#gf second or third contact

[stump-not-found]

Second or Third Contact

part 1 /part 2 / part 3 / part 4

---

and they never ever had any problems ever . the end

[disarminglybright]

the fun thing about gravity falls is that it's been over for years and had an extremely satisfying conclusion but it contains just enough mystery that you can entertain yourself with it for years

[sharlsworld]

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆ to be loved loudly - 𝐋𝐍𝟒 𖤓

（ 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗑 𝗐𝗈𝗅𝖿𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ）

（ 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ）𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽

✫ lowk part 3 of walk em like a dog?? idk i somehow made her totos daughter without realizing 😭

🝮

yn

liked by pierregasly and 2,871,443 others

yn 🍋‍🟩

landonorris first

landonorris fuck i’m hard

⤷ yn what??

⤷ landonorris baby you can glance at me and it’s up

⤷ yn weirdo

⤷ landonorris don’t stop i’m close

⤷ yn WHAT THE FUCK LANDO??? this is public everyone can see this

⤷ landonorris ain’t no one gonna stop me from thirsting 💀 keep going i was so close

⤷ yn why am i dating you

⤷ landonorris well if i remember this correctly you said “i love pathetic men”

⤷ yn get out of my face

⤷ landonorris i came

⤷ yn i’m going to report your account

landonorris i’m gonna miss you when i scroll 😔

⤷ yn you’re sitting on my lap right now?

⤷ landonorris i just wanna be close to you

⤷ alex_albon loser 😂😂

⤷ lilymhe Now alex…

⤷ alex_albon I was joking only good boys sit on their gfs laps fr

⤷ landonorris good boys?

⤷ alex_albon are you not a good boy?

⤷ landonorris i’m the best boy ho

⤷ mclaren What am I looking at

oscarpiastri I feel molested

maxverstappen1 Lando is horny 24/7: confirmed

georgerussell63 Chile anyways so

🝮

landonorris

liked by tomholland2013 and 3,890,516 others

landonorris i love my girlfriend so much everyday i wake up i thank god that i’m able to call her my girlfriend no one compares she is perfect and so funny and so beautiful and so kind i love her more than all the stars in the sky in every lifetime and universe i will find her because she is my one love

yn so sappy i love it

⤷ landonorris always for you honey

charles_leclerc Average Lando post

alex_albon super cool super rich super popular nepo baby gf who has everyone in the palm of her hand x loser bf who looks at her like she hung the stars in the sky is my favorite love trope

⤷ landonorris i’m cool and rich and popular as well?

⤷ alex_albon not as much as y/n

⤷ landonorris true

danielricciardo Pussy whipped

⤷ landonorris damn right you would be too

lilymhe So cutie patootie

georgerussell63 Lando please, you’re making all of us look like bad boyfriends.

f1 We love our talented, athletic, beautiful, multilingual queen

georgerussell63 y/n blink twice if you’re being held hostage

♥︎ yn

⤷ georgerussell63 That’s a sign. Help is on the way dear

alexandrasaintmleux Tell her I’m in need of a date at the mall

⤷ landonorris i’m not her assistant?

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux Aren’t you?

⤷ landonorris ms wolff said she is available any time for you. but not for me ig.

francolapinto i was the line leader in 3rd grade 🙂‍↕️

⤷ landonorris seriously? on my own post? i’ll kill you

⤷ carlossainz55 That escalated quickly

⤷ landonorris i zont play about my girl

⤷ francolapinto well i tried

⤷ landonorris try again and see what happens ❤️

🝮

yn

liked by lilamoss and 4,461,220 others

yn lan saw it first

landonorris first

⤷ carlossainz55 second

⤷ charles_leclerc third

⤷ oscarpiastri fourth

landonorris lawd have mercy 😫 i’m about to bust

⤷ yn awh thanks babe

landonorris you’re so cute i can’t get enough of you

landonorris most beautiful girl i have ever laid eyes on how did i get so lucky

⤷ yn you sweet talker 💌

⤷ oscarpiastri Seriously though, how did you get her to date you I’m still baffled

⤷ landonorris years and years of begging, endless amounts of gifts and flowers, zero contact with any females i’m not related to, and charisma 😎

⤷ oscarpiastri I wonder how much money you’ve spent on her over the years

⤷ landonorris you do not want to know 😎

⤷ landonorris forgot to mention i became best friends with her family and got invited to all vacations, holidays, and birthdays so she couldn’t avoid me 😎

alexandrasaintmleux Heaven sent 🪽🤍

⤷ yn thank ya angel baby 👼🏽

francisca.cgomes ooh lala 🙉

landonorris i was the line leader in 3rd grade

⤷ francolapinto seriously?

