bag back up and sling one strap over your shoulder, standing from your seat and subtly trying to wipe your clammy palms against your thighs.

“Send me an e-mail on Sunday,” Harry says suddenly, drumming his fingers along the smooth surface of his desk. Your eyes are drawn to the gaudy rings on his hands, the jewellery glinting alluringly in the light of his office.

“Regarding what?” you ask, your brows knitting together.

“The appointment. Just as a reminder,” he states, shrugging his shoulders placidly. “I’ll put it in my calendar too, but you can never be too prepared.”

“Right,” you say, nodding. “Okay, I will. Thank you again.”

“It’s no problem.” Harry pauses for a moment before adding, “Take care.”

A bit of the stiffness in your body trickles away at his words—is it possible that he’s beginning to warm up to you?

“Have a good rest of your week,” you say as you start to back away toward the door. Against your better judgment, you offer up a small, friendly smile.

Your feet carry you a few steps further; you attempt to restrain yourself from shooting him one last glance before you turn to face the other way (though of course, you can’t resist.) You think you see the corners of Harry’s lips twitch, but you don’t stay long enough to reflect on it.

Only once you leave his office do you decide that it was merely your eyes playing tricks on you. If majoring in psychology has taught you anything, it’s that humans are extremely unreliable creatures.

Sometimes, we only see what we want to see, you think. The words tumble through your head in the form of a dynamic mantra, echoing continuously until you stagger outside and into the comforting hold of the cool autumn air.

  October 13th, 2019

No matter how many times she tries, Margaret cannot down a shot without cringing after swallowing. She always declares that this time will finally be it, that she’ll throw the alcohol back without so much as a grimace, but both you and Mateo know by now that it’s all just nonsense. Her countless attempts are the main reason for her eventual, inevitable inebriation whenever you all decide to go out for drinks.

“Fuck!” Margaret yelps, squeezing her eyes shut and wincing radically as the vodka burns its way down her throat. She reaches for the glass of water standing a few inches away and takes a desperate swig. You and Mateo laugh as she pounds her fist against the table in frustration. You’re sitting across the table from your two friends, the three of you nestled comfortably in one of the booths lining the wall of the pub.

“Told you,” Mateo says dryly, shooting Margaret a wry smirk. She shakes her head and smacks her lips together.

“No, let’s do one more,” she says, her voice taking on a pleading quality. “It’ll be this next one, I swear.”

“Slow down,” you tell her, holding your hand up. Even from a few feet away, you can see the dilation of her pupils and the rosy flush on her cheeks. She’s never been good at pacing herself, and you really don’t feel like ending the night with your hands in her hair as she retches over the toilet.

Margaret pouts; Mateo grins knowingly at you, the thin gold chain around his neck glinting against his dark skin. You’re all a bit buzzed, and though your friends want to continue, you don’t intend to get plastered tonight. There’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind, reminding you that you’ve got your appointment with Harry tomorrow morning, and you want to be as alert and attentive as possible.

You’d sent him an e-mail earlier this evening, right before the taxi had pulled up into the parking lot of your apartment complex. The correspondence had been simple, just a quick verification of the day and time, followed by a short closing remark and your name. You’d snapped your laptop shut as soon as the message had gone through, willing yourself to tuck the thought of it away into a dark, incognizable corner of your brain.

“Did—?” Mateo hiccups quietly and swallows. “Did you guys hear that Grounded is closing down?”

“What?” You and Margaret both nearly snap your necks to gape at him.

“Not permanently!” he backtracks, throwing his hands up in the air. “Just for a couple of weeks! They’re doing renovations in the basement, remember?”

“I knew that,” you say, cocking your head to the side. “But I didn’t know they were doing them there—I thought they’d just closed off the area near the biology labs.”

“I guess not.” Mateo purses his lips, and Margaret pouts.

“How am I gonna survive without their coffee?” she moans, her shoulders deflating.

You shrug and trail your finger around the rim of your water. The glass is clouded with condensation, drops trailing down the side and dampening the coaster lying underneath. “There’s always Starbucks,” you say, though the suggestion is lackadaisical, unenthusiastic. “But the closest one is halfway across campus.”

“Exactly.” Margaret sulks, placing her elbow on the table and propping her chin up on her fist. “How the fuck am I supposed to stay awake in Spanish, now?”

“Pop some modafinil,” Mateo mutters under his breath. You look at him with wide eyes and burst into laughter a second later. He grins; Margaret elbows him in the ribs, but even she can’t suppress the small smile that creeps up onto her face.

“I’m serious!” she says, her voice shaking with the ghost of a giggle. “Even for neuro, like…I don’t know how I’m gonna get through it.”

“Neuro is at ten in the morning,” you stress, lifting your eyebrows in disbelief. “Just be grateful that it’s not an eight o’clock class—if that were the case, you’d really be fucked.”

Margaret raises one shoulder lazily and rolls her eyes. You lean forward and take a sip of your water, humming appreciatively when the cool liquid runs down your throat and fans out across your chest.

“Speaking of neuro,” Mateo starts, running a hand through his dark, kinky hair, “How did you guys do on the quiz from last week? The one on cognitive processing and perception.”

“I only got one right,” Margaret snorts, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I was kind of zoning out during the lecture, to be honest.”

“Shocker,” you tease. She scoffs in mock-offense, and you flash her a smile to tell her that you’re only joking. You turn to Mateo. “I think I got, like, three out of five,” you say, squinting your eyes and puckering your lips. “Not my best work.”

“It’s still a pass,” he replies, winking playfully.

You chuckle and nod. “True. Plus—,” you tap your nails against your glass and make a vague gesture with your other hand, “—Harry’s nice little notes are always a bit of a confidence boost, you know what I mean?”

When your question is met with silence, you look up from the table with cinched brows and puzzled eyes. Both Margaret and Mateo are gawking at you, their lips parted and their expressions ripe with confusion. Subconsciously, your mouth twists down into a frown; you sit back against the padded material of the booth.

“What?”

“Harry…,” Margaret shakes her head, tucking a silky strand of hair behind her ear. “Harry doesn’t write nice little notes for us.”

“What?” you say, creases digging into your forehead. “No, I mean—the comments he leaves on the quizzes and stuff! You know, like, right at the top of the page?”

“He’s never left a comment on any of my quizzes,” Mateo tells you. He turns to Margaret. “Has he done that for you?”

“No,” she says, pursing her lips. “Not at all.”

Something inaudible passes between them, and when they both look back at you, they’re trying to hide their amused expressions. The scowl on your lips deepens, pulling at the muscles in your cheeks and making your face grow sore.

“Why the fuck are you guys looking at me like that?” you ask, fed up with their cryptic behaviour.

Margaret scoffs loudly and barks out your name. It’s enough to grab your attention, and when you glare at her, she beams wickedly and hisses, “He’s trying to fuck you!”

You can’t help it—you laugh. Margaret’s grin fades, and Mateo cocks an eyebrow at you, waiting for your glee to subside. After a long moment, your giggles dwindle, and you smile across the table at your friends. They remain frozen, still as bewildered as ever. Their silence aggravates you; in a matter of seconds, you’re glowering at them.

“You can’t be serious,” you deadpan, looking at them with blank eyes. “The only time Harry’s ever really spoken to me was when I went to schedule that stupid appointment! I swear to God, he avoids me like I’ve got the plague.”

“Maybe’s he’s avoiding you because he likes you,” Margaret suggests. Her brown irises twinkle with mischief.

A disdainful sound bubbles up in your throat and flops out of your mouth. “Not likely.”

“Why else would he write you little notes, then?” she demands, and you hate to admit it, but she has a point. You’ve got no idea why Harry’s trademark scribbles are always at the top of your tests and assignments, especially since he seems to intent on evading you whenever the two of you happen to cross paths. You chew furiously on the inside of your cheek, only able to offer up a half-hearted shrug.

“We don’t even know if I’m the only one,” you say. “He could be doing it for some other people, too—let’s not jump to conclusions.”

Margaret and Mateo snicker. You glare daggers at them. Mateo is the first to fix you with a semi-apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he tells you, his teeth gleaming in the low lighting of the bar. “It’s just—Margaret might be onto something.”

“She’s not,” you say flatly.

Margaret releases an offended squawk, pinning you beneath her stern gaze. “Hey!” she squeaks, pouting indignantly and pointing her index finger at you. “Just because you’re in denial doesn’t mean—”

She breaks off right in the middle of her sentence, her eyes growing outrageously wide when they land on something behind you. You tilt your head to the side and scratch your cheek, afraid that maybe she’s noticed a spot or a new blemish blossoming on your face. But then she squeals, her hand shooting to the side so that she can deliver several excited slaps to Mateo’s arm.

“Holy shit! Speak of the fucking devil!”

Everything clicks into place, then, and your jaw drops. You spin around in your seat so quickly you’re surprised that your vision doesn’t go blurry. After a quick sweep of the room, you find the thing—or rather, the person—that has Margaret losing her mind.

Harry’s dressed in a simple black t-shirt and a pair of black, high-waisted, extremely baggy trousers. The pant legs are comically wide, but somehow, he makes it work. His hair is fluffy, and his sneakers are pristine, not a speck of dirt in sight. Something shiny glints near his waist and catches your attention; you find the patterned frame of his glasses peeking out of one of his pockets. Briefly, you wonder if he’s cold—it’s a bit of a chilly evening, and he doesn’t appear to be sporting a jacket.

“He looks good,” Mateo notes.

You and Margaret swivel your heads around and stare at him. He shrugs. “What? It’s just an observation!”

And despite the panic simmering in the pit of your stomach, you laugh softly. You’re about to settle back into the booth and hope for the best, but then Margaret lifts her arm in a frantic wave and shouts, “Harry!”

Your lips part in shock. She must be drunker than you thought.

“Margaret!” you whisper furiously, ducking down and gaping at her. You’re no longer facing Harry, but you get the feeling that he heard his name, because Margaret giggles, twiddles her fingers, and curls her hand in a beckoning gesture. You place your elbows on the table and bury your face into your palms, too embarrassed to look up.

“Oh my God,” Mateo mutters. “He’s coming over here.”

And sure enough, after a few long, painful moments, Harry is standing in front of the table.

“Er, hi,” he says, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

Mateo offers him a small smile; Margaret beams widely.

“Hi!” she says cheerily. “Sorry, this might be weird because you don’t know us. I’m Margaret, this is Mateo, and this is—”

Just as he had done in his office, Harry breathes your name before it’s uttered. Margaret stops speaking immediately and mashes her lips together to suppress a giant grin. Mateo catches your gaze from across the table; his eyes are the size of tennis balls. You want to groan—subtlety is most definitely not their forte.

“Um, yeah,” you reply. You glance up at Harry momentarily before looking away. “Hi.”

A beat of silence ensues.

“So, Harry,” Margaret jumps in. Her tone is a bit too loud, but it’s not noticeable over the mindless chatter echoing in the pub. “What brings you here?”

Harry shrugs, clasping his hands behind his back. “Just out for drinks with a few of my mates.”

“‘Mates’,” Margaret parrots, lowering her voice and putting on a horrible accent. You gawk at her as she giggles. “That sounds like fun—we’re doing the same thing! What’s your favourite type of alcohol? I like vodka.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble, shaking your head imperceptibly. When you look back up, you find Harry’s eyes sweeping across your face. A coy smirk dances on his lips.

You take note of the dimple that carves itself into his cheek and groan inwardly. Just when you thought that he couldn’t get any more attractive…

“I’m more of a whiskey guy, myself,” he says. His shoulders relax a bit; the tension in his body visibly melts away. Though Margaret is the one who had gotten you into this mess in the first place, you suddenly find yourself thankful for her presence. It’s easier to socialize when you’re around someone who makes it their mission to inject comedy into a conversation.

“I’m going to go grab us another round,” you announce gently, making a move to slide out of the booth. Before you stand, you look over at your friends. “What do you guys want?”

“I thought you said we had to slow down,” Margaret says, shooting you a confused frown.

“I changed my mind. What do you want?”

“Just a root beer for me,” Mateo says, trying to hold in a laugh.

“Another shot of vodka!” Margaret cheers, throwing her arms up. She sighs and leans her head on Mateo’s shoulder; he pets her hair, humouring her. She hums and speaks the words that she promises before every drink. “I’ll do it this time. I won’t even wrinkle my nose.”

“Okay,” you say with a curt nod. You stand and face Harry, hesitating only for a second before murmuring, “Well, it was nice to see—”

“Harry!” Margaret suddenly cuts in, drowning out the rest of your sentence. “Would you be a doll and go with her? I don’t think she’ll be able to carry all of our drinks back by herself.”

“I—,” Harry glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, sure.” His throat bobs when he turns and asks you, “That alright with you?”

No!

You want to scream your refusal at him, and then leap across the table and pummel Margaret with hard, closed fists. But instead, you merely purse your lips and bob your head once. “Yup. Let’s go.”

~*~

“Hi.” You smile at the bartender and lean your forearms against the counter. “Can I get a root beer, a shot of vodka, and a vodka cranberry, please?”

She nods, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder and giving you a thumbs-up. You exhale deeply as she bustles away to prepare the drinks. Your skin is prickling with nerves, hyperaware of the fact that Harry is standing right next to you. Casting a furtive glance around the pub, you gnaw on your bottom lip. Harry’s friends are sitting on the other side of the room; they’ve claimed a booth as well. A few of them are piled atop each other as they all struggle to squeeze in. The sight makes you chuckle.

“So,” you hear from beside you. Harry’s gaze is steady as he rubs his fingers against his chin. “What did your friend mean when she said that she wouldn’t wrinkle her nose?”

The question is so arbitrary and out of the blue that it pulls an involuntary laugh from your mouth.

“Oh, Margaret?” you ask. When Harry nods, you continue. “She just sucks at taking shots. She pulls a face every time, so whenever we drink, she always tries to stop herself from doing it. It never works, though.”

Harry smirks. You look away. A few long seconds draw out before he speaks again.

“They seem nice,” he tells you. When you cock an eyebrow at him questioningly, he elaborates. “Your friends, I mean.”

“Oh.” You dip your chin. “Yeah, they’re great.”

He opens his mouth to say more, but just then, the blonde bartender returns with the drinks you’d ordered, setting them down onto the counter in front of you. “Anything else?” she asks, drumming her fingers on the surface of the bar. Your eyes are drawn to the low cut of her top.

“That’s all, thanks,” you declare, but then you pause. “Actually…,” you decide, and you turn to Harry. “Do you want anything?”

He balks, slightly stunned. His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and you suppress a small smile—that’s probably the most expressive you’ve ever seen him.

“No, no,” Harry assures you. “I’m alright.”

“I insist,” you say, and there must be something powerful in your gaze, because he just purses his lips and forfeits his repudiation.

“Er, I’ll just have a coke, then.”

You and the bartender both nod simultaneously. In less than thirty seconds, she’s got his drink standing alongside the others on the counter. “That’ll be eighteen dollars,” she tells you. You unzip your wallet and hand her the exact change before taking a quick sip of your vodka cranberry.

“I’m surprised you didn’t order whiskey,” you joke lightly, peeking over at Harry. He lifts the rim of his glass and takes a hearty gulp of his soda, licking his lips once he swallows.

“I—,” he begins, shaking his head. “Actually, I don’t drink.”

“Oh, really?” You cock your head to the side. “Why not?” A moment later, you backpedal hastily. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I used to drink a lot while I was doing my undergrad. Like, a lot. Shit happened, and I ended up needing to get my stomach pumped. After that, I just kind of…made the decision to lay off.”

“I see.” You falter. “Was it difficult?”

Harry nods, but only barely. He suddenly seems much more interested in the shiny floorboards of the bar. “Yeah, it was. But it was for the best. I’m here now, and I’m a teaching assistant for two classes, so I’d say things worked out pretty well.”

“Two classes?”

“Yeah. Neuropsychology, and then Doctor Chen’s psychopathology class,” he tells you.

“I was actually thinking of taking that,” you confess. “It looks really interesting.”

“It is.”

Though your mouth is dry, you hold up your vodka cranberry. “Well, then…cheers to you. That’s definitely something to be proud of.”

Harry gazes at you through his lashes and lifts his own drink, clinking your glasses together. The two of you take a sip at the same time; his eyes hold onto yours over the rim of his cup. You’re the first one to look away, your heart hammering as you reach out to grab Margaret’s shot. Harry mimics you and wraps his fingers around Mateo’s root beer.

“What’s your favourite drink?” he inquires, his grassy eyes alert. You pause.

“Probably tequila,” you say eventually. “It goes down smoother than anything else, I’ve found. Plus, it doesn’t take much for it to fuck me up.”

A low chuckle slips from Harry’s lips. Your thighs clench together at the sound.

“Guess I’ll have to buy you a shot of tequila later,” Harry tells you, leaning against the bar. “To repay you.”

You can hear the blood thundering in your ears. There’s an odd, fluttery sensation in your chest. You aren’t sure of whether it’s excitement, or anxiety, or perhaps both. All you know is that this is uncharted territory for you. You think that maybe it’s because of the pub and the atmosphere it provides: something laid-back and nonchalant. Harry has never spoken to you like this—like you’re a friend. You have no clue how to feel about it, so you settle for simply hoping that you won’t accidentally say the wrong thing and dash all of the progress you’ve made.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you answer, shaking your head. “I think that this was me repaying you for that coffee you bought me a while back. Do you remember?”

Bringing up his previous act of generosity makes you nervous; he’d swiftly cut you off the last time you’d tried to thank him for the latte. But—much to your surprise—his features don’t harden when your words sink in. You watch as his brows knit together for only a moment before a spark of recognition flickers in his eyes.

Harry’s expression opens up as the memory dawns on him, like petals from a rosebud. “I do.”

You shoot him a tight smile. “See? So now we’re even.”

He smirks. “I guess we are.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat and lift your chin in the direction of where your friends are still waiting. “Shall we?”

He nods, holding out his arm and inviting you to take the lead.

Your feet have only carried you a few steps when you hear someone call out, “Wait!”

Instinctively, both you and Harry spin around. The blonde bartender is back, raking her fingers through her hair and sliding a napkin across the counter. She’s looking at Harry, a roguish smile twisting her mouth upward. When he leans forward to accept her offering, you catch a glimpse of a series of numbers written across the serviette in black ink. Something in your stomach drops grossly; you turn to avoid witnessing Harry’s reaction and hastily speed away.

Margaret claps her hands excitedly when you return with her drink. Mateo looks at you inquisitively.

“Where’s Harry?”

“He’s coming,” you mumble, refusing to meet your friend’s eyes. You remain standing as you take a long sip of your vodka cranberry. Mateo’s lips curve down into the smallest of frowns, like he can sense that something is off with you. Thankfully, he doesn’t pry.

A moment later, Harry appears beside you, holding out the glass of root beer in his left hand. “Sorry, mate,” he apologises to Mateo. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Okay!” Margaret exclaims, rubbing her hands together and staring intently at the shot of vodka resting on the table in front of her. “I’m gonna do it!”

Mateo grins at her, giving her the type of smile that you’d offer to a child who’s just done something endearing. You snicker silently.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up when Harry turns to you and lays a large hand on your forearm. You stop breathing as he leans in close and whispers against your ear, “Is this the part where she…?”

The words are warm against your skin. A violent shudder races down your spine. In response, you can only muster a nod and a high-pitched, “Mhm.”

He chuckles lowly before pulling away.

Margaret downs the shot, and you, Harry, and Mateo all laugh when her face collapses into a vicious grimace. She’s still grumbling about her failed attempt when Harry states that he should be getting back to his friends on the other side of the bar.

“Have a nice night, you lot.” He shakes Mateo’s hand and shoots Margaret a small smile. He then turns to you, his gaze locking with yours. Your cheeks tingle hotly.

“And, you…,” Harry murmurs, the corners of his lips twitching. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nod, swallowing with some difficulty. When the words finally make it out of your mouth, they’re wobbly and forced.

“See you tomorrow.”

~*~

Around one in the morning, you and your friends have decided that it’s time to put an end to the night. Even Margaret is ready to go home.

“I’ve got to be up early tomorrow, anyway,” you explain to her. “My meeting with Harry is at ten.”

“Right.” Margaret nods knowingly and wiggles her brows. “Your meeting. Are you guys gonna fuck in his office?”

“Margaret!”

“What?” she laughs, gathering her hair into a low ponytail. “That would be so hot!”

You shake your head. Mateo pinches the bridge of his nose. The three of you head toward the exit of the pub, passing by the large group made up of Harry’s friends. They all seem to be having a great time, absorbed in a flurry of conversation and laughter. You scan each face quickly, frowning when you note that Harry isn’t among them. He must’ve gone to grab another soda, you decide, or perhaps he had to use the washroom. Either way, you don’t dwell on his absence.

You wrap your windbreaker around your body as you step out into the chilly October air. Beside you, Mateo sighs—his breath emerges as a small, foggy cloud.

“Do you guys want me to call an Uber?” he asks. He shoots Margaret a pointed glare. “Or are you gonna do it this time, you cheapskate?”

“Excuse you,” Margaret protests, still sloshed. “I’m not a cheapskate!”

“You’re literally the stingiest person I know,” Mateo deadpans. She squawks.

While the two of them bicker, you glance around and take in your surroundings. The road in front of you is dark and quiet, disturbed only by the occasional car. There are squished wads of gum, burnt cigarette butts, and haphazard attempts at graffiti littering the sidewalk. The streetlights bathe you in a warm, orange glow. About twenty feet away, a man and a woman are engrossed in a series of heavy kisses.

You pause. Your eyes narrow.

Holy shit.

“Fine!” Margaret yells, fishing her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll call the Uber!”

She’s too loud.

Her voice carries through the air.

Lips parting, you watch in horror as Harry detaches his mouth from the bartender’s neck and turns his head toward the noise. His eyes land on your face, and your chest seizes up in panic. In the millisecond that passes before you look away, his features morph from an expression of surprise to that of shame.

You whip around, nearly snapping your neck.

“Actually,” you say shrilly, interrupting Margaret and Mateo’s squabble. “Let’s hit up one more place. I’m not ready to head home just yet.”

Your friends stare at you, mystified.

“Okay…,” Margaret says slowly. “Why don’t we just stay here, then?”

“No!” you blurt before you can stop yourself. The divot between Margaret’s eyebrows deepens. Her pupils bounce from side to side in drunken confusion, but then her gaze lands on the person behind you that you know is Harry, and she gasps.

“Fuck,” she whispers. You glue your eyes to the floor.

Mateo is gawking, too, now. You shake your head and reach for the pair of them, wrapping your fingers around their arms and guiding them further away from the scene. “Let’s just go,” you murmur quietly. The words taste sour on your tongue.

“What—?” Margaret turns back to you, her nostrils flaring angrily. You find solace in knowing that she’s equally as upset as you are.  “What do you wanna do?”

You shrug, too overrun with humiliation to meet her eyes. Mateo wraps a protective arm around your shoulder, and you busy yourself with ogling the buttons on his coat. Your throat is tight with emotion, ears ringing relentlessly.

“Can we go somewhere else?” you ask weakly—your friends are nodding before you’ve even finished the question. “I want to get fucked up.”

  October 14th, 2019

Your head hurts.

Standing in front of Harry’s office, you wish that you’d forgone that final shot of tequila. Your stomach churns uneasily even now—hours later—and you find yourself struggling to recall certain points from last night. You don’t remember much, but what you do know is that Margaret hadn’t ended up being the one hunched over the toilet at three in the morning.

Where the fuck is he?

The door is locked, leaving you no choice but to stand outside in the hall and lean against the wall for support. Your eyes are puffy and red from lack of sleep. You’re fairly certain that your cheeks are swollen, too. You’d cried yourself into a fitful slumber just as the sun began to rise.

You touch your face; your skin feels grainy thanks to the tears that had escaped your eyes and soaked through the cotton of your pillowcase.

You check your phone and bite your lip. It’s a quarter past ten.

Harry is never late.

You’ll wait another ten minutes, you conclude, and if he doesn’t show up, you’ll just go home.

Only a minute after you settle on the decision, the squeaky sound of shoes slipping against polished tiles reaches your ears. You turn toward the sound just in time to watch Harry skid around the corner. Before you can stop yourself, your brows shoot up in dry disbelief.

He’s a mess.

“Hi,” Harry says, slightly out of breath. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

He’s wearing a pair of brown corduroy trousers that sit lopsided on his hips and a white button up tucked beneath a tan-coloured sweater vest. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up unevenly, and the vest itself is wrinkled near the hem. His tortoise-shell glasses are crooked on his face; his hair is disheveled. That same messenger bag is slung over his body, but there’s also a disorganized, rumpled pile of papers in his arms. A loose sheet slips from his grasp and flutters to the floor.

“Shit,” Harry mutters. Silently, you bend down, pick up the page, and hold it out to him. He grunts, wrestling one hand free to accept it. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Your words are monotone; you refuse make eye contact with him.

Harry digs his fingers into his pocket and produces a set of keys. They jingle cheerfully as he jams one into the lock on the door and twists it to the side—you wince at the loud noise. A telling click echoes through the air. With a gentle push, the door swings open.

“Ladies first,” Harry mumbles. Forcing your chin up, you walk into his office.

The room is very different compared to how it had been a few days ago. It’s emptier. A couple of boxes are strewn across the floor, packed up with supplies. All that’s left on Harry’s bureau now is a red pen and a desktop computer. Even the tall bookshelf in the corner of the room is bare, void of all the novels that it had previously housed. You cock your head to the side, nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry says, shutting the door and staggering over to his desk. He plops the pile of papers onto the corner of the table and collapses into his rolling chair. “Renovations start the day after tomorrow, so I’ve been clearing out my essentials.”

“All of your books are essential?” you mutter, gingerly taking a seat in one of the cushioned chairs across from him. You don’t intend for him to hear the question—it’s actually more of a taunt, if you’re being honest—but he does.

“I like to read.” He shrugs.

You unzip your bag and rustle around for your midterm. “Me too.”

When you finally retrieve the exam, you pull it out and look up at him for the first time that day. His lips twitch almost indiscernibly, and it’s a soft, mocking lilt when he says, “I know.”

It dawns on you, then, that you’ve already had the same conversation in this exact spot. Your face grows hot, but you compel yourself to shake off the embarrassment. Clearing your throat, you slide your midterm onto his desk in hopes of changing the subject. “Here you go.”

Harry’s eyes fall to the packet.

“Right,” he says, tucking himself in closer. He licks his lips, turning it to the side and opening it up to the first page of questions. “You can see it like this, yeah?”

You nod, placing your elbows on his desk and slyly trying to massage your temples with two fingers—your headache seems to have only gotten worse.

“Okay.” Harry shifts in his seat and points to the third question on the sheet. “This answer here was B. The common name for fluoxetine is Prozac.”

“Got it,” you say, nodding solemnly. You feel silly for having forgotten something as simple as a type of medication.

Harry’s eyes skim the paper before he shifts his finger to the bottom of the page. “And this one here—,” he starts, “The motor cortex is located in the frontal lobe, just before the central sulcus.”

“Oh, shit.” You cringe, pinching the bridge of your nose. “The one in the parietal lobe is the somatosensory cortex, right?”

“Exactly.”

You shake your head, and then immediately regret doing so—it feels like someone is drilling screws into your skull. “What a stupid mistake.”

“It’s not, really,” Harry says, scratching the underside of his jaw. “The parietal lobe tends to be responsible for processing sensory information—some of it is visual, but most of it is tactile. And because of that, it’s really easy to get it mixed up, because we tend to associate touch with movement.”

“That’s exactly what I did,” you admit, pursing your lips.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. You’re learning—that’s the point.”

You glance up at him and find his eyes trained on you. It’s like he’s trying to convey something unspoken, but you don’t quite know what it is. Your throat bobs with a heavy swallow, and you force yourself to look away.

“Next page,” you urge softly. Harry obliges.

He places his finger beside the first question at the top. “This answer was D—all of the above. Because yeah, cerebrospinal fluid is produced by the ependymal cells, but those are located in the choroid plexuses, which, in turn, are found in the ventricles.” He puckers his lips. “It was a bit of a trick question.”

“No kidding.”

Harry’s lips curl grimly.

He’s in the middle of explaining the next error on your exam when your stomach flips and the top of your throat pulses dangerously. You sit back in your seat, one hand flying to your belly while the other shoots up to cover your mouth. Harry looks up at you quizzically; his expression softens when he absorbs your wide, terrified eyes and your hunched shoulders.

“Are you gonna be sick?” he asks quickly, straightening up.

At that exact moment, the nausea passes. The tension melts from your body, and your chest visibly deflates. You exhale quietly; your hand drops from where it had been shielding the lower half of your face.

Nervously, you peer up at Harry, only to find him regarding you with a blank expression. His lips are tucked into a thin line, and his stare is shallow and emotionless. You open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it.

“You’re hungover,” he states flatly. There’s no humour lacing the words.

“I—,” you grit your teeth. “Yeah, I am.”

Harry sighs regretfully, sinking back in his chair. He hooks his finger into the collar of his shirt and twists it around to loosen the material. Your lips part in shock, eyes nearly bulging out of your head.

“And you’re marked up,” you exclaim before you can stop yourself.

Harry’s brows knit together in confusion. As soon as the realisation strikes, though, he sits up straight, his nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale. His hand flies to cover his throat, but it’s too late—you’ve already seen them.

A number of dark, splotchy purple marks stand out against the smooth, tan skin of his neck. You’re not sure how many there are in total, and you don’t think that you want to know. Harry’s staring at you, his expression severe. You can’t tear your gaze away from his face—it feels like an eternity passes before either of you says anything.

“I think…,” Harry speaks slowly, his eyes flitting from side to side as he studies your features. “We should reschedule.”

“Good idea,” you breathe.

“And I think,” he adds, still using the same tone, “That we should both agree to keep this entire ordeal…confidential.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

You can’t help it, then—you snort once before dissolving into laughter. Though bewildered creases dig into Harry’s forehead, the corners of his lips slowly curve up into a smile. Before long, he’s joining you in your amusement, his chest vibrating with deep, rumbling chuckles. His blocky front teeth latch onto his bottom lip, and he covers his mouth with his fingers in an attempt to subdue the sounds.

Deep in your abdomen, you can feel a tight little ball of jealousy festering. It had been conceived yesterday upon seeing the bartender slip Harry that napkin, and it had grown once you’d witnessed him kissing her outside of the pub. The hickies on his neck should be sending you into a downward spiral, but the hilarity of your current situation is enough to overshadow the ugliness—at least for the time being.

Later, you know that you’ll probably feel sick to your stomach, but you’ll just choose to blame it on the surplus of alcohol from last night.

“Wait, wait,” you say, rubbing your palm over your cheek. There’s a small smile on your lips, and your shoulders tremble with silent giggles. “What—when do you want to meet, then? Didn’t you say that renovations are starting soon?”

“Oh, shit.” Harry’s face falls immediately. He frowns in thought. “Does tomorrow work? I’ll be here in the afternoon.”

“I’ve got class until noon, and then I’ve got to leave for a dentist appointment at one,” you say mournfully.

Harry curses under his breath. You rub your hands together anxiously, watching him come to the realisation that you’re both out of options. He pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, gazing down emptily at the exam still splayed out on the desk.

“Okay,” he murmurs. He looks up at you, speaking with a bit more conviction. “Come over to my place on Wednesday, then.”

The look of unapologetic shock on your face must be priceless, but Harry holds his ground. The gears in your mind immediately kick into overdrive; you try to quell the noise—it’s only going to make your headache worse. You look at Harry, hoping that he can’t see the way you’ve just swallowed down the hard lump in your throat.

“Your place,” you echo dumbly. “On Wednesday.”

Harry nods assuredly. “Yeah.”

It’s taking everything in you to steer clear of an overreaction. Harry’s suggesting it because he wants to help you improve in time for the final exam—he’s just trying to do his job. You don’t want to be the one to make it weird. There’s a certain kind of maturity to his idea, you think, and you want to show him the ease with which you can meet him on that level.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “I don’t want to, like, impose.”

“I’m sure.” His reply is firm. “You’re not imposing. I told you that I’d go over the midterm with you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

You nod, rubbing your clammy hands against your thighs. “Okay.”

“Perfect,” Harry says. He reaches forward and folds your exam closed before sliding it back to you. “Can you make it for, let’s say, six in the evening?”

“Um, alright.” You hesitate. “Where exactly do you—?”

“I’ll e-mail you my address,” Harry promises before you can finish your question. You clamp your mouth shut, nodding again. You don’t miss the delicate curl of his lips, or the shallow, nearly invisible crinkles that appear at the corners of his eyes. You stand up, slipping your midterm back into your bag and tugging on the zipper to ensure that it stays secure.

“Okay, well…,” you look at him through your eyelashes, too afraid to fix him with a proper stare. “Have a good day, then.”

He shoots you a tight, pained smile. You wonder if he’s already regretting his offer.

“You too.”

And for the second time in less than a week, you find yourself exiting Harry’s office with a muddy mind, sweaty palms, and a racing heart.

  October 15th, 2019

“You’re going to his house?” Margaret shrieks.

You wince and bury your face into your palms. The half-eaten plate of gnocchi that you’d ordered is pushed off to your right, abandoned. Margaret stabs her lasagna with her silver fork, shovelling a piece past her lips and chewing frantically. “What were you thinking?” she demands through a mouthful of pasta.

In the dim lighting of the restaurant, her gaze is piercingly judgmental.

“I was thinking about my grade!” you retort defensively. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. “And I didn’t want to be the one to make it awkward. Like, if he’s suggesting it, that obviously means that he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. So, if I get all freaked out, then I just end up looking like a child.”

Your friend turns your words over in her head, tilting her chin from side to side in acknowledgement. “I get that,” she says, swallowing her food. “But I’m still fucking upset about the other night.”

“You and me both,” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Hey,” Margaret says sternly, fixing you with a strict glare. “You’re not allowed to feel embarrassed about that. You did nothing wrong—he’s just a dick.”

“He’s not a dick,” you tell her, a hint of admonishment creeping into your words. “And it’s not like he asked me out before hooking up with her. There’s no valid reason for me to be mad about this.”

“Say that again,” Margaret warns, pointing her fork in your direction, “And I’ll punch you straight in the tit.”

You snort.

“I still want you to sleep with him,” she says casually, popping another bite of lasagna into her mouth. “But if he wants my forgiveness, it better be a phenomenal fuck.”

“Margaret!”

“What? I’m just telling it like it is!”

“Jesus Christ.”

  October 16th, 2019

You had been looking forward to today’s lecture. It’s all about memory processes and mnemonic devices, retention and phenomena regarding recollection. You’d been hoping to integrate some of the information into your study habits—though you already know all about the spacing and testing effects, you’re always open to learning new tricks.

Yet you don’t find yourself as immersed in the class as you thought you’d be. Margaret and Mateo are beside you, giving themselves to Dr. Renault with rapt attention, but you can’t seem to devote to him that same level of focus. A small, naïve part of you wonders why, but deep down, you know the exact reason for your lack of concentration.

And that reason is currently standing off to the side of the room, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest and his olive eyes fixated shamelessly on you. You have to suppress a smile—he’s not even trying to hide it.

Around thirty minutes ago, Harry had returned the quizzes that you had all written last week. You’d looked down at your paper to find a perfect score, along with a messy red scribble in the corner.

Well done, love. See you tonight. H. x

You don’t think that your heart has ever swelled so rapidly. Even now, sitting in the middle of the room, you can hear the blood rushing through your ears. Sometimes, when you glance down at Harry, he’ll look away—other times, he just stares at you evenly, refusing to be the first to give in. You’ve witnessed his lips twitching with a forbidden smirk on multiple occasions. It takes everything in you to keep from grinning like a maniac.

What the fuck is going on?

He must be in a good mood, you decide. You peek down at him one last time—to your surprise, his attention is elsewhere, eyes trained on his watch to check the time. When he lifts his head back up, you deflect your gaze immediately and try to ignore the giddy warmth that erupts across your chest.

You refuse to look at him again, but in your peripheral vision, you swear that you see his shoulders rumble with a silent laugh.

~*~

Harry’s building is really nice. The floors in the lobby are shiny and polished, and glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Actual chandeliers! The windows are large and clear, letting in just enough natural light from outside to make you feel like you’re starring in an episode of Gossip Girl. You shoot a timid smile to the woman sitting behind the front desk—since when do apartment complexes have receptionists?