⤷ pierregasly You made it to 3rd grade?

⤷ landonorris shut your butt

⤷ pierregasly You first

🝮

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by landonorris and 871,054 others

alexandrasaintmleux Aquí me quedo

yn mi chica 🙂‍↕️

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux mi amor 😘

landonorris release her now. give her back. i have not seen her in ages. this is not funny.

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux You seen her at lunch? Besides she love it over here

⤷ yn yeah i love it over here

⤷ landonorris don’t make me send out an amber alert

⤷ oscarpiastri Please not again you had all of Italy in a state of panic last time

landonorris why are you matching with my wife?? just say you hate me

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 😏

⤷ landonorris did you just threaten me?

⤷ alexandrasaintmleux 😭

⤷ landonorris you this is funny? i’m getting grey hairs woman GIVE MY GIRLFRIEND BACK FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I’M HAVING WITHDRAWALS PLEASE

landonorris fuck she so hot

landonorris who’s the hottie on the right???

landonorris i will find you and i will make you regret hiding my wife from me

⤷ yn lando please. you have my location

⤷ landonorris oh silly me 😅 coming to get you be there in 10 minutes ❤️

⤷ yn i’m 30 minutes away?? do not put yourself in danger lando i’ll smack you upside the side

⤷ landonorris baby, danger is my middle name 😎

⤷ yn oh just die

⤷ landonorris okay i’m getting a lot of mixed signals idk if you want me dead or safe?? like my head hurts please choose ❤️

⤷ yn die

⤷ landonorris whatever you say baby ❤️

🝮

yn

liked by naraaziza and 3,451,802 others

yn the legend lives on

landonorris who’s the hottie behind the camera 😍

⤷ alex_albon *debbie ryan smirk* *raises hand shyly* 🙂‍↕️

⤷ landonorris shut your face do not steal the spotlight from my lady

⤷ landonorris as i was saying…who’s the hottie behind the camera 😍😍😫

⤷ yn shut your face

⤷ landonorris mmm i love dirty talk

⤷ yn don’t make me get a restraining order

⤷ landonorris kay, i’ll meet you in the hotel room 😈

alexandrasaintmleux Unfortunately

georgerussell63 My petite prince 👑

⤷ landonorris yk what ain’t petite though?

⤷ georgerussell63 Was just trying to have some light hearted banter 😔

francolapinto dang

⤷ alex_albon alright lil bro do you have some sort of death wish or something?

⤷ oscarpiastri I’ve seen him cuss out this server at a gala cause he complimented her dress…it was pretty entertaining tbh but I think he was gay

⤷ carlossainz55 One time I told her she looked pretty (purely platonic she’s a baby) and that night I woke up to him sitting in the corner of my room. Almost shit myself.

⤷ lewishamilton Not to be a gossip or anything but like he knocked this guy out in my garage once cause he gave her a weird compliment and he was like 40, I think that’s when Toto finally accepted him

francolapinto you two are endgame fr🤞🏽

⤷ landonorris right? (don’t try to lock your doors i’ll find a way in)

🝮

landonorris

liked by judebellingham and 3,890,154 others

landonorris my wife (she ain’t gonna be able to walk tomorrow)

alex_albon just put the fries in the bag bro

lewishamilton Let’s put the phone down for a bit bud

oscarpiastri Please, this can’t be healthy. I’m sick of hearing you two every weekend

⤷ landonorris sorry osc i can’t function without her my body starts to shut down

georgerussell63 How many PowerPoints do I need to make?? ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

maxverstappen1 Get the wheelchair ready

lando.jpg my cute amazing talented tan beautiful funny sexy hot sweet wife

⤷ yn so when are you gonna stop calling me your wife and actually make me one?

⤷ lando.jpg soon baby, trust me

⤷ danielricciardo This actually sounded so sweet

pierregasly My kinda guy 🤝🏽

yn my dad see’s these

⤷ landonorris are you cereal?? and you’ve never told me??? i’m to young to die

lilymhe babygirlll 😍😍

⤷ landonorris please, not today

mclaren Please stop posting things like this Lando it is bad for our image

⤷ landonorris that’s telling me to stop breathing I CANT it’s just who i am

charles_leclerc Okay but why is she so good at tennis?