Even the elevators look like they’ve been recently renovated. The buttons light up when you press them, a thin ring of red surrounding each number. You find yourself humming along to the music playing softly from the speakers.

The elevator dings when you reach your level. “Fourth floor,” an automated voice announces. You chuckle incredulously as you step out into the hallway. How the hell is he living here?

Your eyes narrow as you scan the plaque on each door that you pass. 4A, 4B…

4C.

You stop short, running your fingers through your hair and tugging on the sleeves of your denim jacket. You pull your phone out from your pocket and glance at the time—it’s exactly six o’clock.

Before you can lose your nerve, you lift your fist and rap gently on the wood. The sound is drowned out by the ringing in your ears. You swallow heavily and shove your hands behind your back, waiting with a held breath and a racing pulse. The passing seconds feel like eons; you’re about to knock again, but then there’s a faint click, and the door is swinging open before you can blink.

“Hey,” Harry says, not unkindly.

You offer up a nervous smile. “Hey.”

The first thing you notice is that his outfit looks nothing like the usual ensemble he wears to your lectures. You were beginning to think that all he owned in his closet were slacks and button-ups and any other articles of clothing that make him look about twenty years older than he really is. But here he stands before you, sporting a light grey hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants. Cute little ankle socks cover his feet, and—as he had on the first day of class—he’s pinned his hair back using his glasses. His eyes seem brighter than usual, and his lips look slightly swollen, like he’s been chewing on them continuously. The prospect of him being antsy to see you makes your stomach flip with anticipation.

You force the thought out of your mind and silently berate yourself. He’s not eager to see you, and there’s nothing here for you to dissect—you’re reading too much into this.

“Come in,” Harry says, stepping away from the door and making room for you to pass through. You thank him softly, gliding past the threshold and taking a short moment to toe off your shoes.

“How are you?” you ask him, though you don’t meet his gaze.

“Good, thanks,” he replies. “You?”

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

You snicker hollowly—the playfulness he’d channeled today in class has clearly faded away. Harry turns on his heel and pads down the hall; unsure of what to do, you simply follow. You take advantage of the fact that he can’t see you, allowing your eyes to rake over his broad, muscular back. Your mouth waters when you cast only a momentary glance at his ass.

“I figured we could set up in the kitchen,” Harry tells you matter-of-factly.

“Sounds good.”

He nods and stops in front of another doorway. Just as he had done before, he steps aside and motions for you to enter first. “After you.”

You hate the weak articulation of your response. “Thank you.”

Everything in the kitchen is white, save for the black marble countertops and the sleek grey refrigerator standing proudly in the corner. On the table sits a bowl of bananas and a small stack of letters and bills. When you glance at Harry with a puzzled look on your face, he just shrugs.

“I really like bananas,” he says, somewhat sheepishly. His sudden awkwardness makes you smile.

“I prefer pomegranates,” you reply, a hint of teasing evident in your tone.

Harry nods. “Those are good.”

“Right?” you say, setting your bag down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “They’re a real bitch to peel, though.”

“I know,” he hums, rolling his eyes. “It takes forever.”

You chuckle and look up at him properly for the first time since he’d opened his front door. His irises twinkle with mischief, and the sight makes your heart flutter in your chest. You’re not used to seeing him like this—with just a few short sentences, it feels like he’s let down his guard and is allowing you to see a new side of him. You like it. You don’t want to screw it up.

“Have you got your exam?” Harry asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You blink and nod quickly, unzipping your bag and pulling your midterm out of a random binder.

“Here we go,” you murmur, handing it over to him.

He hums gently before motioning for you to take a seat. You lower yourself into the chair at the head of the table, and he chooses to occupy the one adjacent to you. The skin on your arms prickles when he shifts a bit closer. He unfolds your exam, opening it up to the second page.

“Right, then,” he says, clearing his throat. He points to the top of the sheet. “We ended off with this question the other day, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles. He slides his index finger to the very bottom of the paper, where your next error is circled in red. Your attention is glued to the small cross tattooed on his hand.

“For this one,” he starts, tapping the page softly, “Sleep spindles become apparent on a monitor during the second stage of light sleep, not the third.”

“The third stage consists of delta waves, correct?” you ask. Harry nods—you think that there’s a trace of pride in his expression, but you can’t be sure.

“See?” he tells you, pinning you with a serious look. “You know this stuff. You just had a bad morning that day, that’s all.”

His words make you want to lean over the corner of the table and tackle him in a hug.

“I—thank you,” you stammer instead. You focus your attention on your exam, praying that he doesn’t catch the stupid smile that spreads across your face. Your cheeks are aflame, and your heart feels like it’s only seconds away from giving out. You adjust your position in the chair, crossing your legs and shoving your hands beneath your thighs to hide the way that they tremble.

The two of you work through most of the remaining questions together—you’re shocked at how many of the correct answers you actually know. You feel like an idiot for having gotten them wrong; when you mutter as much under your breath, Harry shoots you a stern glare.

“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, a hard edge to his voice. You shrink beneath his piercing gaze. “This is why we encourage going to bed early the night before an exam. You know so many of these, but a lack of sleep can really just screw you over.”

“Yeah,” you say, sighing softly. A second later, you add, “Thanks for bearing with me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Harry responds. He flips to the last page of the packet. “We’re nearly done,” he reveals, and you have to fight to hide your surprise when he smiles teasingly at you. “Then you’ll be able to get me out of your hair.”

You scoff and emit a nervous laugh. “If anything, I’m the one in your hair.”

“Not true,” Harry says. His shoulders shake with a cool shrug. “I wouldn’t have been doing anything tonight, anyway. Your presence is a welcome distraction.”

You snort, though the sound rapidly dissolves into a violent cough. Harry’s eyes widen, and he rubs his palm over his forehead when the realisation hits him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs before speaking up. “I didn’t even offer you something to drink, Christ. What can I get for you?”

“Um,” you choke out, placing your hand on your chest. “Water—water’s fine.”

“Brilliant.” He shoots up from his chair and darts around the counter. You curl your fingers into a fist and deliver a few gentle pounds to your sternum. When the hacking fit passes, you swallow heavily and squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed beyond belief. You busy yourself with staring at the last page of your midterm, skimming mindlessly over the words on the sheet.

Lost in your humiliation, you don’t look up when the loud clinking of glass reaches your ears. It’s only when you hear the deep baritone of Harry’s voice that you lift your gaze.

“Er…would you mind?”

Your jaw drops.

“How the hell did you manage to do that?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Harry protests as you stand. His features contort with concentration. “They all just fell down at once!”

You laugh and scurry around the counter quickly. Harry’s standing in front of an open cabinet, his forearms acting as the only barrier between several cups and the floor. He wrinkles his nose as he shifts, only to freeze immediately when one of the glasses slips further down. You pause beside him, looking for a way to provide help without causing anything to fall and shatter.

“Why’re you just standing there?” he demands, but the question is laced with laughter.

“I’m trying to find a way to get in here!” you say, giggling. You gnaw on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, stepping closer to him and placing your fingertips delicately onto his elbow.

“Okay, maybe—lift your arm a bit for me.”

“What?”

“Lift your arm!”

“Alright, shit!” Harry obeys.

You hunch your shoulders and slip in between him and the counter, ending up with your back pressed against his chest. His breath washes out onto the shell of your left ear—a shiver races down your spine. You bite down harshly on your tongue as you lift your own arms, carefully plucking each glass from its teetering position and placing them all safely back onto the shelf.  

“There we go,” you murmur, holding out your hands in front of the cabinet—one last act of caution. His arms fall from where they were outstretched next to yours. You give yourself a mental pat on the back, smirking proudly and turning around.

Your breath gets caught in your throat.

Harry hasn’t moved an inch.

His expression is unreadable, features stony. His eyes stare at you with such intensity you feel as though he’s pulling you apart layer by layer and scrutinizing everything that lies beneath. You watch anxiously as his tongue dips out to wet his lips—the action is over just as quickly as it begins. His strong chest moves against yours, rising and falling with shallow, sporadic gasps. You swallow roughly, refusing to make the first move.

But then Harry lets out a defeated sigh.

“Fuck it all,” he says.

A pair of large hands fly up to grip the sides of your face, and he covers your lips with his.

~*~

If someone had told you a week ago that you’d end up like this, you’re pretty sure that you would have cackled right in their face. Hell, if someone had told you ten minutes ago that you’d end up like this, you would have considered it to be the grandest comedy special of the century.

But there’s nothing funny about this situation.

You fail to see any bit of humour in the way that Harry presses his lips to yours with a bruising force. You don’t laugh when he steps closer to you, trapping you against the counter and sliding his fingers into your hair to keep you near. And you’re not fucking around one bit when you melt against him, your hands slipping past his waist and your fingers interlocking at the small of his back. A soft, pleased sigh escapes your lips.

Finally.

“I’ve thought—,” Harry breathes against your mouth, cutting himself off so that he can pepper hard kisses to the corner of your lips. “—thought about this so much, you’ve got no idea.”

“Shut up,” you murmur, digging your nails into his back through the thick material of his sweater. He presses a forceful kiss to the curve of your jaw; you can feel the way his cheeks lift with a smirk.

It’s frenzied, it’s feverish, and it’s been a long time coming. Harry doesn’t waste a second, hiking you up onto the counter and tugging your denim jacket from your shoulders. You whimper delightedly at the action. His fingers find the hem of your white t-shirt, slipping beneath the soft cotton and rucking it up your sides. His nails scrape gently across your skin, leaving a searing path behind. Your top falls to the floor, leaving you in a plain, nude bra.

Your face heats up in embarrassment—of course, you’re wearing the foulest undergarments you own. You hadn’t exactly expected to wind up here.

“You too,” you protest breathlessly, trying to turn his attention away from the sheer ugliness of your intimates. You ball the fabric of Harry’s hoodie up in your fists; his body rumbles with a faint chuckle. He steps back, fixing you with an intense stare as his grip curls into the collar of his sweater. You watch with hot cheeks and dilated pupils, clenching your thighs together when he finally rids himself of the material.

He’s got a few dozen more tattoos hidden beneath the sweatshirt, designs littered across his shoulders and his chest. You’re not even surprised. Your gaze falls to the intricate butterfly inked across his abdomen. Harry moves back into your space, and you reach out to trail your fingers along the insect’s ebony wings.

“It’s gorgeous,” you mumble softly.

“I want you,” he replies.

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Have me, then,” you say, lunging for the knot on the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Wait.” He stops you, his long fingers circling around your wrists. “Not yet. First, I’ve got to—”

“What is it?” you ask, somewhat impatiently. You duck your face down, intending to sponge kisses up and down his neck. Your urges are dashed, however, when you catch a glimpse of the marks already scattered across his throat. The hickies aren’t as dark as they had been a couple of days ago (they’ve faded into a light brown, now), but the mere sight of them still leaves you paralyzed with resentment.

You sit back on the counter, your features hardening. Harry watches you in confusion before it dawns on him. One of his hands shoots up to cover his neck.

“She—it didn’t mean anything,” he tells you quickly.

You choke on a dry laugh. “And this does?”

His eyes grow dark. He cups your face in his palms, leaning forward so that his lips brush against yours when he speaks.

“You have no idea,” he says lowly, “how much this means to me.”

You gulp. Your voice shakes when you say, “Prove it.”

Harry kisses you urgently, wrestling his way in between your legs. Your thighs fall open easily, welcoming him closer. He growls gruffly when you hook one of your calves around his hips, drawing him in. His fingers dance up your spine, playing hesitantly with the clasp of your bra. You arch your back, silently encouraging him to take it off.

He makes quick work of the ordeal, undoing the three little hooks in a matter of seconds. Your lips detach from his with a loud smacking sound when the cups loosen around your chest and the straps slide from your shoulders.

“Lemme see, love,” Harry rasps. “Please.”

You swear that those four words are enough to have you soaking through your jeans.

You pull your bra from your body, tossing it away mindlessly. Harry diverts all of his attention to your breasts, reaching up to caress them in his hands. His thumbs stroke over your skin. Your nipples grow tight with arousal, and you’re about to beg him to just do something, but then he bends down and engulfs one of them into his mouth.

“Shit,” you breathe, tilting your head back. “That feels good.”

Harry continues to fondle your other breast with his left hand, while the right slips down so that he can plant a firm grasp on your waist. He rubs his fingers soothingly along the space just above the waistband of your bottoms. You’re torn between pushing your hips back against his touch and curving your torso forward into his mouth.

He pops off of your chest, licking his lips and scattering a haphazard trail of kisses along your cleavage until he reaches the other side. He’s quick to pamper your other nipple with the same amount of attention, sucking avidly and swirling his tongue around it. You whimper, his actions unearthing something wild buried deep in the pit of your belly.

“Harry,” you moan, gripping the edge of the counter tightly. “Please.”

“My hair…,” he mumbles quietly, moving away from your chest and leaving a path of wet kisses up your neck. You sigh when he bites down gently on your collarbone.

“What?” you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut. Harry snickers.

“Pull—”

He kisses your throat.

“—my—”

He kisses your chin.

“—hair.”

He kisses your lips.

Your fingers twine immediately through the wavy brown tendrils at the back of his neck. You stroke his hair zealously, your nails bumping against the glasses that are still perched on top of his head.

“Take these off,” you mumble, giggling against his lips. Harry smiles, removing the frames. Instead of folding them up, though, he slides them onto the bridge of your nose, his cheeks dimpling with a smug smirk.

“You look hot,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’d love to fuck you while you’re wearing my glasses, but I think you’d just end up with a headache afterwards.”

“My God,” you mutter, shaking your head softly and pulling them off. His words are intended to mock, but they’ve only succeeded in turning you on beyond belief. You leg tightens around Harry’s waist, and you place your hand on his right shoulder to guide him down for a kiss.

“Are we—do you wanna—?” you inquire between soft smacks of your lips against his. Harry seems to catch on to what you’re trying to ask. He nods vehemently, winding his arms around your waist and squeezing you tightly. Your breasts squish against his bare chest—the contact sends a shiver down your spine.

“C’mere,” Harry says, helping you stand from the counter. You reach out for the knot on his sweatpants again, but just like before, he interrupts the act.

“Stop that,” he instructs, his lips twitching in amusement when he registers the pout on your face. “I wanna do something else, first.”

“What is it?” you whine. Harry flips your hands over and traces small circles into your palms. He plants a few chaste pecks on your lips before guiding your fingers into his hair once more.

“Keep them there,” he murmurs as he kisses down your neck. “You’re gonna need something to hold onto.”

You open your mouth to question him, but then he’s dropping to his knees and fiddling with the button on your jeans, and your voice betrays you. Harry tugs your zipper down slowly, peering up at you through his eyelashes and fighting to mask a conceited grin. You wiggle your hips as he jerks your pants down your legs, eventually stepping out of the material once it pools at your feet.

“I can smell you, love,” Harry whispers, groaning wantonly and pressing his forehead against the top of your left thigh. You swallow violently at the pure lust coating each syllable of his sentence, arranging your feet so that they’re planted a bit further apart.

“Can I have it?” Harry asks, looking up at you for permission. His fingers hook into the fabric of your panties.

You nod feebly, choking on the word. “Yes.”

With that, he yanks your underwear smoothly down your legs, throws one of your thighs over his shoulder, and goes to town.

You tilt your head backward as he licks a wide stripe up the length of your folds. His plush, swollen lips pepper kisses against the innermost parts of your core. Your clit throbs when he pulls it into his mouth and sucks gently. He grunts appreciatively when you tug on his hair.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering shut. The cold edge of the marble counter presses into the small of your back, but you pay it no attention. Harry places one hand on your waist, while the other snakes around to cup your ass. He pinches your bum lightly, chuckling when you squeak and twitch in response.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, sticking his tongue out and flicking it rapidly against your clit. Your lips part with a lewd moan, and your fingers tighten in his curls. You feel him smirk against your cunt, evidently satisfied with your answer.

“Harry,” you breathe, your chest heaving. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Good.”

He doubles his efforts after that. You can’t even be embarrassed about the sounds that leave your mouth. It feels like he’s everywhere at once, pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs and lapping fervently at your folds. You jump when he circles your entrance with the tip of his index finger, and whimper as he slowly sinks the digit inside of you. He probes around, cursing at the sensation of your walls bearing down on him.

You can’t believe that this is happening. Never in a million years would you have predicted that you’d be standing in Harry’s ridiculously expensive kitchen, stark naked, with his lips and his tongue guiding you to the brink of an orgasm.

Things have a funny way of working out, you suppose.

Harry hooks his finger inside of you, petting a rough, sensitive spot. You cry out and fall over the edge. The muscles in your legs shake so violently that you have to lean against the counter to keep yourself upright. The heel of your foot digs into Harry’s back, and your grasp on his hair grows unbelievably strong. He continues to pump his finger in and out of your cunt, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he pulls back to watch your features contort in pleasure.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing the skin just beneath your navel. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Damn,” you whisper, inhaling deeply. You pause when you realise that you’ve still got an ironlike grip on the wavy tendrils atop his head. Releasing his curls, you flex your fingers and wipe your sweaty palms against the sides of your bare thighs. Harry’s eyes glitter.

“You’re good at that,” you say breathlessly. He grins, and you swoon upon spotting the deep crevice of his dimple.

“Can I kiss you again?” he requests.

A winded laugh falls from your mouth. “You didn’t ask me if you could before.”

“I should’ve.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you seriously saying that right now?” Your eyebrows climb up your forehead.

A low grunt escapes Harry’s lips when he stands. You watch, amused, as he places a hand on his lower back and stretches. His nose wrinkles in contempt.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Back problems.”

“Why’re you apologising?” The corner of your mouth quirks up. Harry pauses, looking down at you before an incredulous chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest.

“You’re something else,” he says, shaking his head. You smile, winding your arms around his neck and steering him in for a long, lazy kiss.

He tastes like you. The realisation makes you moan.

Sneakily, you run your hands down his back, taking only a moment to marvel at the way his muscles shift beneath his skin. You stop right above his bum, gliding your fingers over the elastic of his bottoms and circling back to the front. Harry scoffs when you begin tinkering with the tie on his sweatpants, and you giggle. Despite his slight jeer, though, he allows you to continue.