⤷ yn what am i not good at? 😂

⤷ charles_leclerc Being nice 😖

⤷ yn i’m very nice just not to you

⤷ charles_leclerc I’ll sue you

⤷ landonorris I’ll drown you ❤️

🝮

yn

liked by brock.purdy13 and 5,153,403 others

yn my favorite puppy dog 🤍

landonorris awhhh you do love me 😘

landonorris ugh i’m touched

landonorris baby i’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked me to

landonorris sweetest brat ever

landonorris i’ve never loved anyone or anything the way i love you

landonorris my one love forever

landonorris i’ll never get tired of loving you

landonorris there are no words that can describe the love i have for you

landonorris you have me wrapped around your finger

landonorris you’re so perfect i cannot fathom your beauty

landonorris most precious soul ever

landonorris i can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve changed me for the better

landonorris the yin to my yang

landonorris you complete me

landonorris i was made to love you

landonorris let’s fuck 🌹

⤷ oscarpiastri Almost had it

⤷ landonorris I CANT CHANGE WHO I AM OSCAR I WAS BORN LIKE THIS DID YOU NOT HEAR ME SAY I WAS MADE TO LOVE HER I’VE BEEN YEARNING FOR HER MY ENTIRE LIFE OSCAR LET ME LIVE

⤷ francolapinto a man who yearns is a man who earns ☝🏼

⤷ landonorris does this have some sort of double meaning?? cause i’ll kill you fr 🤞🏽

landonorris as i was saying, let’s fuck 💐

⤷ yn kay, i’ll meet you in the hotel room 😈

⤷ georgerussell63 IS SOMEBODY GONNA MATCH MY FREAK?? IS SOMEBODY GONNA MATCH MY NASTAYYYY???

[sommerbueckers]

CAN WE GET HOPKINS P WITH A CLOSETED “straight hair straight A’s straight girl” TYPE GIRLFRIEND

SNEAKING IN, SECRETLY MEETING IN SCHOOL, P CANT HELP BUT STARE AND GF GETS MAD (but not rlly mad tho🤭)

𝙬𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙗𝙚𝙧 — 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴

___________________________________________________________

THERE WAS SOMETHING YOU always loved about the month of October, and it wasn't just the fact that it was your girlfriend's birthday month and she spent the entirety of it wanting to be near you. Paige wanted to be near you no matter what month it was. Your relationship was a secret, your sexuality was a secret. Being discreet was hard, especially when you and Paige passed each other in the hall and had to fight the urge to eye fuck each other the whole time.

"—And looking at this digital imaging, you can see where the forest fires started, and where they've spread."

Your hand was moving swiftly across the page, taking as many notes as you could. Your lip was between your teeth, eyes switching between your notebook and the board up front. You hadn't even registered the first buzz that came from your backpack, but then a second came, and then a third, and suddenly it was hard to ignore. You carefully set your pen down, leaning over to retrieve your phone.

Paige: u look pretty

Paige: all concentrated and shit

Paige: look up

Your eyes shot up toward the door, and you could see her smiling at you through the small window. She motioned you over with her finger, and you shook your head, gesturing down to your phone.

You: I can't, taking notes

Paige: but it's my birthday

You: Your birthday isn't for another two weeks

Paige: but i want my gift now

Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked up at her again. She was standing further back now, meeting your eyes with a smirk on her lips. You smiled to yourself, switching your phone off and putting it back. For a moment, Paige's shoulders slumped outside. Her head fell back and she sighed, pursing her lips out. But then, the door to the classroom cracked open and you slipped out.

You didn't acknowledge her. You closed the door behind you and began your walk to the usual spot; the restricted hallway. It was closed for the renovations that were being made in the west wing, and therefore, it left you and your girlfriend the perfect meetup spot. It was darker than most days, the gray sky outside not doing much to illuminate the space. But neither of you minded.

Paige snuck in not long after you, silently walking toward you with a cocky expression. She snaked her arms around your waist, pulling you into a hug. The feeling of her hands running down over your hips and to your ass sent shivers down your spine, and you had to bite back a satisfied sigh when her hand grabbed at your plump skin.

She pulled away only slightly, features appearing darker as she stared down at you in the dim lighting.

"You miss me?" she whispered teasingly, tilting her head.

"A little..." you smiled.

"Just a little?" Her words came off as a challenge, one you couldn't back down from even if you tried.

"Yeah, just a little."

"Okay," she sighed out, fully backing away. "Guess you won't get a kiss then..."

"Wait," you grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her back to you, rolling your eyes. "Not fair. You pulled me out of class, you owe me."

"You think so?"

"Just kiss me you idiot."

Paige's arms wrapped themselves around your waist again, and she pulled you in for a kiss. You gently cupped her face, smiling against her lips when you felt her melt into you. She was full on hugging you while eating your face at the same time. You could taste her lunch on her; something with peanut butter.

She walked you back into the wall, sighing into the kiss when you pulled her closer by the drawstrings of her hoodie.

"You smell so good," she mumbled breathlessly, using her knee to part your legs.

You moaned when her knee came in contact with your core, the movement of your lips stuttering for a moment as you tried to maintain her pace.

"Just wanna taste you..."

You moved your hips against her, your grip on her hoodie tightening. Soft pants fell from your lips, and arousal dripped from your pussy. Paige pulled on the end of your braid, the braid that had taken you three tries to perfect this morning. You didn't care, not with Paige. She had this way of making you forget about everything important; school, work, grades, your image.

"That feel good baby?" she whispered, another hand tilting your chin to look at her.

"Uh huh..." you nodded, "So good."

"I can make it feel even better," she said. She tugged at the waistband of your pants, wanting so badly to rip them off. But you were grabbing at her hands the minute you felt her trying to get under them.

"No..." you pushed out, and you felt her pull away.

She stared at you for a moment before asking, "Are you okay?"

You nodded your head and straightened out your clothes.

"Yeah, but I have to get back to class," you insisted quietly, smirking at the pout she had on her face.

"I would've made it quick, y'know that," she rolled her eyes, but she wasn't really upset. She never was with you.

"I know that, but I didn't want you to," you brought her face down to yours and pressed a kiss to her lips, "I want us to take our time."

YOU SAT AT A different lunch table every day, but that didn't seem to stop Paige's eyes from finding you. She was staring across the cafeteria, completely ignoring the boy next to her while he talked her ear off. A smirk played at her lips, forearms resting against the top of the table. She was completely lost in the sight of you.

You gave her a stern look, mouthing 'Stop' as your eyes nervously scanned the area around you. Could she get any more obvious? She didn't listen, instead she brought her palm up to her face and rested her chin against it. She shook her head, a daring twinkle in her eye that you could see from a mile away. You furrowed your eyebrows, pulling out your phone and texting her.

You: Will you stop that ?

Paige: stop what?

You: Staring, you look creepy

Paige: i like what i see

You rolled your eyes, bringing your gaze up to her only to find that she w poking her tongue out at you. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, even though you knew you looked like an idiot to everyone else — smiling at nothing. You put your head down when you saw one of your best friends approaching you.

“You’re smiling…” she observed, “and you don’t have a book in your hand, so i’m officially scared.”

“Nothing to be scared of, i’m just in a good mood today,” you shrugged simply, and picked up your sandwich to avoid saying anything else.

“Okay, i’ll believe it for now.”

Your phone buzzed again, and you tipped the screen toward you to read the message.

Paige: lemme come over tonight

You: As much as I would love that, it’s a no

Paige: don’t be like thatttttttt

You: My mom works from home today, and my dad gets off early

Paige: i’ll be gone before he gets home

You: And my mom?

Paige’s typing ceased for a moment, you fought the urge to look up at her and admire her concentrated face. Her eyebrows furrowed, her lips screwed shut, eyes staring off into space like a solution would float by. As if you had thought it into existence, another message came through.

Paige: i’ll be quiet;)

A KNOCK SOUNDED SOFTLY on your window pane, and your eyes shifted toward the blonde who was smiling brightly at you. Her hair was completely soaked, droplets dripping down the sides of her face. You stood from the chair at your desk, stretching your arms over your head, painfully slow.

Paige narrowed her eyes at you from outside, lips trembling as she parted them to mumble under her breath.

Unlocking the window and pushing it up, you helped your girlfriend through. She was drenched from head to toe, smelling distinctly like rain and Paige. Immediately she pulled you into her, pressing her lips to yours and silencing whatever you had gone to say. The feeling of her wet clothes wasn’t pleasant, but again, you didn’t care.