You pull at the string, and it promptly comes loose. “Wait,” Harry says.

You groan.

“I swear to God,” you exclaim. “If you don’t let me get you naked—”

He grabs your face in his palms and cuts you off with a bruising kiss. Your empty threat dies on the tip of your tongue.

“I just meant—,” Harry mumbles, the words hot and sticky, “—maybe we should take this to my room.”

You pull back and blink. “That’s awfully forward of you.”

His face is vacant until your sentence sinks in, and then he laughs. The sound comes from deep in his diaphragm, capping off at the end with a high-pitched squeak. It makes you want to grab him and cover his lips with yours until you’re both struggling to breathe.

“C’mon,” Harry commands, tangling his fingers with yours.

He leads you out of the kitchen and down the hall, stopping at the last door on the left. As soon as you step into his room, you note that his bed is preposterously big. That’s the only observation you’re able to make, though, because then he’s picking you up in all of your naked glory and flinging you onto the mattress.

You yelp in surprise, scrambling up to where a mountain of pillows is propped against the headboard. Harry watches you as he saunters over, his eyes hungry and voracious. His tongue swipes over his teeth as he joins you on the bed. You giggle eagerly.

Once your lips convene again, the atmosphere shifts. The playfulness is gone, replaced by something deeper, something greedier. Harry licks into your mouth, ravenous. You whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist and subconsciously bucking your hips up off the duvet. You can feel his cock inside his bottoms, hard and heavy and waiting to be freed. Fed up with the numerous delays, you grab onto material covering his thighs and yank it down. He notices your struggle, and he sits back on his knees to help you in your quest to get him undressed.

“I’m not—,” Harry begins, but he’s too slow.

Your eyes grow wide when they land on what lies beneath his sweatpants.

I’m not small, he might have started to say, or perhaps, I’m not wearing any underwear.

You’re not sure which statement it would have been, because both are true. He’s now equally as naked as you, his cock swollen and curved against his stomach. The tip is flushed a light pink, dotted with clear drops of arousal. A prominent vein runs along the underside—you’re suddenly overcome by the urge to feel it against your tongue. A few inches lower, there’s a tattoo of a tiger’s face inked on his thigh. You feel your stomach tighten as an entirely new wave of desire washes over you.

You look up at Harry with unreadable eyes. He stares back at you, and—for what may be the first time ever—you think you see a hint of insecurity brewing in his gaze. He swallows; you get the feeling that he’s going to say something, but you beat him to it.

“You’re so sexy,” you tell him earnestly, and then you kiss him again.

He ruts against you, his cock sliding along the inner crease of your thigh as the two of you move together. His hands slither up your body to squeeze your breasts, and you arch into his touch. After a few minutes of him devoting his attention to your chest, he reaches over and pulls open the top drawer of his nightstand.

“I’m clean,” he says, panting. “But…just in case.”

You nod once. “Agreed.”

He fishes out a condom, the foil packet crinkling loudly in his grasp. The sound snaps you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

You’re really about to have sex with Harry.

Harry, who grades your papers.

Harry, who is employed by the university that you’re currently attending.

Harry, who ignored you for weeks.

All of those things should send off warning bells in your brain. They should remind you that what you’re doing is wrong, and the two of you could get into an unbelievable amount of trouble. Your academic career might very well never recover. Harry could lose his job.

But you don’t care. Because though he’s the same Harry who grades your papers and who works for your university and who ignored you for weeks, he’s also Harry, who writes little notes on all of your tests and assignments. Harry, who bought you a coffee just because he felt like it. Harry, who was willing to devote a hefty portion of his free time to reviewing your midterm with you and showing you where you went wrong.

“You good?”

His innocent inquiry pulls you out of your haze. The condom has been rolled on.

You nod firmly, your legs falling open with a surprising amount of ease. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Let’s do it.”

When his cock first enters you, it takes a minute to get used to the intrusion. Harry watches your features for any sign of discomfort; you find it sweet. You pulse around him, and his hips falter as he swears softly.

“Sorry,” he says. “It feels good.”

“Glad to hear it,” you say wryly. He smirks.

You take deep breaths as you try to grow accustomed to the way he’s spreading you apart. He leans down, balancing on his forearms and sprinkling dozens of kisses across your face. His lips land on your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your chin. The small displays of affection help you loosen up.

“I think it’s okay, now,” you whisper, pushing his hair out of his face. Harry seals his lips against yours, gradually pulling out and thrusting back in. His pace is still slow, cautious, wary; you cup his jaw and skirt your thumb over the small mole by the corner of his mouth.

Steadily, he begins to pick up speed. Within minutes, you’ve got your lips parted and your back curved, your little mewls of pleasure filling the air. Harry curses, sitting back on his heels and searching for a secure grip on your waist. He pistons his hips, pulling you onto his cock with each drive forward. Your fingers dig into the duvet.

“Fuck,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “It’s so good.”

Harry reaches forward to pull your hands away. “Don’t,” he gasps, his forehead gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat. “Lemme hear you, I wanna—,” he groans, “I wanna hear you.”

You moan in response. The headboard creaks incessantly, but neither of you pay the noise any attention. Harry’s chest is flushed a dark shade of pink, matching the blush on his cheeks. His hair has flopped over onto his forehead; he doesn’t even attempt to move it out of the way. You can feel his thighs flexing against your bum as he fills you to the brim with every thrust.

“Bloody fuck.” He grits his teeth, a vein in his neck popping. “So fuckin’ tight, love. You’re squeezing me.”

At that, you deliberately clench around his cock. One of Harry’s hands splays out over your navel abruptly. The next drive of his dick inside of you is hard and sudden—a form of admonishment. It makes you gasp.

“Don’t,” he warns softly, sliding his palm upward and pinching your left nipple. “Be—be good for me.”

His hand continues further north, and your eyes widen when you feel him wrap his fingers around your throat. He doesn’t apply much pressure, but you moan loudly anyway. His thumb strokes over the gentle curve of your jaw, and his middle finger prods gently at your mouth. Without hesitating, you take the digit past your lips, laving your tongue over his knuckle.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers. He stares at you—completely awestruck—like he can’t fathom that you’re real. You whine and buck your hips against his, urging him to resume his previous pace.

“Filthy,” Harry mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. He releases your neck, trailing his finger down your sternum and leaving behind a damp path of your own saliva.

“I’m almost there,” you tell him, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep your sounds from increasing in volume.

“Yeah?” he asks breathlessly. “Gonna cum for me? Please, darling—I wanna see it.”

“Fuck me,” you gasp, twitching at the lewdness of his demand.

Harry grunts, and with the finger that was just inside of your mouth, he rubs frantic, messy shapes against your clit. The sudden onslaught of stimulation catches you by surprise, and you shriek when your orgasm crashes into you unexpectedly.

“Holy shit!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut. Your climax is powerful, splintering through your entire body. Your toes curl into the mattress and your thighs quiver pugnaciously. Harry continues to fuck you, alternating between deep, languid strokes, and short staccato pumps. He digs his fingers into your skin as his rhythm wavers.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” he groans, his face screwing up in pleasure. You grasp at his wrist with shaky hands, stroking over the anchor on his arm when he releases a string of cusses. Harry snaps into your cunt one, two, three more times before stilling and collapsing on top of you, utterly depleted.

The two of you lie there for eons, it seems. Your bodies are hot, spent, and slick with sweat. He sighs, nuzzling into you and delivering a gentle kiss to your temple. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you struggle to regain your bearings. The room is silent, except for the shifting of limbs and the sound of Harry’s breathing in your ear.

“Was good,” he croaks, lifting a hand and tucking your hair away from your face with feeble fingers.

You hum and turn to the side, the tip of your nose brushing his chin. “Yeah. It was.”

“We’re fucked,” he adds weakly.

You purse your lips. “Yeah,” you repeat. “We are.”

  October 23rd, 2019

The next week, Harry isn’t in class. Instead, settled in the corner of the room, there’s a short Korean girl with dark silky hair and a bright shade of red daubed on her lips. She’s wearing a brown knitted-sweater that looks awfully cozy, and her feet are covered by a clunky pair of combat boots.

Who would transfer into a class this late in the semester? You wonder. Is that even allowed?

At that exact moment, Dr. Renault clears his throat. His announcement makes all of the blood in your body run cold.

“Good morning, everyone. Unfortunately, Harry will no longer be accompanying us on our exciting quest to learn about the brain.” He gestures to the Korean girl standing off to the side. “This is Hana. She will be my new assistant for the remainder of the course.”

November 13th, 2019

“Oh my God, here it comes!” Margaret squeals, her nails digging into your bicep. You laugh at her excitement. Mateo leans over to pull her painted claws out of your skin.

“Jesus, woman, you’re gonna draw blood,” he berates her. Margaret rolls her eyes and faces him with her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t see her complaining!”

“I was about to,” you pipe up, shooting her a dry smile. Your friend turns on you, her features warping with an expression of betrayal, but before she can say anything, the barista sets three tall cups of coffee onto the counter and calls out your orders.

“That’s us, bitch!” Margaret exclaims. “Thank you,” she adds in a softer tone. The barista just smiles, giggling quietly and wishing you a good day.

You reach out for your latte, taking a small sip and humming appreciatively at the taste. “I fucking missed this place,” you say. “Nobody does coffee like Grounded.”

“Agreed.” Mateo nods.

The three of you make your way down the hall, the sounds of whirring espresso machines and jingling coins growing fainter in the distance. The corridor is teeming with students, people engrossed in animated conversations as they head to their next class. Margaret is rambling about how she can’t wait to resume her routine of drinking three cups of caffeine a day, and Mateo is marvelling at the spotlessness of the basement floors.

“They really cleaned this place up,” he says. “I guess renovations aren’t useless, after all.”

“Mhm,” you hum in response.

You balance your coffee in one hand as you rifle through your bag for the little pot of lip balm that you know is hidden somewhere in the smallest pocket. You’re so absorbed in your search that you don’t notice a tall figure walk right out of the door in front of you and into your path.

“Oh, shit!” you hiss, bumping into a solid body. A few drops of coffee spill from your cup and run down your fingers. The liquid is still hot; you whimper.

“I’m so sorry,” you ramble, lifting your gaze as you apologise to the stranger. “I wasn’t looking where I was—”

You stop in your tracks, and the rest of your sentence fizzles out. Harry’s peering down at you with piercing green eyes, seeming to stare through your soul. He’s wearing a maroon crewneck and a pair of dark brown trousers, and his glasses are tucked securely into the collar of his shirt. His hair has grown since you’d last seen him all those weeks ago, wispy tendrils curling just beneath his ears. Your skin tingles with the memory of running your fingers through the soft strands, and you have to hold back a sigh.

“Hi,” Harry says, the greeting deep and guttural. You swallow heavily, gripping your coffee with both hands.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He buries his knuckles into his pockets, his brown loafers squeaking against the floor. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine.” Your answer is curt. “You?”

“I’ve been alright, yeah.”

“That’s good.”

A beat of silence passes before someone beside you clears their throat. You jump; you’d forgotten all about your friends.

“Okay, well, we’re gonna go…,” Margaret says slowly, drawing out the last vowel of her sentence. She’s only referring to Mateo and herself, but you put your hand on her forearm to keep her still for a second longer.

“I’ll come with you,” you tell her quickly, refusing to look at the man standing in front of you.

“Actually,” Harry pipes up. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

You force yourself to meet his eyes. Margaret and Mateo step away leisurely. “What is it?”

“It’s about your midterm,” Harry says, even though both of you know that it’s not. Everything on his face reveals to you that his words are a lie, from the pursing of his lips to the furrowing of his brows. Despite your irritation, though, you find yourself nodding apprehensively.

Harry steps back, holding out his arm and motioning for you to walk into his office. You don’t bother shooting your friends one last glance before you oblige.

They’ll be fine; you’re not worried about them.

You’re worried about yourself.

You don’t miss the sound of the lock on the door clicking into place. You busy yourself with studying the office—Harry has begun moving his supplies back into place. The bookshelf in the corner is half-full; a few boxes—each of them are filled to the brim with novels—sit on the floor as they wait to be emptied. There’s a tall pile of papers on Harry’s desk. Your brows furrow in confusion for only a moment before you remember that he’s also serving as a teaching assistant for Dr. Chen’s psychopathology course.

“Er…,” Harry says from behind you. You keep your back to him, choosing instead to run your fingers over the smooth surface of his desk.

“What’s up?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level.

He sighs. “I quit my position in Dr. Renault’s class.”

“Really?” you say. Your tone is light, but the sarcasm in your words carries a harsh bite. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Your name leaves Harry’s lips in a quiet plea. It shocks you so much that you instinctively turn around to face him.

“Don’t be like that,” he implores. “Please.”

“Like what?” you snap, scowling at him. “What exactly am I doing?”

“You’re upset with me,” Harry states weakly. A dry, hollow laugh falls from your mouth.

“Maybe I am.” You shrug, the corners of your mouth curling disdainfully. “Wouldn’t you be upset if the person you’d fucked just decided to ghost you for a month?”

“I didn’t—,” he starts, but you cut him off without hesitating.

“Yes, you did,” you say, a hard edge creeping into your voice. “You kissed me, we fucked, and then you fell off the face of the planet.”

Harry remains silent, because he knows that you’re right. You grip your coffee tightly in one hand, the other coming up to rub tiredly at your forehead. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest, but there’s an odd, gratifying sensation spreading through your body. It feels good to tell him off, you realise. The anger and resentment brewing within you for the past month has made you astonishingly bitter.

“Why did you bring me in here, Harry?” you ask, sighing. “To tell me you quit Doctor Renault’s class? Because I already knew that.”

The words hurt as they exit your mouth. Hana seems like an absolute sweetheart, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the little notes scrawled in messy, boyish handwriting at the top of your weekly quizzes. You blink rapidly and will the reflection out of your mind, drumming your fingers against the side of your latte.

“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters, shaking his head. “Why the fuck do you think I quit?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows knit together.

“Why do you think I quit?” Harry demands, his lips twisting into a frown. You balk, hating that the question has caught you by surprise.

“I—,” you start, growing frustrated. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“God, you really are quite dense, aren’t you?” Harry asks, chuckling sardonically.

You narrow your eyes. “I didn’t come here to be belittled.”

“What did you come here for, then?” he shoots back. “Why’d you agree to speak with me?”

“Because I wanted an explanation,” you say, feeling your chest grow tight. The words are thick when they leave your lips. “But if you’re not going to give me one, then…”

“Fuck, wait,” Harry rushes out. He blocks the path to the door as you try to sidestep his broad frame. “Please, just…lemme figure out a way to say what I’m thinking.”

You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him.  “You’ve got two minutes.”

He scratches the back of his neck, pulling gently on the collar of his dark sweater. You watch him turn phrases over in his head and hate that even now, in the middle of an argument, you still want to kiss him. Your lips prickle as you recall what it felt like to lick into his mouth, and how he swallowed up every single one of your moans.

“We had sex,” Harry finally says carefully. “That’s against the university’s policy.”

“I’m aware,” you say. You’ve realised this—why is he reiterating what you already know?

“I’m not allowed to be involved with a student in the classes where I’m…,” he continues and shakes his head, “Basically, if I’m a teaching assistant for a certain course, the people enrolled in it are off-limits.”

“I know.” You’re growing impatient, now. Harry’s mouth twitches.

“But I’m no longer the teaching assistant for Doctor Renault’s class,” he says softly. His stare is earnest, like he’s trying to tell you something without actually saying it.

You pause, allowing his words to sink in. Your lips part when the situation dawns on you, and you suddenly understand what he chose to do—what he’s done. You look up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, your fingers constricting so tightly around your coffee that the cup nearly dents under the pressure.

“You—,” you initiate, but Harry interrupts you before you can continue.

“Have dinner with me,” he requests with prudence, approaching you slowly. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. We can even see a movie after, if you’d like.”

Despite your dispute from only a few minutes ago, a small smile creeps onto your face. Harry takes another step toward you, and your stomach flips in anticipation. You gaze into his eyes, taking note of the way his green irises glimmer with hope. He lifts his hand and runs his thumb over your jaw. You find yourself leaning into his touch.

“You want to take me out on a date?” you ask, fighting to keep your eyelids from drifting shut. Harry smirks, his dimple popping on his cheek.

“I do,” he confirms, pinching your chin gently. “Will you let me?”

“I guess,” you say dreamily, and then your lips are on his. He exhales in relief, wrapping his arms around your waist as yours loop behind his neck.

Sparks are whizzing around in your brain. You’re sure that, realistically, they can be attributed to some sort of neurotransmitter, but you choose to believe that it’s just The Harry Effect.

You eventually pull apart for air, gasping hotly and scattering kisses anywhere you can reach. “As much as I’d love to continue this,” you say, sighing delicately as Harry delivers several hard pecks to your lips, “I need to head home and finish up a research report for my experimental psych class. It’s due on Friday.”

“Fine.” Harry drags himself away from you but keeps your face nestled in his hands. He runs his index finger along the seam of your mouth. “Go on, then. Congratulations on being a responsible student, I suppose.”

You smile and hold out your hand. “Give me your phone,” you order. His lifts an eyebrow teasingly; you mirror his coy expression and elaborate. “Let me put my number in. That way, we don’t have to e-mail back and forth like we’re in our fucking fifties.”

“I like to think that e-mailing is a very efficient way of sending messages,” Harry says.

You laugh. “Are you saying that you don’t want my number, then?”

“No, no,” he backtracks quickly, fishing his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it before handing it over to you. “Here, by all means.”

“That’s what I thought,” you simper. You key your information into the device, grinning as you pass it back to him. “There we go.”

Harry leans down, stealing a chaste kiss before you can even register what’s happening. He pulls back, humming impishly at the stunned expression on your face. “There we go,” he repeats, flashing you a crooked smirk.

He escorts you out of his office, down the hall, and up onto the main floor. Every so often, your hands brush as you walk. When you reach one of the many exits in the building, you turn to him.

“You’ll text me, right?” you check, succumbing to the small sliver of doubt that nags at your brain.

He nods. “I promise.”

“Okay.” You chew on your bottom lip. Your mouth subconsciously lifts into a doting smile. “Have a good day, Harry.”

His eyes are full of tenderness. “You too, love. Take care.”

You turn and push through the doors without looking back.