“Hi,” she whispered against your lips.

“Hi there,” you whispered back.

“I missed you. Practice was so long and hard and I kept thinking about you the whole time.” She seated herself in the chair you had just gotten up from, touching all over your belongings. She smeared the words on your notebook when she let rain drip from her skin, she dampened the seat of your chair, ran her wet fingers along the pad of your computer.

“Leave that stuff alone,” you sighed out, closing your computer. “I’m so close to finishing.”

“I’m not gonna ruin it baby,” she smiled up at you, “Just wanted to see how smart you are.”

Your cheeks heated up at her compliment, you loved when Paige called you smart, when she told you how good you were, when she praised you in any way really. She knew it too, you could tell by the proud smirk that crossed her face when she noticed your blush.

“You’re pretty.” It came out as a whisper, not the kind that you used to share secrets, but the kind that isn’t meant to be heard by anyone other than yourself. She wished she could say something else, something that meant more to you. Those three words. It was odd how terrifying three little words could be. Paige wasn’t scared of much, but if there was one thing on the planet that she was scared of, it was those three words.

You looked down at her, unaware of the pool of thoughts that submerged her judgement.

“You’re prettier,” you said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Do you wanna watch a movie?” you then asked, the air around her now cold as you sat down on your bed.

She nodded her head, clearing her throat as well as her head. “Yeah, The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“Duh,” you laughed, scrolling through the selection of movies until you found you favorite.

Paige unzipped her jacket and set it on the chair. Then, still clad in her wet clothes, she made herself comfortable beside you.

As the movie started, the blonde pulled you close to her and kissed the top of your head, wanting so badly to whisper those three little words.

___________________________________________________________

[puck-luck]

learning curves | trevor zegras

warnings: inexperienced!reader x experienced!tz, general anziety about having sex for the first time/doing sexual things for the first time, silly goofy sex questions that everyone has but refuses to speak on, conversation about kinks (lasts two seconds because they get derailed almost immediately), handjob, innocence!kink, probably some other stuff i missed. pairing: trevor zegras x inexperienced!reader summary: trevor zegras and his gf have "the talk" wc: 3891

Three dates. It’s been three dates. Your best friend in the world says that it’s after the third date that she considers putting out– but she’s also had sex before, racked up a body count that seems substantial next to yours (yours being a whopping zero and hers being a solid nine). Where you didn’t have boyfriends and were more focused on graduating early so you could start your dream job with the Angels, she seemed happy with the fast-paced, social side of college that afforded her connections and contacts with men of all kinds.

You told her about Trevor when you started dating him, after he brought you to your own baseball game, the last of the season against the Oakland A’s. It had worked out well in his favor, despite the fact that you hadn’t told him about your passion for baseball. Since it was the last of the season, your supervisor had let you take the day off as a reward for all your hard work and had pawned your tasks off to the other members of your team. 

Your best friend had called you mere minutes after that first date had ended, gushing with you about Trevor’s kindness in buying your food and drinks (and ticket) and laughing at the way you reenacted Trevor’s attempt to mansplain baseball to you. 

After the second date, when Trevor brought you to play mini-golf and took you to get ice cream, you had called her. She had asked if he had kissed you yet. She also asked if you were going to send a picture of his butt anytime soon. The answer to both was “no.”

And last week, after the third date where Trevor had taken you to see Killers of the Flower Moon when it released, she had told you about her policy: the one where she starts to consider putting out. 

It seems like Trevor might be on the same page. For your fourth date, Trevor invited you to dinner. Tonight. At his apartment. He’s cooking for you. At his apartment. 

Alone.

You haven’t told him yet about the fact that you haven’t had sex with anyone. He’s probably picked up on it by now, with how you shy away from his touches and swerved him twice (once at mini-golf and once after the movies). 

You’re going to tell him tonight. He’s going to cook a beautiful dinner, be nothing but sweet and caring like he always is, and then you’re going to tell him that you’re still a virgin, and he’s going to be freaked out, and probably break up with you.

That’s the only way it could go, right?

The potential for disaster is on your mind the whole night, from the drive to Trevor’s to the last bite of the cheesecake Trevor bought for dessert. 

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Trevor asks, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Did I make something you don’t like? Are you not a cheesecake fan?”

“No, Trevor, I like cheesecake. You haven’t done anything wrong.” You continue to pick at your dessert. You sigh, then place your fork down on the side of the plate. “I think we need to have a conversation.”

You don’t miss the alarm that flashes across Trevor’s face when you say that. 

He stands almost immediately from his seat, taking your hand to bring you to his living room, where you can sit comfortably on the couch. Trevor stays quiet, something you know is difficult for him, but it means so much more to you that he’s trying to let you take charge here.

“Do you remember when I told you about my best friend?” You ask, finding it safest to start there.

Trevor nods. “What about her?”

You’re quiet for a beat, taking a deep breath. “She told me that she starts to put out after the third date.”

A sharp silence follows. Your heart is beating through your chest, but it starts to slow the longer the silence drags on.

Finally, Trevor breaks the silence. “So?” He asks. “What does that have to do with us?”

You fishmouth at him, jaw open wide and dangling. 

“Not in like a mean way, but I was inviting you over for dinner. If you want to fuck, we can fuck, but I really just wanted to eat with you today.”

Trevor’s words are both comforting and cutting. He’s sassy, always is, and the consonants of his words sound harsh. He’s saying everything like he’s so sure, like it was obvious, and the word “fuck” twists your intestines in a way that causes you to grimace. It’s nice that he didn’t intend to have sex with you tonight, but now it seems like an offhanded afterthought. If you want to, we can. 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” You bite the edge of your thumbnail. “It’s– well, that’s kind of a big deal for me?”

Trevor nods, encouraging you to continue.

“I haven’t, um. I, kind of, haven’t really… done that… yet.” Your voice shakes a bit in an embarrassing way, a way that makes you want to cringe, but you don’t want to seem so vulnerable in front of Trevor. 

The problem is that you like him. You’ve been going on dates as often as you can, with Trevor’s busy schedule. You enjoy seeing him, you like hanging out with him, and you want to keep doing it. You always get your hopes up and this time is no different, you can feel it. You’re hoping that Trevor won’t say the same shit as the other guys you’ve told this to, the ones that laughed or belittled you or asked “Why? Why haven’t you?” like there’s a good answer to their question.

“Oh,” is the eloquent response that Trevor comes up with. His eyes are wide and his mouth stays slightly open, even when he’s done speaking. It’s like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t know what. 

You’re the same way– you bite the inside of your cheek and your lip as you continue to watch Trevor. If you weren’t feeling so nervous, it would be a funny sight: two people sitting on the couch, just staring at each other with wide eyes.

“I really like you, Trevor,” You tell him. “I just– I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want you to leave me because I can’t give you what you want.”

Trevor moves quickly, closing the space between you. He hugs you tightly and you sniff, holding back emotion that you didn’t realize was there. 

“Is there anything else?” Trevor asks , rubbing your back. 

You shake your head.

“I really like you, too,” Trevor adds. “I’m not going to leave you because you’re… inexperienced. I want to keep dating you, Y/N. If you’ll let me, I would really like to…” Trevor trails off, offering you a smile and a little bit of a laugh before continuing. “Teach you?”

Your mouth opens in surprise. “Teach me?” You repeat.

Trevor grimaces, an embarrassed smile on his face. “It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“A little bit,” You agree. Your heart has slowed to its normal pace and Trevor’s hand on your knee is a comfort, not unwelcome pressure. 

“Can I kiss you?” Trevor asks. His voice is soft and his hand has drifted up to your cheek. 

“Well, I’ve done that before,” You joke. You’re not lying– you’ve kissed people in the past. You feel like that should be clear to Trevor before he gets too big of a head. 

“Not with me.” Trevor leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, then the other. He kisses along your face until he gets to your lips, which is when he pauses before barely letting his lips ghost across yours. He holds himself there for a moment, waits for you to tilt your head up, and Trevor dives in. It’s sweet and he’s patient, never moving any faster than you want him to. 

Over the next week, you tell Trevor your theories about why you haven’t had sex before: that you were a weird kid, or too focused on school, or too eager for the next big thing that you never considered it. Or that guys were scary and often didn’t actually seem to care. Trevor reassured you that he didn’t care that you hadn’t had sex before, but that he did care more about you than anyone he’d ever been with in the past.

By your fifth date, Trevor had officially made you his girlfriend. He had also officially told you that you could ask him any questions you wanted, whenever they popped into your mind.