When you finally find your car in the winding maze of the parking lot, you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket. You dig it out and open it absentmindedly. A soft laugh slips past your lips when you discover a text sent from an unknown number.

“He’s cute,” you murmur to yourself, your eyes scanning over the message.

It was really nice seeing you. I look forward to having dinner with you soon. H. x

~*~

thank you for reading 💖 and thank you to @all-things-fic, @emotionally-imbruised, and @imethiminthemorning for being my betas! i love you guys [masterlist] [askbox]

Dopamine (a Serotonin extra)

if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[storiesforallfandoms]

six feet apart ~ jeff wittek

word count: 1320

request?: no

description: after postponing their first date for months due to a global pandemic, he comes up with a plan to finally make it happen

pairing: jeff wittek x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

The worst time to try and start dating someone new is right before a pandemic.

I decided to say fuck it and finally download Tinder. It was a strange experience, and I was sure for some time that it wasn’t going to work. But, just as I decided to delete my profile and the app, I got a notification that I had matched with someone and he had already sent me a message.

A picture of a very attractive guy popped up next to his name, Jeff Wittek. I had expected some sort of gross pick up line about wanting to fuck me, so I was pleasantly shocked to see it was a very simple, “Hi :)”.

We talked for weeks, eventually exchanging our phone numbers as well. I was really starting to like Jeff. We were trying to plan our first date when the news hit that basically the whole world was going into lockdown and quarantine to try and combat the recent pandemic. That meant that you couldn’t leave your house unless absloutely necessary, meaning either to get groceries or to go to work. You couldn’t even go to your family’s place to see them unless you were quarantining together.

So yeah, you could say I picked a bad time to try and start a relationship.

Jeff and I kept in contact, but it was starting to get hard not being able to actually see him and to pursue the relationship properly. There was no telling when the lockdown would end, or when it would be safe to go outside, so there was no telling when I’d actually be able to meet him.

I was sat at home one day, binge watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine for about the tenth time since quarantine started, when I heard a knock on my door. I was confused considering no one was supposed to be at my house, and decided to ignore it at first, until I got a text from Jeff that read, “Come answer your door”.

I practically jumped out of my seat and raced to the front door. When I opened it, I found a picnic basket on my doorstep and Jeff sitting on my lawn on a blanket with a basket of his own.

“Don’t worry, I disinfected it before knocking,” he told me as I stepped out of my house.

“What is this?” I asked, sitting on the step and taking the basket onto my lap.

“I’m tired of waiting for our first date,” he said. “And I’m not waiting until 2021 to finally meet you face to face. So, I decided to plan a social distance date - a picnic at six feet apart.”

I opened the basket and looked inside. There was sandwiches, a bottle of water, a juice box, a can of Mountain Dew, some candy, and a few fruits.

“I don’t know what kind of stuff you like,” Jeff explained, “besides the Mountain Dew, so I made basically one of every sandwich, threw in whatever fruit I had, and a bunch of drinks so you could have your pick of whatever.”

“I’ll eat just about anything,” I responded. “This is so sweet. Thank you.”

Jeff shrugged as he began to eat his first sandwich. “It was nothing.”

We were silent for some time as we began to eat. I wasn’t sure what to really talk about. Jeff and I had talked about just about everything through text, leaving it hard to talk about anything on our actual first date.

After some silent eating, Jeff finally asked, “So, how’s your quarantine going?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Kinda shitty. I’m all alone in the house, can’t go out anywhere, can’t see my friends, can’t go to work. I thought I’d love having endless time off, but it turns out I’m dying to get back to work as soon as everything ends.”

Jeff chuckled as well. “Sounds rough. At least I can technically work, even if I’m not filming my usual videos, but I understand not being able to see anyone. It’s just me and Nerf in my apartment, but I’ve been video calling my friends every so often so I don’t lose my mind.”

“Video calling only does so much it feels,” I admitted. “Even this feels...”

“Like so much?” Jeff suggested. I sighed and nodded. “I know. It really sucks. I’d love to be able to go out with you somewhere, or even have you over to my apartment.”

I rested my head in my hand and looked at Jeff. “What do you think we would’ve done after for our first date? We never really finalized the decision for it.”

The smile on his face made my heart beat faster and my stomach fill with butterflies. I couldn’t help but mirror it myself.

“I would’ve liked to take you somewhere nice,” he responded. “Somewhere that you’d be impressed with how much money I would be willing to spend on our first date.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Money doesn’t really impress me. I’d just feel bad that you would’ve spent that much on me.”

“Okay, noted. I still would’ve taken you to a nice restaurant, maybe go for a drive afterwards. It’s not a new sports car, but my truck is one of my pride and joys. I love showing it off at every moment.”

I looked up at Jeff’s old fashioned looking truck. I could see why he liked to show it off, it was a nice truck.

“I’m not into fancy sports cars either,” I said. “We could’ve went and gotten take out and went for a drive and that would’ve sufficed for me.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me, then,” Jeff decided. “So, when this whole thing is over, I’ll take you out for a drive in my truck.”

I smiled and looked down at my food, hoping to hide the blush that was creeping up on my face. Of course, I had never been in a situation like a global pandemic that led to a lockdown before, but in any case, I couldn’t remember a time when a guy went out of his way to do anything for me, let alone to set up a picnic date, and was willing to do simple dates instead of extravagant ones to try and impress me.

“You know what I really wish we could do right now?” I asked.

“What?” Jeff asked.

“I wish I could kiss you.”

We both looked at each other in silence for some time. I couldn’t believe I had said that, but it was what was on my mind. I did want to kiss Jeff, especially after talking for so long and now finally being able to see him face to face.

A small smile spread on his face as he admitted, “Yeah, I wish I could kiss you, too. Although, I’d probably be so awkward to try and make the first move.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You awkward? You’re like the hottest guy ever, I don’t know what you’d have to be nervous for.”

He laughed. “Well, I guess. I just worry about trying to kiss a girl at the wrong time, like she’s not ready for it, or just being bad at kissing. I haven’t gotten any bad reviews yet, though, so I shouldn’t worry about that.”

I chuckled. “Okay, fair point. Well, let’s just put it out there now: when we go on our first date, if you get the urge to kiss me, just do it. I definitely won’t turn you away. Quite the opposite, really.”

“Really?” I nodded in response, smiling at him. Jeff smiled back. “Okay, deal. Our first non-social distancing date, I’m gonna lay one on you the minute you get in my truck.”

I laughed, but inside I was wishing that moment could come sooner. But I knew the wait was going to make the kiss even better.

[shaekingshitup]

unintended part two

A/N: ALRIGHTY FOLKS! WE ARE BACK WITH SOME MORE ACTION FOR MR. JACKSON! As of now, the face claim for the reader is going to be Keke Palmer

But, if you’re anything like me. All I did was just post a picture of someone who wishes they were you and in this fic with you and Trevor Jackson haha. Whatever floats your boats friends. Please note that echoic memory is a real thing. It just doesn’t work how I described it haha. More like echoic and As always thanks to @glittermakesmesmile​ for giving me the first feedback and confidence to even post these things. Also big shout out to @twistedcharismaaa​ who helped me challenge myself to write more even if I don’t feel like it. So, this series will hopefully get some more chapters coming soon!

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:

Pairing: Trevor Jackson x Black OC

Warnings: NONE

Word Count: approx 2500

HERE WE GO!

^ Jayden’s Song Association Fit

-----------------------------------------------

“Let me take my Black ass to the restroom while we got ourselfs a break. ROCKSY, what’s that cam’ra lookin’ like? We need another battery?”

“We’re good. Jayden, you want a snack?” Roxy redirected at their latest arrival. Jayden tried to sneak a look at the biggest one in the room and failed. He smiled at her. Her glance had caught both of them off guard and it made him feel giddy. It was the most beautiful and natural response she'd received from him-or anyone for that matter- in a while.

“I’m good.” she said hiding her own bashfulness behind her steely exterior. She maintained eye contact with Trevor. Roxy opened up a cabinet to pull out an assortment of Lays and refill the chip bowls that Trevor had demolished when he’d shown up 

“ Imma keep tryin. Venmo? Paypal? Zelle? CashApp? Damn, I can get it to you in Bitcoin if that’s what you prefer.”

“How have you done on the game so far?” Jayden again completely ignored his attempts to repay her. She wasn’t concerned about a few extra dollars. 

“I’m doin alright so far." He also refused to break contact first "So far Song Association has been the easiest game for me to navigate today.” Jayden blinked and conceded for now. Motivated by his win Trevor strolled over to the living room where she was admiring some of Terrell’s music selection.

“Clever.” she tossed over her shoulder as she reached for a vinyl. In one swift motion, Trevor had taken it from her mid-review. 

“Al Green?” He smirked. “ You’ve got taste J. Let me guess.. uh, track 5?”

“What?”

“That’s your single. I see it. No worries though. We can work on that.” he said just as he caught a glimpse of Terrell returning back into the room. Trevor placed the album back in her hands and returned to his stool, readjusting his mic. 

“Alright, Mr. Jackson. YA READY?! No more stoppin’ this midnight train to Georgia.” Terrell hollered. Jayden giggled at his silliness as she glanced at the tracklist for Al Green’s Greatest Hits. 

Track 5: Tired of Being Alone

Damn he cocky. Jayden thought. At least it wasn’t in an overbearing manner. It was a little endearing. He seems a little goofy. That smile was very telling.  But she wouldn’t show that just yet. Sitting back in her audience of one, Jayden watched them continue to play.

 “If I gave you the word “Never” what hits your mind?” Terrell asked the singer. Trevor starts going into a Jackson 5 single that Jayden honestly didn’t know. But, she knows that he is DOING IT. Her eyes go wide as his Michael impression is spot on and before she can even register her own body's movements, she's vibing with it. Music always had a way of helping her with her emotions and channeling a less.. “feisty”,as it had been put earlier, connection with herself and the rest of the world. She was moving around in her seat and doing her best not to spill her coffee over herself or her new friend’s floor.

"Oh shit!" she said clamping her hand over her mouth immediately. That was louder than she expected. Especially since it hadn't meant to leave her head at all. "I'm sorry," she whispered. 

"AHA HA" Roxy guffawed. "I tried to warn you. Don't worry Jayden.  We'll fix it in post anyways"

"Jayden you good girl. I had the same reACTion the first time I laid my eyes- I meant my ears on Trevor" Terrell stated taking a very pointed sip from his mug. Everyone knew he'd meant what he'd said the first time and it was causing them all to try not to break into laughter so they could push forward. 

"Yeah. Very natural response J. Hakuna matata" Trevor confirmed. Jayden playfully rolled her eyes. 

"What's the next word? He's a lil too comfortable" she spoke up.

Terrell nodded at Jayden and refocused on Trevor. "WAY. w-a-y" 

Without hesitation, he bursted into song. It was another that Jayden was sadly unfamiliar with. 

What is in this man's repertoire?

Soon enough Terrell explained that it was an original off of a project called Rough Drafts 2. At once Jayden grabbed her phone and opened her Spotify app. Creating a new playlist, she glanced up at the boys and locking in on Trevor she came up with an idea. "Thotful n Tired 💭" she titled it. She was adding damn near his whole discography when her ears perked up at the fact that he had an additional 200 unreleased singles on his computer at home. The more time spent in his presence the more the question of "Who the hell is this nigga?" rose in Jayden's mind. 

Trevor responded to Terrell all the while staring at Jayden and answering her unspoken question as well.

"So any fans that live in L.A. and you wanna just come and listen to new music not recorded.." he trailed off leaving an open invitation for Jayden and the rest of LA.

He really just said: Come find out

------------------

Jayden was both relieved and saddened when Trevor was finished with his Song Association. In a very short time, she'd learned a lot about this person she'd never even heard of until that afternoon. As his song had promised, he truly had her beggin for more.  The way they interacted and the feelings she felt towards him had grown quickly but it was familiar. It seemed as if they'd already done this dance before. Jayden was trying to figure out how to rationalize this to herself but she couldn't. It was the way that she and Trevor had silently held private conversations  in a room with others.  Even as they were learning one another, a lot of the pieces already seemed to be connected. 

Trevor was filming his spot for Terrell’s outro. It took every ounce of restraint in Jayden not to cackle out loud when he said “I think we’re gonna queue the rain right now. Mm hmm. You feel that? This is not a joke. It’s a motion in your ocean.” 

Trevor had made her feel a range of emotions in their time together. Jayden had laughed, she’d pondered a topic or two she’d never fully considered, she’d felt sexy and above all else- she felt noticed. Truly seen.  It was a lot. But, the girl was a hustler by nature. So, she was keeping up with each curveball that day had thrown at her. 

“Imma run to the restroom” Jayden announced. She wasn’t certain why she felt the need to do so. But it seemed far more courteous than roaming through Terrell’s halls. 

“Alright we gotta get ready for you when ya done Miss Jayden!” Terrell called out. 

When she returned, there was no Trevor in sight. Just Roxy and Terrell. Jayden wasn’t disappointed for them being there. Although she was a little put off that Trevor had exited so quickly and without saying goodbye?  She wasn’t about to let that show though. Sure, she really thought she’d felt a connection with him. But, she wasn’t going to let it get in the way of the single calendar event of her year- outside of her birthweek of course. 

“My turn?” Jayden asked as she returned back into the kitchen where the green screen was.  

“Mmmhhmm” Terrell affirmed “I just gotta follow you to this res’room. I dun broke my damn seal. Plus,  we waitin on Trevuh to finish his call.” As if he heard his queue, the front door opened and Trevor came back in. 

“Oh.” Jayden let out. Trevor studied her as Terrell turned towards his restroom. Roxy was on the balcony getting some air and making a call of her own. 

She was feening her cool, unbothered mask. But that one syllable had given her away. “What? You thought I left?” he asked. 

“I mean you were gone. So, yeah.” Jayden said shrugging her shoulders and throwing her wrist back dismissively.

  “Huh.” Trevor stared back quizzically. “I can’t do that just yet. One: I don’t think it’s fair that you got to see mine and I don’t get to see yours and two: I still need to figure out a way to make sure we’re even.”

“Ahh. So you’re stayin?”

“I got a little extra time. Plus, this is definitely worth it. But look, promise me something real quick.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Since you’re so gung-ho on not taking back the money which is owed to you. Let me pay my debt another way.”

“What if I like the notion of Trevor Jackson being forever indebted to me?” The smolder he returned to her made her feel that someone had pressed play on Puddles again. But she simply crossed her arms and cocked her head at him. They were in yet another staring contest. 

Trevor let a beat pass as he wound up his pitch in his mind. “Aight, how about-

“Okay. I hope ya’ll enjoyed.. Ya break,” Terrell trailed off as he walked in on the tension that occupied the room. Jayden took a small step back from Trevor. She hadn’t realized that they were all in each other's personal space. 

“Yup. I’m ready.” Roxy re-entered from the balcony and grabbed the mic Trevor had used earlier that day to affix to Jayden. “Feel okay?”

“It does.” Jayden said. All of a sudden all of that calm she’d felt left her. She was getting the nerves again. She wasn’t certain if it was because of the game she was going to play or the one she’d been entangled in since she’d laid eyes on Trevor. He himself was still trying to figure out this woman. She had a hard exterior and a beguiling sexual energy that he couldn’t detach himself from. When she sat on that stool allowing Terrell to compliment her outfit and introduce herself a little bit, she radiated. She also had a pretty good voice too for a Shits and Giggles winner. 

“I’m mad at you” Terrell said. 

“Why?” Jayden

“I hear it. I hear that there in ya throat box. You got them vocals.” Terrell said. “Why you hidin?”

“Ohmygod. Hush. I can hold a tune here and there. But I don’t know about them vocals. I don’t know how to control it.” 

Terrell squinted his eyes. “I don’t believe it. Sing that song again. Because you got the emotion. I can tell you feel these songs here. You haf’way there but you too worried about sounded perfect. Let that go.” 

Jayden was quick to adapt. She took that advice from Terrell and moments later you could hear the difference. Closing her eyes she tried again

Have you ever found the one

You've dreamed of all of your life

Do just about anything to look into their eyes

Have you finally found the one you've given your heart to

Jayden tried her best not to get into her head about fucking up and pushed the nervousness down within her. Because when she became tense it would lock up her voice and she would miss her mark altogether

Only to find that one won't give their heart to you

She exhaled from her nose and smiled because she’d clearly sounded better than the first time 

Have you ever closed your eyes and

Dreamed that they were there

Jayden opened her eyes and stopped. She may not have control; but, she knew her limit 

“Now I know you didn’t stop.” Jayden picked up some of the liquid courage Terrell had fixed her. Her coffee was long gone by this point. She couldn’t keep the fear at bay. She didn’t want to make that big of a fool of herself today and have her voice crack like a pre-pubescent teen. 

Trevor was taking it all in.  She was a whole party when put on the spot and she easily gave off a coolness that made you certain to never cross her. She was not one to be played with.  But it was obvious that music opened up another avenue to Jayden. Trevor had seen it when their roles were reversed. She was empathetic to the emotions of  whichever song he sang. 

Her music taste was eclectic as well. She’d come through with country, gospel, r&b, showtunes and she seemed to have every Chicago rapper’s discography down pat. Trevor was genuinely impressed by her ability to copy and paste an artist’s essence into her own. She was fucking up the game and had songs for every word Terrell threw her way. 

“RIGHT R-I-G-H-T” Terrell announced. Jayden glanced a look at Trevor and then she gave her undivided attention to Terrell. 

Just stand right here

Let me show you what I'm about

To do to that body

And come down here

Let me show you where to touch my body

Let the foreplay begiiiin

Bet you never had this before

Cause once I go iiiiiiin

I'm gone have you begging for more

Boy, I'm talking right now, right now, right now, yeah

Right now, oh

Can we make some love right now? 

Jayden laughed and when she’d finished, there was silence. It was like someone had pressed the mute button in real life. Then the room erupted with noise at once 

“UH UH”

“hOw?” 

“Whoa whoa whoa”  all crashed on top of each other. 

“What?” Jayden asked. 

“WHAT?! This heffa really just said WHAT? TUH!” Terrell hollered.

“Wait. You said you’d never heard of Trevor before,” said a very baffled Roxy.

“Before a few hours ago, no. I hadn’t.” Roxy said. Jayden gave a shrug in Trevor’s direction. 

“But you just sang his song?” Roxy asked

“Yeah. Because I heard him sing it earlier. 

“You mean to tell me, that you heard this negro sang that song one time half an hour ago and you committed it to your memory?”

“Yes. I have perfect echoic memory. Obviously I don’t always process this in a way where I can duplicate it perfectly. But, I can mimic it pretty close.”

Trevor finally spoke up. “So when you hear something you can pull up that audio in your mind and not only play it back for yourself but you’ve trained yourself to be able to mimic it almost dead ass spot on?”

“Yeah. That’s pretty much it.” Jayden said as if she’d just read rattled off the day’s weather report. “You’re pretty sharp.” The compliment rolled off of Trevor in his astonished state of mind. Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. “Damn” he muttered looking at the screen. “Aite y’all, that’s my cue.” I gotta head out. Just as his mother had done, Trevor said goodbye to everyone individually. He saved Jayden for last.  “Good luck Jayden. It was nice meeting you. Matter of fact, let me get your info so I can follow up with you to see if you really get that perfect score” He offered his phone out to her with the keypad pulled up. 

“Oh, you already know that I came to win today.” she tapped some buttons and gave him back his phone. Looking down, Trevor realized that she’d followed herself on his Instagram account.  She smiled but her eyes only said one word: 

Checkmate. 

---

TAG LIST: @twistedcharismaaa​ @mygirlrenee @glittermakesmesmile @sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy @shewrites02 @ghostfacekill-monger @raysunshine78 @shewritestheblues @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade  @fd-writes @eyeknowmywrites​ @thadelightfulone​ @yoyolovesbucky

Imma update my tag list and this fic soon y’all. Hold me to it. 

[tenroseforeverandever]

Optimal Distance

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Tentoo x Rose

Tags: lemons; lemons on video chat; mutual self-applied lemons; basically loads of lemons!; and the usual fluff, hurt/comfort, humour stuff

Summary: Rose has been feeling sad, lonely, and a little bit envious, left to endure the dreary London winter, while the Doctor has been posted on assignment in Rio, setting up a new Torchwood branch. But a comment the Doctor makes about a strangely bare desk in his otherwise cluttered study inspires Rose to find a way to bring them closer together, even though they are half a world apart.

Notes: This fic is one of many that had been lingering, stagnating in my collection of unfinished fics, just waiting for inspiration to strike.

Many thanks as always to my wonderful betas, @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci. You are absolutely brilliant, and I have no idea what I would do without you. And thanks to @aintfraidanoghosts who is always a voice of inspiration and encouragement (especially if she hears lemons on the menu!) I love you all!

I made quite a few tweaks and edits since they saw it, so as always, any mistakes are mine.I hope you like it!

Also read on AO3 and Teaspoon

OPTIMAL DISTANCE

“Done! You should be getting it any second now!” Rose crowed into her mobile with a rather disproportionate sense of triumph. All she had accomplished was to send the Doctor an email, albeit one with a very important file attached; a file she’d had to navigate his shambolic cataloguing system to find, and that only after she’d excavated his laptop from beneath heaps of books, papers, and crumpled sticky notes on the floor beside his desk.

“Got it!” he cheered. “You are brilliant, you are! A real lifesaver, Rose Tyler! See? My lucky pants, near or far. It’s a good thing you couldn’t come with me, after all. Where would I be now, eh? Without you holding down the fort?”

“Yeah, right,” Rose muttered with a sulky huff, her victorious mood evaporating as she plopped down in the desk chair. She fought against the prickle of tears. She refused to cry about it anymore. It was her own fault she was restricted to paper-pushing for another six weeks. To be specific, she was tasked with reviewing and classifying field reports, a chore that only served to rub in the fact that she wasn’t out in the field, herself, defending the Earth from both alien and earth-born threats. Instead she had to read about it second-hand.

She knew she deserved every bit of punishment she’d received, from her brutal dressing-down from Pete and her subsequent demotion, to her month-long stint inventorying the Small Parts Department (literally the “nuts and bolts” of Torchwood, and ten times as dull as it sounded.) She had been careless and impulsive on a mission, showing off for the sake of a dare, and had nearly gotten herself killed.

The worst part had been the look on the Doctor’s face as he’d rushed into the Torchwood infirmary, not knowing what her condition was, thinking he might have lost her. The guilt she’d felt over worrying him would have been enough (a kazillion times over) to curb any future reckless, thoughtless acts. After everything they had been through, with only a single, human lifetime each, pledged to be spent together, she had nearly thrown it all away in one rash moment.

As it was, she had been lucky to have come away with only deep laser burns to her left shoulder.

She and the Doctor had clung to each other all that night, desperately making love until they were too exhausted to move.

That had been weeks ago now, and Rose was chafing at her restrictions, especially since Pete seemed to be intentionally sending the Doctor to conferences in the most wonderful, exotic locations around the world, places Rose was dying to explore with him. But Pete resolutely refused to allow her to join him.

On this current trip, the Doctor was helping establish a new Torchwood base in Rio de Janeiro, addressing the fledgling team on the importance of employing diplomacy and mediation in First Contact situations. Rio, for God’s sake! And here she was, stuck in the middle of the damp, chilly London winter. She huffed again over the phone.

“Would it help if I said I wasn’t having fun?” the Doctor asked over the upbeat sounds of Samba and boisterous voices in the background. She could just picture the scantily clad, feather-adorned (female) dancers.

“Yes…” Rose picked at the worn piping on the leather arm of the desk chair.

“Oh…”

“Sure doesn’t sound like anyone’s ready to listen to your First Contact presentation. Don’t know what the rush was…”

“Weeell, lunch is almost over, and we’ll be heading right back in. Then, I’ll be cracking the whip! But, blimey, the Brazilians know how to party!  As you can probably hear, they’d arranged for some entertainment over lunch: live band, dancers, the lot! Didn’t want to seem churlish.”

She’d been right about the dancers, then… “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m just feelin’ sorry for myself. I should be gettin’ to bed, yeah. Loads of field reports to review, tomorrow. You have fun.”

“Right… weeell…” Rose could picture him scrubbing the back of his head with his right hand. “Thanks again. And for the record, I do wish you were here, love. It’s just not the same without you.”

“It’s a bit lonely here too.” She looked around his study, filled with reminders of his presence: it was cluttered with books and papers; an assortment of swivel-chairs, beanbags, and exercise balls; and seemingly arbitrary writing surfaces at various heights and orientations. The traditional desk, where she was currently sat, was essentially an afterthought, a horizontal surface suitable for a computer or a place to deposit bits and bobs, books, and papers. Except it was completely clear of clutter and serving no purpose. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, but she couldn’t imagine the Doctor ever using a desk like that.

“We should redecorate your study when you get home, Doctor,” she mused.

“What? Why?”

“Well, for one, this desk is taking up a lot of valuable space. We really should get rid of it. It’s nice. I bet we could sell–”

“No!” he cut her off. “I love that desk!” There was an overtone of panic in his voice.

“But you don’t use it for… well… for anything.”

“I’d rather hoped to use it someday… erm…” His voice trailed off, but quickly returned with his classic exuberance. “It’s nice and sturdy, Rose, and just the right height.”

“What the hell for? The right height for what?” Honestly, she was afraid to ask, but it was just lovely to talk to him and listen to him prattle on about nonsensical things. She missed this when he was abroad.

“Weeeell…” he stage-whispered into the phone, enthusiastic, but clearly not wanting anyone else to hear, “the height is exactly the optimal distance to take advantage of the length of your legs…”

“Wha? My legs…?”

“Blimey, Rose! This is not a good time. I’m not able to control this stupid body the way I… erm… weeell…” His tone became clipped, irritable. “I need to be focussed for this presentation.”

“Oh, never mind.” Though Rose’s curiosity had been piqued by his cryptic comments and the urgency in his voice, she knew he was on a tight schedule. “You better go give that presentation. Go on, then. Love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you, too.”

It was only once she was in her bed, half asleep, with her thoughts restless and drifting, that she realized exactly what the Doctor wanted that desk for… She was suddenly wide awake, the whispers of a plan forming in her mind.

 --ooOoo--

Rose had spent the better part of the night ordering the things she needed to set her plan in motion. The online shop guaranteed next-day delivery and she hoped everything would be there when she arrived home from work. If she managed to slip away for the afternoon (without Pete finding out) as she’d planned, she would be able to message the Doctor just before his lunch… perfect!

She was relieved to have been able to escape the confines of her office with no one noticing, except Donna, the administrative assistant who, being every bit as brilliant as her Prime Universe counterpart, noticed everything. But she had just winked at Rose and signalled with a swipe of her thumb and pointer finger that her lips were sealed.

Rose’s excitement grew when she arrived home to find several large packages waiting for her in the hallway by the door of her flat, kindly left there by the landlady. Rose beamed, her heart pounding as she bustled into the flat, hurrying to get everything set in motion before she chickened out. She had never done anything quite as bold as this before – at least in terms of trying to seduce someone – and she rather hoped the Doctor would be… receptive. Considering he had seemingly procured the desk for a very specific (erotic) purpose, she figured he would be.

An hour later, she was turning up the heating against the chill of the wintery air. Her new outfit was not exactly intended to keep her warm. To be honest, she didn’t think she’d ever worn anything so barely-there (and glittery) before. She flushed, looking at herself in the mirror. It was a bit generous calling it an outfit at all. It was really just strategically placed jewelry.

It was a Samba ensemble, made of thin strips of pink, yellow, and clear crystals. The bra was a halter design, with clusters of gems dripping in simple floral patterns from her throat to just above her breasts. A single, large sparkling clear crystal shone between her breasts, supporting a band of smaller clear crystals that curved below them. Her nipples were (only just) covered with bright pink and yellow crystal flowers. She turned around to look at herself from the back. Her bum was essentially bare, the lower part of her outfit, a thong, impossibly skimpier than the bra and crafted of more of the glittery crystals. Matching wrist and shin cuffs adorned her limbs. Not for the first time that afternoon, she thanked the stars for her Torchwood training and active lifestyle for keeping her fit and trim.

After applying her most alluring make-up, she was ready for the final piece of the puzzle. With shaking hands, she positioned the headdress over her hair. It was heavy, heavier than she’d expected, encrusted with crystals over her forehead and in a band around her head. A pink and yellow fountain of ridiculous, great, feathery plumes erupted from the top.

Rose laughed at her image in the mirror. Ridiculous didn’t begin to cover it: it was completely daft. But the Doctor would love it… or so she hoped.

She made her way to his study where she had set up cameras to take photos of herself using a remote control. Her first pose had her facing the camera, one stilettoed foot hitched up on the desk, and her opposite hand touching her sex through the thin fabric of her bejewelled knickers. She made a point of allowing her tongue to poke out at the corner of her smile. That always drove the Doctor mental.

For her next pose she leaned over the desk, her bare bum inviting the Doctor to take her from behind, as she looked suggestively over her shoulder at the camera. She elected to forgo the third pose she had planned. She’d had to stop her headdress from toppling off several times during the second pose and was feeling rather hot and bothered… and not in a sexy way.

Regardless of the headdress mishaps, she was able to select an image she liked from both sets of photos and upload them to her mobile.

So, you like Samba, do ya? she texted the Doctor, along with the two photos. Meet me for lunch… video chat. I’ll show you my moves.  

If she’d worked out the timing right, he should be receiving the messages about ten minutes before he usually stopped for lunch. She intended to make sure there would only ever be one Samba dancer in his future. Her.

She giggled nervously. She really hoped he would take the bait.

She didn’t have to wait long. Her phone vibrated on the desk. She laughed at the Doctor’s message: Blimey! Don’t move! I’ll be there in five minutes. Meeting adjourned!

He’d taken the bait all right – hook, line, and sinker!

Now for the really challenging part: video phone sex. She’d never done anything like that before. She hoped she could pull it off.

 Rose scrambled to set up her mobile on the apparatus she’d purchased, just for this purpose, at the same time as she’d bought her Samba costume. She took a few quick test shots of herself, perched on the edge of the desk with her leg hitched up the way it had been for the first of the photos she had sent the Doctor a few minutes earlier. It took a few rushed and panicked adjustments, but she eventually got the angles just right to ensure the Doctor would get an eyeful!

She was just situating herself on the desk with her leg up again when her phone pinged with the Doctor’s incoming call on video chat. Her tummy was in knots with equal parts anticipation and mortification. Her fingers shaking, she depressed the button on the remote control she’d programmed to her phone and accepted his call.

The Doctor’s eager, bewildered face filled the entire screen, his eyebrows rising into his hairline at the image before him. “Fuuuuuuck…”

He was swearing, a sure sign she’d gotten his attention in the best possible way. There was only one time he ever swore (well, mostly) and that was during sex. Rose smirked as he reflexively licked his lips, boosting her confidence even more. Her voice still trembled, though. “Like what you see, Doctor?”

His hand ruffled his hair. (Rose was jealous of that hand.) “Weeell, I mean… yes! Of course, I do! Blimey! What’s not to love?” Two hands ran through his hair this time.

“B-better… better than the Samba dancers from lunchtime yesterday?” Rose pressed her lips together, and dropped her leg from it’s provocative pose, and she slid off the desk, suddenly uncertain again and feeling vulnerable, both craving and dreading his response.

The dazed shock on his face softened, full of sincerity and love. “The only person I’ll ever want to dance with, Rose Tyler, is you.”

“I feel so… stupid… doing this.”

“NO! No, no, no, no! This is perfect. Brilliant!”

“I don’t know what I’m doin’…”

For several anxious moments, they watched each other in silence. Then, suddenly, the Doctor spoke, his voice husky and low: “Oh, Rose, I wish I could touch you. I wish I could lean you over that desk, take you from behind, and fuck you senseless.”

Rose released a tense breath. He seemed to be taking the lead, putting that unstoppable gob of his to good use.

“But first, first I’d love to have you like this, facing me. I’d spread your legs and–”

“Like this?” Now that she was relaxing, Rose found herself quite eager to play her part. Holding her headdress in place, she hopped up on the edge of the desk again, leaning back on her hands, her legs splayed.

“Yes, just like that! Beautiful! You’re fucking gorgeous!”

Rose bit her lip, her breath hitching as a flood of warmth pooled low in her abdomen. Blimey, she loved when he talked dirty.

“I’d kneel down before you, goddess that you are, and pull aside those skimpy knickers and bury my face between your thighs.”

“Like this?” she repeated, drawing the soaking strip of fabric to one side, exposing her dripping core to the Doctor.

“Oh, you’re so wet, Rose. I just want to taste you.”

“Guuuuuuuhhh… yeah! Love your mouth on me.”  

“Oh, yes! I’d dip my tongue inside you, savour the taste of you (you taste so good, Rose!), and lick you all the way up to your clit. Fuck, you’re perfect,” he blurted as Rose used her finger to simulate the actions he described.

She sighed at the sensation, closing her eyes, wishing it was his tongue lapping along her aching slit, twirling around her clit.

“Oh Rose, my Rose… I’d stroke that lovely clit of yours with my tongue, up and around, up and around…”

Rose groaned out her pleasure, her fingers dancing over her damp sex. “God, Doctor, I love it when you fuck me with your tongue. Please,” she begged, looking him in the eyes, “I want to see you. I want to touch you too. I want my hands on your gorgeous, thick cock.”

“Fuuuuck, Rose! Wait! Just give me a moment.” His face disappeared from the phone. “Keep going!” his voice called from the background. “I’m still here, licking you, sucking you.” There was a loud clattering noise, and the image on the screen spun around. And then Doctor appeared again, from further away wearing only an oxford. His cock, long and hard, bobbed up against the fabric, leaving a wet stain on the front of the shirt. “There. I’ve propped my mobile up. Can you see me, love?”

“Yeah. ‘S good. So good!”

“Are you still touching yourself?”

“Yeah.” Rose’s eyes rolled back as she pressed down on her clit.

“So I see,” he moaned. “Oh, love…”

“I want you inside me, Doctor. I want to feel you fill me.”

Rose watched with a hooded gaze as he wrapped his hand around his cock. “Oh, I want that too. I want to feel you so hot and tight around me. Nothing feels better than that.” His hand stroked down, then up, with a twist at the top. “You’re so soft and wet…” down again, “and so fucking…” up and twist, “tight!”

At the same time, Rose plunged two fingers inside herself, finding that oh-so sensitive sweet spot, as she continued to work her clit with her thumb. She moved her fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of his stroking hand, the jewels around her breasts chafing her nipples with delicious friction as she moved. She added a third finger, stretching herself wide. “Oh, you’re so thick and hard… I love how you fill me. You feel so good!”

“Fuck, Rose… so do you. You look so fucking sexy.” His hand began to stroke faster. Rose watched, mesmerized, as the dark, throbbing tip of his cock disappeared and reappeared from the circle of his fist. “Are you getting close?” His voice was tight, strained.

Rose continued to work herself, thighs trembling, slick, wet sounds accompanying her lusty groans. “So close…” she whimpered, feeling the familiar heat burning in her core, the pressure building. Her head lolled back… and suddenly she yelped as her headdress tumbled to the floor behind the desk. “Oh no! No!” Her hand stopped moving as despair welled up inside her.

“Rose! Don’t stop. Keep going.”

She wailed, “It’s no use.”

“You’re so beautiful, my precious girl. Oh, let me touch you more. Let me feel how warm and wet you are… I want to fuck you forever and never stop.”

Rose watched him on the small screen of her phone looking so wonderfully earnest, his cock in his hand, still hard, glistening with pre-come. He was bloody hot, and he was hers. The shock of losing her headdress was forgotten in a fresh rush of desire, and another flood of arousal, warm and slick, coated her fingers. “Touch me, Doctor,” she breathed, her thumb renewing its caresses over her clit.

“Oh, yes love… I want to run my fingers over your body; run my hands up your thighs and deep inside you. I love the sounds you make when I stroke you…”

“Please,” she whimpered, arching into the pressure of her thumb on her responsive skin.

“Let me fill you again…”

“Yes!” She watched, in awe, as his hand slowly resumed its motions – up, down, twist – over his long, hard member, and her fingers began their pumping motions again, curling and rubbing against her sweet spot rebuilding her sense of urgency with every stroke.