You had taken advantage of it, often at the worst times:

Over text before a game: “Is it going to hurt?” “Probably. But I’ll go slow and try to get you as ready for my cock as I can.” While you and Trevor are grocery shopping: “What am I supposed to do?” “What do you mean?” “Like, I don’t want to just lay there.” “There are a lot of different positions. I’m not going to make you just lay there.” “Okay, well I don’t think I’ll be any good on top.” “You don’t know that yet. Also, chill out. We’re in the middle of the toilet paper aisle. Can we finish this conversation at home?” Later, in that same grocery trip, while in the condom aisle: “Is it really that different?” “What?” “When you have sex with and without a condom. Is there a big difference?” “Uh, it’s more… intimate without. I think it feels better.” “So should we skip the condom altogether?” “Uh… probably not the first time. We should probably work up to that.” “Well, I want you to feel good.” “You’re going to give me a boner if you keep talking. Shut up. We’re buying condoms.” And when you pouted: “Just be patient, we’ll get there.” When you drop him off for practice: “How long do you usually last?” “I have to go.” Then, over text two minutes after he walks away from the car: “you’re hot so probably not more than two minutes <3”

You’d waited to ask the more pressing questions when you were in private. It brought you a thrill of glee each time you asked a question and you could watch Trevor grow uncomfortable with the effort it took to restrain himself, to not try and get some relief whenever you caused him to grow hard with your unintentionally dirty words. 

“I made a list of questions for you,” You tell Trevor. It’s the last time you’re hanging out before you head home for Thanksgiving. You’re sitting on the same couch, Trevor on one side, you on the other. 

“Twenty questions, sexy style?” Trevor teases, pulling your legs over his lap. 

“You’re my little encyclopedia,” You reply. “And I’m curious.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“What do you like, Trev? Tell me everything. Likes, dislikes, kinks, dare I say fetishes…”

“Don’t really think I have any fetishes, but thanks for being open about it,” Trevor laughs. He rubs his thumb over your ankle. “That’s a really big question, baby.”

You shrug, foregoing a reply.

“I mean, I don’t know. I like sex. I like getting head. I like giving head. I like it when I finger a girl. I like it when I can make a girl come. I occasionally like to spank a girl. I’m pretty chill, baby. I’m down for anything.”

You scoff. “Trev, I don’t know anything. You have to be specific.”

Trevor takes a breath and chews his bottom lip, seeming to consider your words. “I like that you don’t know anything.” His fingers circle your ankle and he squeezes what he can hold in his hand. For probably the first time since he’s talked to you about this sort of thing, Trevor seems hesitant, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “It makes me feel really special.”

“Special how?” You ask.

“I don’t know, just… that you trust me with this.”

You suppress a smile. “Look at you, Mr. Emotional Intimacy.”

Trevor snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’ve never been a huge relationship guy, Y/N. I think it’s really cool that you make me want to experience all this shit with you. It’s nice to feel this way. We get to treat every moment like it’s really special, and that makes me feel special, since most of my other sexual encounters are just heat of the moment hookups with other experienced partners.”

When you open your mouth to apologize for your inexperience, unable to help yourself, Trevor cuts you off. 

“I also think it’s really hot that– God, this sounds so fucked up– I get to show you everything. It’s… like, okay, fuck, it’s kind of the student and teacher thing.”

“So you do have a fetish!” You accuse, pointing your finger at Trevor wildly. He captures your hand and rolls his eyes. “You want me to dress up like a Catholic schoolgirl!”

“I do not!” Trevor replies, sounding exasperated. He pauses to consider it. “Okay, it would be hot. But that’s not why, bro. Chill out.”

“Why, then?” You ask. You’re interested, almost too interested. You want to know what makes Trevor click, what you can do to make him hard and what he looks like when he’s in pleasure, when he comes.

“I like that you’re innocent. It just makes me feel like I get to take care of you. It’s dumb, but I get to be the man and I get to make you feel good and show you how to make me feel good. I’m the only one who’s seen you like this, it’s fun for me.”

Your eyes drift lower to his lap, wanting to see if he’s tenting his shorts just at the idea. He is. You move closer to him, taking your legs off his lap and tucking yourself into his side. Feeling bold, you place your hand on his stomach.

“Can I see you?” You ask, making sure your voice sounds extra sweet and you’re blinking up at him through your eyelashes. 

Trevor practically convulses, his mouth pressed into a straight line, but still wobbling a bit as he stares at you in shock. “What?” He asks.