They were soon lost in their passion, both keening and groaning in a haze of lust and need. The fire within Rose burned hot again, deep in her sex, as she rolled her body over her fingers. The Doctor’s hand increased its speed once more. He was getting close, she could tell, he looked so wonderful and dishevelled, and his cock pulsed with every stroke of his hand. “Doctor!” she cried out. “I’m… I’m… gonna…”

“Hnnnngghhh…” he groaned. “Come for me. Let me see you come!”

Rose’s body vibrated with the need for release, her hand frantically pumping, her thumb pressing down, circling her clit, the heat and pressure building within her… and then, the Doctor shouted. Mesmerized, she watched as his seed spurted in ribbons from him, coating the front of his shirt, drizzling over his hand. The look of ecstasy on his face was enough to bring her over too. Her sex throbbed, grasping around her pumping fingers as she arched off the desk, the burning pressure in her core suddenly exploding outward, engulfing her.

 --ooOoo--

“Well, I need to get out of this ridiculous get-up,” Rose chuckled, pushing herself up to a sitting position. She had made her way back to the bedroom and lain down on the bed, while the Doctor lay on the bed in his hotel room. They had stayed that way for many wonderful minutes, gazing into each other’s eyes and talking quietly as they came down from the high of their orgasms.

The Doctor pouted. “And I suppose I need to get back to my meeting. They’ll all have finished their lunches.”

“Oh my God! You didn’t get to eat! Sorry. I guess I should have timed this better…”

“What? NO! This was perfect! A brilliant surprise. I feel perfectly satisfied.” He winked and flashed her an impudent grin. “I just can’t wait to take you over that desk in person, and peel that ‘ridiculous get-up’ off you, myself!”

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be there?” Rose bit her lip, clutching her mobile and regarding the Doctor’s image with imploring eyes. Training new teams of Torchwood personnel and operatives could be a time-consuming business and was an open-ended job. She and the Doctor could potentially be separated for several more weeks or…

“Just a few more days.”

“Really? You’re not jus’ sayin’ that?”

“Rose, (mostly) Time Lord here! If there’s one thing I know about, it’s time. Have you ever known me to misjudge…?”

Rose gave him a pointed look.

“Nah, don’t answer that. But honestly, love, we’ve only just started getting this lot familiarized with all the tech, today, but they seem to be a quick study, and a few of their key people will be returning to London with us for a tour and more in-depth, hands-on experience. Then Pete’s going to be relocating some of our more capable people to Rio for a few months to get things up and running properly. So, at most, another week.”

“A week?”

“At most… I promise. Now, as much as I would prefer to spend the day here with you, I have to act the responsible adult (complete rubbish, that!) and get back to my meeting. I’ll see you later, love.”

“Not if I see you first.” She blew him a kiss and offered him a little wave of her fingers before disconnecting their call.

 --ooOoo--

Five days later, she stood, poised sexily (she hoped) in the doorway of the Doctor’s study, wearing the Samba outfit, minus the ridiculous headdress (it would just get in the way), and watching as the Doctor pushed his way through the door of their flat. Her heart thrummed at the sight of him.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called out cheekily, making her laugh out loud.

“Right here… erm… Sugarbear,” she droned, her voice as sultry as she could make it through her giggles.

“Sugarbear? Really, Rose,” the Doctor closed the door behind him, “of all the names you could…” As he turned and took a step into the flat, his gaze locked onto her, eyes darkening as they roved over her bejewelled body. “Blimey… now this, this is a proper welcome home!” He dropped his bags and coat, leaving them behind, forgotten, as he strode toward her across the room, loosening his belt along the way.

Rose shuddered at the sight. Bloody hell, he was fucking gorgeous. And he was here. Home. With her. Her Doctor.

“You. Inside. Now,” he commanded, his hands settling over the bare skin of her waist, guiding her backwards into his study with firm pressure. Rose’s core ached in anticipation, a yearning heat coursing through her. His lips crashed against hers as they staggered further into the room, the kiss equal parts demanding and desperate, and Rose was sure she had never felt so desired, so loved.

When her bum hit the desk, she gasped, and suddenly, all the emotion she had been suppressing over the last few months surged to the surface: guilt and remorse, loneliness and jealousy, all whirling together in a maelstrom of unfettered passion, love, and vulnerability brought on by the Doctor’s assertive touch. The tears she had been holding back gushed over her cheeks.

“Rose? Love?” The Doctor broke the kiss, looking down at her with concerned eyes. “What’s wrong? Is this not all right? Was I too… weeell, enthusiastic?”

“No, oh my God, no,” she wept. “It’s… it’s perfect… Better than. I jus’… I jus’… I missed you… I didn’t realize jus’ how much…”.

In one swift movement, he swept his hands behind her legs and lifted her to perch on the edge of the desk. Then, spreading her thighs, he stepped between them and tipped her chin up for another marvelous snog, still passionate, but this time it was a sweet and tender, unhurried sort of passion. Rose melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him against her body and breathing in the comfort of his scent. They eventually drew away from the kiss with gentle pecks and nibbles.

They pressed their foreheads together, and panting softly, Rose spoke into the space between them, “Sorry, I’ve gone and ruined all this,” she gestured to the desk.

“Nah, don’t be silly.” He dabbed the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Besides, I have a bit of news too. Might as well get it over with.” He sighed dramatically and pulled slightly away from her to fish in his jacket pocket. He pulled out an official-looking Torchwood envelope that he tossed down on the desk beside her.

“W’at’s this?”

“My new marching orders, I’m afraid. I leave in two days.”

“Two days,” she sobbed. “But you jus’ got home and–”.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she dragged a hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “God, I sound so needy and selfish… but I just missed you.”

“And I suppose, the fact that I was in Rio,” he smirked at her, his left eyebrow arched, “had nothing to do with it?”

“Oh, that just made me miss you even more, but I admit, I was a bit… envious.” She chuckled, leaning back to look him in the eye. “But you know that stuff doesn’t really matter, yeah, all the travelling? Never did. Just that we’re together. That’s what’s important.”

“Oh, I know,” he reassured her with a kiss on the forehead. “And you know I feel the same... don’t you?”

She nodded, placing her palm over his single, human heart. “Yeah, ‘course I do.” 

“And that’s why, Rose Tyler,” his deadpan expression transformed into a brilliant smile, “I’m happy to announce that your assignment is in that envelope too. This time, you’re coming with me.” He beamed at her, waggling his eyebrows and looking very pleased with himself.

She gawped. “But… wait. What?”

“That is, if you think you can be ready to go on such short notice.”

“You wanker!” She swatted his shoulder. “Of course, I’ll be ready!”

He giggled. “But, really, I mean… if it’s too much trouble, I could always just go back to Rio on my own, I suppose.”

There was a long silence as Rose processed what he had said. When she finally found her voice, the words tumbled from her mouth: “Shut up! No way! Rio? RIO?”

“Yu-p!” He grinned. “We’re the experts Pete’s going to send over for a couple of months to make sure everything’s up and running properly. He said he only wants to send the best, and weeeell… I mean look at us. The choice is obvious.”

“I don’t believe it. There must be a catch.”

“No-pe!” He popped his “p” again. “He wants to make sure the Brazilians get everything exactly right. And the best part is, we’ll be there for Carnival. It’s just a few weeks off.”

“What? Carnival? Really?”

“Yes-siree, Rose Tyler! You can even wear this outfit again, in an official capacity this time, of course, complete with headdress. And ooooh, we’ll bring the baby TARDIS along, too. She’ll love a change of scenery!”

“I still don’t believe Pete would just… Nah, you must ‘ave said somethin’ to ‘im, yeah? Not that I’m complainin’. It’s just he’s been so… lecture-y lately.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been a right misery. And now this sudden change of heart…?”

“Weeell, I admit,” he pulled on his right ear, “I was all ready to go in today, guns-a-blazing, to try to convince him that enough was enough, but believe it or not, he had already made up his mind. He gave me the news during my debriefing this afternoon. By the way, you’re to meet with him tomorrow–”

“Urrrghh, that’ll be fun…”

“–to go over… erm some… stipulations, but essentially, it’s all set. Said he thought your diplomatic skills would be hugely beneficial over there. Personally,” he flashed her a cheeky grin, “I think he was just getting sick of your constant moaning.”

“Oi, Mister!” She feigned offence. “Is that so? Watch out! I’ll give you constant moaning!” She grabbed his tie and dragged him toward her for another impassioned kiss, then reached between them to fondle him through the fabric of his trousers. As she sucked and nibbled along his jawline, tracing her fingers up and down his growing length, a strangled sound tore from his throat.

She smirked. “Now, there’s the moaning…”

“Stop!” He grabbed her hand, his eyes blazing into hers, and she quivered in response, the hot rush of renewed arousal pooling between her legs. “No more teasing. Brilliant as the video-chat sex was, I’ve had enough of foreplay and imagining over the last few days to last me a lifetime. I am going to take you right here, right now, against this desk, and fuck you so hard you see stars.” He scrabbled at his trousers and boxers, pushing them down over his slim hips. Looking utterly debauched, with his suit jacket, oxford, and tie dishevelled but still in place, he took his thick, throbbing member in hand and gave it a few hard pumps. “You ready?”

“Am I ready? Fuck! I’ve been ready for days. Could hardly think of anything else.” She licked her lips as she took in the sight of his impressive length. “My fingers are no substitute for that.”

With an impatient growl, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the desk. Then he spun her around and pressed in behind her, rutting against her bum. “This all right?”

“God, yes!” she sputtered, the ache of desire burgeoning inside her as he encouraged her to lean forward over the desk, applying a steady pressure to her back, until her breasts pressed against the surface, making the jewels of her outfit rasp over her taught nipples.

With a nudge from his foot, he prompted her to spread her legs, opening her to him. “Oh, yes,” he groaned, “the optimal distance, indeed!” Rose shuddered as his slender finger stroked over the sodden strip of fabric covering her sex and she arched into the contact with wanton abandon.

No further invitation required, he yanked the fabric aside and plunged into her welcoming depths.

She saw not only the stars he’d promised: entire constellations burst before her eyes.

[theonyxpath]

Kind of a hold-over from last week’s talk about Justin Achilli, this week we start with one of the quotes from Tombstone that JA and I would lob at each other over the years – and check out this week’s Reason To Celebrate for why the movie comes to mind.

They’ve mentioned that Justin is the final member of the WoD team at Paradox, even if he may be pretty much still stuck here because of Covid-19, and if you want to, you can learn more about the person pulled into the WoD team before Justin by checking out this coming Friday’s Onyx Pathcast interview with Outstar, the WoD Brand Community Manager!

How Lewd.

Another daisy has been Jon Hodgson and his extremely talented crew at Handmade Games, who we’ve worked with on many pieces of art and on the creation of the newest Creature Collection for Scarred Lands. They ran the Kickstarter, as well, and did a fantastic job with the project!

Now that the Creature Collection is at our traditional printer – where we had to send it because our more expansive plans for printing and shipping in Europe were torpedoed by Covid-19 (I feel like there’s an underlying theme here) – Jon and team have handed off the project to us in its entirety to fulfill it and get the book into stores.

With that, we’re also making the PDF and the PoD versions available this week on DriveThru. So if you prefer to get a gorgeous collection of monsters usable for any 5e gaming, this is your week.

Contagion Chronicle art by Luis Sanz

I’m In My Prime!

Talking about ways we’re all getting through this pandemic, let’s start with quite the difference in our industry with GenCon going online and not live in Indianapolis. First time in something like 40+ years, at least, that there’s no physical con. But like ourselves, the GenCon crew have decided to run an online version filled with gaming and panels and interviews and all sorts of stuff.

Fresh from our more us-focused Onyx Path Virtual Gaming Convention last month, we are still representing at GenCon Online with a What’s Up With the Onyx Path? panel, as well as a bunch of our games. Check out details and links below in the Conventions section, and check out last week’s Onyx Pathcast, for the Terrific Trio’s talk about online gaming and more thoughts about our online con.

Lunars art by Gong Stysi

Keeping up our efforts to keep in closer contact with our developers during this time of isolation, we had another pair of Developer Town Halls last week, which seemed to go very well.

One thing that came up, which we are very aware of, is how hard it is to stay aware of the passage of time these days. Obviously, that has huuuuge impact on the projects folks are working on, as so much of freelance creation depends on creating a certain amount of X (X being words, or pages, or pieces of art, or whatever you’re creating) a day and a week and a month.

Luckily for all, Eddy Webb has spent over a decade exploring time-management techniques and processes, and while he has always been helpful for our creators on an ad hoc basis, he’s now going to run a developer work processes workshop for our devs instead of a Town Hall next month.

Our hope is that we can use this workshop to present a lot of tools and methods to heighten everyone’s ability to focus longer, faster, better.

And I almost lost my focus right there. I was just about to write “…focus longer, faster, better on our: Many Worlds, One Path!”. But I still have one more thing to mention!

More details in the Kickstarter section below, but I do want to announce that we’re going to start the Kickstarter for They Came From Beyond the Grave!, the second of the They Came From…! games, next week on Tuesday the 21st!

Phew! Glad I managed to get that mention in, and I’m expecting to go into a bunch more next week about the Hammer/Roger Corman Films genre of horror movies and why we’re very excited to be able to emulate that genre with Grave!. For an idea of how it plays, here’s the game we played at our online convention:

One more world to add to our:

Many Worlds, One Path!

Blurbs!

Kickstarter!

Next Up On Kickstarter: They Came From Beyond the Grave!

Next week on Tuesday the 21st at 2pm EDT, if we can pull it together! And keep your eyes open for:

Onyx Path Media!

This week: a fantastic interview with Outstar aka Martyna: Paradox‘s new World of Darkness Brand Community Developer, who’s renowned for her World of Darkness lore videos, and who also has a history in the video game industry, having worked on games like The Witcher 3!

As always, this Friday’s Onyx Pathcast will be on Podbean or your favorite podcast venue! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

It’s an exciting time for the Twitch channel, as ahead of the Kickstarter, Vorpal Tales commence their They Came from Beyond the Grave! actual play!

This week on Twitch, expect to see:

V5 – Chicago by Night

They Came from Beyond the Grave!

Changeling: The Dreaming – The Last Faerie Tale

Mage: The Awakening – Occultists Anonymous

Scarred Lands – Purge of the Serpentholds

Chronicles of Darkness: Tooth & Claw

Deviant: The Renegades – A Cautionary Tale

Get watching for some fantastic insight into how to run these wonderful games and subscribe to us on Twitch, over at twitch.tv/theonyxpath

Come take a look at our YouTube channel, youtube.com/user/theonyxpath, where you can find a whole load of videos of actual plays, dissections of our games, and more, including:

Onyx Path News Live: https://youtu.be/5UHRO66VKi4

#OnyxPathCon | Onyx Pathcast Live [Panel]:https://youtu.be/XxNvUPUtC1o

#OnyxPathCon | Learn the Storypath System [Panel]:https://youtu.be/YOr-WIe4nuA

#OnyxPathCon | They Came from Beyond the Grave! Actual Play: https://youtu.be/qLEFXntIa3g

Changeling: The Lost – Littlebrook Reunion: https://youtu.be/aEVm_G1Dhzo

Subscribe to our channel and click the bell icon if you want to be notified whenever new news videos and uploads come online!

Occultists Anonymous continue their excellent Mage: The Awakening chronicle:

Episode 112: Buffs & Bluffs The cabal make preparations for two meetings, one with “Heidi” a leader of the Mammon Ministry, and “Tilly” who has been making threats on behalf of Mammon. Then, of course, come the meetings themselves… https://youtu.be/-rh4zUVwu4I

Episode 113: The Mammon Treatise Discussions continue with Tilly and the cabal, a Lictor is called forth to try to make the deal official in the Consilium’s Lex Magica. https://youtu.be/_MqJP2gXQUQ

Systematic Understanding of Everything is a new Exalted Explainer Podcast by Exalted Dev Monica Speca and Exalted Writer Chazz Kellner that is breaking down Creation in 45 minute chunks in preparation for Exalted Essence.

Their most recent episode in on Creation and its history – https://anchor.fm/exaltcast/episodes/Trackless-Region-Navigation—What-is-Creation-eg2g9d

Get past episodes at http://www.exaltcast.com/

The Gamers Table is on board for a Promethean: The Created chronicle right here: https://anchor.fm/gamerstable/episodes/Polyabhorrent-Episode-4—Promethean-the-Created-Actual-Play-egeuvo/a-a2l9s6e Please give them your support!

Our very own Chris Allen runs a fantastic opening session of Werewolf: The Forsaken here and on Twitch: https://youtu.be/XTaTf7sxnLk Not too many eyeballs were lost!

They’re not alone with their Werewolf: The Forsaken actual play, as Dork Tales on Twitch is playing a chronicle of the same game! https://www.twitch.tv/dorktales

Our friends over at Near Dark Studios have just concluded their second season of V5 Chicago by Night, and you can find the entire playlist right here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLhENuwZpsO7HXSuQ26MvX5uP-xqbYAwGG

Apparently it’s a week for Werewolf: The Forsaken, as Paleo Games is running their chronicle of doomed Uratha over here on Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/paleo_gaming

Last one! Our good buddies at Vorpal Tales recently concluded their superb actual play of They Came from Beneath the Sea!, which you can find here on YouTube in full playlist form. Enjoy! https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9fUj4KdqE4Ayzfw1vrDtFY81E0uaNT2K

Please check these out and let us know if you find or produce any actual plays of our games! We’d love to feature you!

Electronic Gaming!

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is awesome! (Seriously, you need to roll 100 dice for Exalted? This app has you covered.)

We’re told that the App Dev is currently creating an updated version for the latest devices, so keep an eye open for those!

On Amazon and Barnes & Noble!

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue from which you bought it. Reviews really, really help us get folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these latest fiction books:

Our Sales Partners!

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire and Monarchies of Mau out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there! https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

We’ve added Prince’s Gambit to our Studio2 catalog: https://studio2publishing.com/products/prince-s-gambit-card-game

Now, we’ve added Changeling: The Lost Second Edition products to Studio2‘s store! See them here: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/all-products/changeling-the-lost

Scion 2e books and other products are available now at Studio2: https://studio2publishing.com/blogs/new-releases/scion-second-edition-book-one-origin-now-available-at-your-local-retailer-or-online

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

And you can order Pugmire, Monarchies of Mau, Cavaliers of Mars, and Changeling: The Lost 2e at the same link! And now Scion Origin and Scion Hero and Trinity Continuum Core and Trinity Continuum: Aeon are available to order!

As always, you can find Onyx Path’s titles at DriveThruRPG.com!

On Sale This Week!

This Wednesday, we uncage the Creature Collection for 5e Scarred Lands in PDF and PoD versions, both on DTRPG!

Conventions!

Though dates for physical conventions are subject to change due to the current COVID-19 outbreak, here’s what’s left of our current list of upcoming conventions (and really, we’re just waiting for this last one to be cancelled even though it’s Nov/Dec). Instead, keep an eye out here for more virtual conventions we’re going to be involved with:

PAX Unplugged: https://unplugged.paxsite.com/

Keep an eye out for our games being run at the online version of GenCon at the end of the month, as well as our What’s Up With the Onyx Path? panel currently slated for 1pm, Thursday July 30th!

https://www.gencon.com/online/

And now, the new project status updates!

Development Status from Eddy Webb! (Projects in bold have changed status since last week.):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep.)

Exalted Essay Collection (Exalted)

Adversaries of the Righteous (Exalted 3rd Edition)

The Devoted Companion (Deviant: The Renegades)

Saints and Monsters (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Anima

M20 Technocracy Operative’s Dossier (Mage: The Ascension 20th Anniversary)

Squeaks In The Deep (Realms of Pugmire)

Prometheus Unbound (was Psi Orders) (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Redlines

Dragon-Blooded Novella #2 (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Hundred Devil’s Night Parade (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Novas Worldwide (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Exalted Essence Edition (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Wild Hunt (Scion 2nd Edition)

CtL 2e Novella Collection: Hollow Courts (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

Second Draft

Many-Faced Strangers – Lunars Companion (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Contagion Chronicle Ready-Made Characters (Chronicles of Darkness)

Trinity Continuum: Adventure! core (Trinity Continuum: Adventure!)

Dead Man’s Rust (Scarred Lands)

The Clades Companion (Deviant: The Renegades)

V5 Forbidden Religions (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

M20 Rich Bastard’s Guide To Magick (Mage: The Ascension 20th Anniversary)

V5 Children of the Blood (was The Faithful Undead) (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Dystopia Rising: Evolution Fiction Anthology (Dystopia Rising: Evolution)

Development

TC: Aberrant Reference Screen (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Across the Eight Directions (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Contagion Chronicle: Global Outbreaks (Chronicles of Darkness)

Exigents (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Assassins (Trinity Continuum Core)

V5 Trails of Ash and Bone (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Kith and Kin (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

Mission Statements (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Manuscript Approval

Crucible of Legends (Exalted 3rd Edition)

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Under Alien Skies (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Post-Approval Development

Editing

Lunars Novella (Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)

Player’s Guide to the Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Contagion Chronicle Jumpstart (Chronicles of Darkness)

TC: Aberrant Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Trinity Continuum Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum)

LARP Rules (Scion 2nd Edition)

Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

The Book of Lasting Death (Mummy: The Curse 2e)

They Came From Beyond the Grave! (They Came From!)

Scion: Dragon (Scion 2nd Edition)

Scion: Demigod (Scion 2nd Edition)

Dearly Bleak – Novella (Deviant: The Renegades)

N!ternational Wrestling Entertainment (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Post-Editing Development

City of the Towered Tombs (Cavaliers of Mars)

W20 Shattered Dreams Gift Cards (Werewolf: The Apocalypse 20th)

Cults of the Blood Gods (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Hunter: The Vigil 2e core (Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Monsters of the Deep (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Legendlore core book (Legendlore)

Pirates of Pugmire KS-Added Adventure (Realms of Pugmire)

Tales of Aquatic Terror (They Came From Beneath the Sea!)

Terra Firma (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

One Foot in the Grave Jumpstart (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2e)

Masks of the Mythos (Scion 2nd Edition)

Indexing

Lunars: Fangs At The Gate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Art Direction from Mike Chaney!

In Art Direction

Tales of Aquatic Terror – Off to LeBlanc.

WoD Ghost Hunters (KS) – KS prep also wrapped up.

Aberrant – AD’d. Meredith is helping with keeping track of all the artists.

Hunter: The Vigil 2e

Mummy 2

Deviant

Legendlore

Technocracy Reloaded (KS)

Cults of the Blood God – Rolling along.

Scion: Dragon (KS)

Masks of the Mythos (KS) – Getting the cover art going, interior pieces are coming in.

Scion: Demigod (KS) – KS art in progress.

They Came From Beyond the Grave! (KS) – Prepping KS assets.

TC: Adventure! (KS) – Shen Fei cover art finished by end of the month.

Geist: One Foot In the Grave – AD’d, art is rolling.

In Layout

Yugman’s Guide to Ghelspad

Vigil Watch

TC Aeon Terra Firma

V5 Let the Streets Run Red – continued working it.

Pugmire Adventure – small project, knocking the layout together.

Scion Titanomachy

Lunars Screen and Booklet

Contagion Chronicle Screen and Booklet

Proofing

Trinity Aeon Jumpstart – Errata input prep.

Lunars: Fangs at the Gate – Editing.

Contagion Chronicle – Errata input and press prep.

Cavaliers of Mars: City of the Towered Tombs

Magic Item Decks (Scarred Lands)

Yugman’s Guide Support Decks (Scarred Lands)

Dark Eras 2 Screen and booklet

Scion Companion – PoD proofs ordered.

At Press

TCFBTS Heroic Land Dwellers – PoD proof ordered.

TCFBTS Screen and Booklet – Files at press.

They Came from Beneath the Sea! – Press proofs signed off on, PoD proofs ordered.

Creature Collection 5e – PDF and PoD versions on sale on Wednesday.

Pirates of Pugmire – Files at press. PoD proofs ordered.

Pirates of Pugmire Screen – Files at press.

Pugmire Buried Bones – PoD proof ordered.

Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition Dark Eras Compilation – Uploaded PoD file.

Today’s Reason to Celebrate!

Considered to be the day in 1882 that Johnny Ringo died, gunslinger, and model for many versions of this kind of gaming character: “A man like Ringo has got a great big hole, right in the middle of him. He can never kill enough, or steal enough, or inflict enough pain to ever fill it.” Of course, he was never a daisy.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 01

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, future angst, future smut

; Word Count: 2.8k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh...incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This is going to be a drabble series. It’s not planned out, it has no planning. It will be written as and when I get the inspiration for it. The Flower app is inspired by the Bumble app in which women make the first move on it. This is just purely something to try and get me back into enjoying writing again so...please show it and me some love because I already love this Hoseok? I haven’t proof read lol

Flower Masterpost

“Okay...okay. Let’s do this...you can do this. It’s easy. Just...download the app and go. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Well you could get murdered. That would suck. But it would resolve a lot of issues I guess. On the other hand...I could meet the love of my life. I mean...is that likely?” The soft sounds of your muttering are probably barely heard over the soft playing music through the speakers connected to your television, YouTube playing mindlessly to itself on the screen.

Your focus though, is solely on the phone in your hand. Soyeon, your best friend, had been bugging you to join some online dating sites for a while and it had only gotten worse when your other friend Chungha told her that she fully agreed with her. Part of you felt cornered by them both but another part of you understood them.

They were just looking out for you. You were naturally quiet and shy, introverted and preferring to remain inside or on the sides if you were dragged to a party. An inability to engage in small talk meant that that you struggled to make conversation with people as well. That all resulted in a small circle of friends who understood you well but that was it, everyone else was merely acquaintances who would hang out with you simply because they were friends with your friends.

As such, it meant that you struggled with dating. And by that, you mean that you hadn’t been in a relationship for a long time. Nor could you do flings like some of your friends did, the very thought filled you with anxiety.

This was why they had suggested trying online dating, because you’d lamented to them about how lonely you’d started to feel. You were still relatively young, and you knew that relationships weren’t the be all and end all. But when you haven’t dated since college, it starts to feel like no one is interested in you at all. And that was a hard feeling to take in.

You wanted to be like your friends. To have someone to talk to about things without feeling embarrassed, someone who would enjoy being in your company and actively seek you out, someone to be intimate with. Someone to fall in love with. It sounded cheesy and stupid but both Soyeon and Chungha had taken your concerns to heart.

They’d asked if you wanted to be set up on blind dates but the very idea of that made you lose your breath with anxiety, the fear of failure or judgement from someone who has never met you before overwhelming. So Soyeon had suggested online dating and now here you were, curled up on your couch on a Saturday night, a glass of water on the side because you don’t like alcohol and the app store open to dating apps.

“Tinder...isn’t that just for hookups?” You murmur, frowning as you look at some of the reviews. There were probably people who had managed to get lasting relationships on Tinder, but the idea of having random people actively deciding whether or not you were worth trying simply from a photo or something was horrible. Not that you had any idea how it actually worked, but still…

A few other apps look to be the more traditional online dating route and you consider whether to download one of them. But then you see an app that attracts your attention, a small soft pink and orange logo with the outline of a white flower in it. The title is simply ‘Flower’ and you take click on it to read the description.

‘Find the perfect partner and watch love or friendship bloom like a flower! 

The Flower app asks you to set up a profile by asking you a series of questions to determine your interests and personality. We then set you up with a series of people we consider to be a good match and give you the opportunity to initiate a conversation!

Here at Flower, we want to make sure that dating is fun and most importantly, equal. As such, we allow women to be the one to initiate contact with their matches. This means that if you’re looking for a same sex relationship, then you can both reach out. The same goes if you don’t identify as female or male. If you’re looking for a heterosexual relationship, then you can reach out to your match and he can decide whether he wants to respond. 

We don’t tolerate any form of hate speech or intolerance and will respond with quick action against this. At Flower, we promote inclusivity, diversity and tolerance. We want the world to grow and bloom with love, one relationship at a time!’

The reviews for the app seemed to back up their description and you felt curious. An impulse takes over and you download it, tongue sticking out as you wait before loading it up once it’s done. The interface is clean and take a moment to chew your lip before clicking the sign up button.

Everything seems to be rudimentary at first, asking for your age and location, name and occupation. But then it starts to ask some other questions. Your favourite film genres, a list of favourite films, your favourite books, where you’d like to go on vacation, favourite music and songs and so much more. Some of it felt bizarre, like would you rather eat chicken or beef? Would you rather drive an Audi or a Ford?

You presumed it all had a reason though, and after what felt like five minutes of answering questions, you finally had a profile. Flicking through the gallery on your phone, you found a picture that you felt was flattering while still showing your personality. It’s from a few months ago and was taken with a Polaroid camera, giving it that distinctive filter that always seemed to be flattering everyone.

You were giving a small smile, eyes looking to the left of the camera while your chin was in your hand. Nose wrinkled slightly, a soft and fluffy white cream sweater covers you while a cherry blossom scarf is wrapped elegantly round your neck. And on top of all that...a bright yellow Pikachu hat sits on top of your head.

It had been your birthday and the girls had managed to coax you out for dinner before presenting you with a bunch of presents. They’d been a random assortment, as usual, but you’d loved it all. A skin care gift set, the Pikachu hat and a Pusheen stationery set. Your colleagues at your admin assistant job had given you the side eye when you’d added yet more cute and strange things to your already colourful and cluttered desk but you’d ignore them.

This picture had been one of the best taken of you recently and you smiled gently as you made it your profile picture. You didn’t like being photographed, constantly convinced that you were unattractive but your friends were convinced otherwise.

Everything looked to be set up and you wondered what you meant to do now, when a sudden notification pops up on the screen with ‘20 Matches Found’. Sudden anxiety makes you feel sick, stomach rolling with nerves as your veins practically fizz as you click on the view more button. These were people who the app had compared your own answers to and considered to be the best matches.

There’s a tiny moment of waiting as a tiny flower in orange and pink blooms and you sigh when it finally clears. The profiles are shown in descending order with those most matched to least. A tiny refresh button in the corner let’s you see that you can refresh your matches if necessary.

Each profile shows their profile image, their name, age and location. Scrolling through them, you note idly that you seem to have got a wide range of people that you had matched with. A 24-year-old swimming instructor named Kim Chaeyoung, a 31-year-old high school English teacher named Seo Jinwoo, a 29-year-old mechanic called Park Jisoo and more.

It was interesting to see the wide range of people that had come back and you perused their profiles carefully, reading the little description they’d written for themselves along with a few answers to questions similar to what you’d had to answer. The app seemed to pull a range range of questions for you read, with each person’s being slightly different.

You supposed it meant that you would need to ask for that information and you found yourself curious about one or two people, pressing the little button that indicated it would bookmark their profile for later viewing. Apparently you had a week to make the first interaction before it would vanish.

Humming lightly, you wondered if anyone would be interested in talking to you? 

Everyone looked so pretty on here and you wondered if you matched up to them. Would they consider you worth their time? Biting your lower lip, you shrug your shoulders and decided you had nothing to lose really. You didn’t know these people in real life and no one would laugh at you for simply reaching out and trying to make a connection.

You come across one profile that makes you pause though, your brow lifting in surprise as you wonder why on earth the app has matched you with this guy. The two of you don’t even look like you come from the same planet, nevermind have enough aligning interests to warrant being in your top 20 matches at the moment.

Clicking on his profile, you read through his basic info question while you purse your lips, making soft noises in your throat.

Jung Hoseok. 28 years old. IT Technician. 

He sounded pretty normal and you wouldn’t even give it a second thought normally, but his appearance did not match the casual job description he had. Maybe you were just being stereotypical here, but most of the IT people in your workplace were of the nerdy looking variety. And you only say that because every one of them wore some form of Rick and Morty or other pop culture shirts.

Which you were fine with, because you enjoyed most of the same things too. But no one looked like this guy.

The reason you were so surprised was because of his profile picture, and despite your earlier thoughts about just sending messages to everyone for the sake of it, you felt a well of anxiety rising again as you looked at him. This guy is quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, the kind of guy that people only think exists when they’re rich and famous.

But he’s also completely unlike you. He’s evidently at some sort of event as he has a bottle of beer in his hand while his other hand is making the metal horns shape. One eye is closed to camera, winking while his tongue is poking out of his mouth on one side, white teeth visible beneath pink lips amidst gold skin. A silver ring pierced his lower lip on the right while a small ball is visible in his tongue.

His hair is jet black, gleaming in the crappy lighting in a messy state that looks slightly wet while his exposed skin has a sheen of sweat on it. A red and black shirt unbuttoned on him, rolled up to his elbows to reveal toned forearms that are completely covered in vibrant and bright colour.

The tattoos make what you presume to be full sleeves on both arms, his left arm appearing to be a swirling galaxyscape with brilliant galaxies, planets, moons and more interwoven with, bizarrely, dragons that are almost transparent. They look beautiful though, and you get an image of space dragons made of fine dust flying through the vast expanse of space as you look at them.

His other arm looks to be a mesh of things together, flames and flowers and skulls and ships. None of it makes any sense to you, but you’re positive it probably means something to him. One of the sleeves expands onto his hand, the one showing the horns and you eye the clock tattoo that takes up the space.

His tattoos look to expand beyond his arms as the black top beneath his shirt gives tantalising glimpses of the black and colour tattoos that obviously sprawl across his chest. Strands creep upwards, almost to his neck and you get the impression of something fiery, the soft wisps of red and orange looking like burning embers on his skin.

This guy...looked like he belonged in a metal band or tattoo shop. And he was...beautiful, way out of your league. 

Which was why you had to have experienced an out of body moment when your finger presses the message button, the screen popping up with an automatic message pre filled out for you.

“Hey, Flower shows that we’re good matches so I’m reaching out to you! If you would like to talk to me, please respond!”

Scowling, you deleted the message, deciding it would be bad manners to just send the template message to someone that you were attracted to. That thought gives you pause, acknowledging that you are in fact attracted to him. He looked like the kind of guy who would take one look at your profile and laugh himself home at the prospect of doing anything with you.

The man clearly thrived on social situations, enough of his profile gave that away and again you wondered why the app matched you together. Maybe he had some secret love of Pokemon or something. Looks could be deceiving, obviously.

And even if you’d never listened to a metal song in your life...you were always open to trying new things. If you were going to open yourself up to the prospect of online dating, then you may as well go fully out of comfort zone.

Swallowing, you carefully type out a short message and spend the next five minutes reading it over as anxiety and fear swirl within you. Indecision causes you to wonder whether you should just delete it all and ignore his profile, going for the safe option of someone who looks like they’d be more accepting of you on your list.

But the allure of something so unlike you pulls you in and you press send, watching the message swoosh away and changing his profile to a soft pink to indicate that you’d initiated contact. Almost immediately you feel sick, body going cold as you pant ever so slightly.

Oh god, he’s going to read that message and take one look at your profile then delete the message. He probably had hookups all the time, the kind of guy you shouldn’t get involved with. You had no interest in being a one night stand and- you shake your head, clenching your teeth and taking a deep breath.

Stereotypes are damaging to yourself and others, you tell yourself quietly. There’s no reason to paint him with a negative brush already when he’s not even had a chance to do anything. And so what if he only wanted hookups? It was the 21st century, men and women could sleep with who they wanted, as often as they wanted and they shouldn’t face the prejudice you’re showing him already.

Before you can even think anything else though, your phone sends out a soft, melodic note and you look down with wide eyes. The message icon has an orange notification on it, signifying that you have a new message on there. Hesitating, you wonder if it’s just one of those generic ‘welcome’ messages that you sometimes get when you sign up for sites.

But the name of the sender tells you very much that it’s not a generic message, and the cold fear mixes with nervous excitement and trepidation as you see Jung Hoseok’s name. He must have already been on his phone to have responded so fast, and you wonder if he’s just sent a polite ‘thank you but no’ back.

It would be awfully nice of him if he did. Embarrassing, but polite.

Opening the message, your jaw drops and eyes widen as you read what he’s responded with.

You: Hi. I don’t know how to use this properly, so I’m sorry if I do it wrong. You showed as a match and...well I guess I say I’m interested? Not as a friend, unless you want that. I mean...the other way. Feel free to say no! Y/N

Reading it back over, you cringe at how...you it sounds. Hesitant and awkward and shy. Dammit, why couldn’t you just seize the moment and sound confident for once? Say something bold that would attract his attention.

And then you read his response.

Hoseok: Hey Y/N. Thanks for reaching out. How are you tonight?