You let your fingers drift to the waistband of his shorts, but you dare not to tread further. You don’t want to touch him wrong, or mess everything up. But, at the same time, you really want to see his dick. “Can I see you?” You repeat. Then, you let out a little laugh, just to yourself. “I’m–” You cut yourself off and press your lips together, proud of the joke you’re about to make. “I’m a hands-on learner.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Trevor says, shaking his head at your terrible joke. “Baby, are you sure?”

“Trev, I want to see your dick.” You roll your eyes, pulling your hand back. “I should see the hardware before I ask of any more questions, right?”

Trevor seems to be battling with himself. 

You dip your finger under the waistband, feeling his v-line with your pinky. 

It snaps Trevor out of his inner turmoil and he bats your hand away. He shimmies his shorts off, leaving his boxers on. They don’t leave much to the imagination and you bite your lip with a gasp.

It’s big. It’s not even out yet, and it’s big.

Trevor dips his head down, tilting your chin up with a finger, and kisses you softly. “Still sure?” He whispers.

“Leave it in there for a second,” You reply. You lower your voice to a whisper to match his: “How is that going to fit inside me?”

“We’ll go slow and I’ll get you nice and open for me. Three fingers, so it’s easier.” He winks. “Maybe four.”

“Jesus Christ, Trevor.” Your voice is more admonishing than turned on, but it would be a lie if you weren’t intrigued by his words. 

“And you know what else?” Trevor asks. 

You nod for him to continue. 

“If we need to, we’ll use lube. But I want to make you come a couple times before I get my cock in you, that first time. Wanna make it so good for you. You’ll be so relaxed that you’ll forget it’s your first time.”

“A couple times,” You repeat, feeling a little dazed. “Is that… normal?”

Trevor shrugs. “Normal is different for everyone. It’s possible and I think you’ll like the feeling of me making you come. I know I will. So, I hope it becomes normal for us.”

“Okay,” You say. You know your voice sounds unsure. You clear your throat. “Take it out,” You tell him, a little hoarse still. 

“You’re sure?”

“Trevor, just do it,” You let the words burst out of you. “If I hate it, I’ll tell you to put it away!”

Trevor laughs. “God, I hope you don’t hate it. That would really derail my plans for us.” He hooks his thumbs in his waistband and inches his boxers down.

The inching slowly reveals the head of his cock, red and shiny. Eyes wide, you tilt your head to the side. Your lips part as Trevor continues to reveal himself to you. It lays flat against his stomach, curved a little to the side. 

Trevor smiles, the right side of his mouth tilting up into a smirk. He brings his hand to the base of his cock and watches your breath hitch when he pumps himself once, slowly, just to gauge your reaction. He squeezes, milking a little precum out of his tip. 

You tense up, watching the drip slide down his length. 

“Oh my God,” You whisper to yourself. 

“What do you think, baby? Hideous?” Trevor asks, a knowing lilt in his voice. He sees how your eyes haven’t left his dick since he pulled it out of his boxers, curious but also enraptured.

Your hand twitches on his stomach. “Can I…”

Trevor hums, stroking himself again.

“Can I touch you?”

“Whatever you want,” Trevor agrees and takes his hand off of himself, practically dropping his cock like a hot potato. 

You reach out, hesitating at the last second. You pull back. “I feel so stupid.”

“Why?” Trevor asks. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” You say begrudgingly, pouting under his watchful eye. 

“That’s okay. Just get your hand on it, feel it out. I can help you, if you want.”

“No, I want to do it.” You reach out, making contact with Trevor’s cock with a single finger. You draw a line from his base to his tip, following the vein on the side. You bite your lip in concentration, circling the tip of his cock with your finger and thumb. You purse your lips and feel the weight of his cock in your hand, tilting it gently from one side, to the other, forwards and backwards like a joystick, just to see how it moves.

You fail to notice Trevor’s breathing grow deeper, nor the way his eyes are trained on your face.

You press your thumb into the underside of the head of his dick, where the tip meets the shaft. You drag your thumb up, swiping over the slit. A bubble of precum appears and leaks out. You rub your thumb through it, then turn your hand over to look at your thumb.

Trevor’s jaw drops and a strangled noise leaves his mouth when you bring your thumb up to your mouth and take a taste. 

His cock jumps, drawing your eyes. You then look up to him and notice the sweat on his brow. He’s biting his lip to recover from his groan, but lets out a whimper when you circle his cock with your entire hand and pump him. 

“Oh my God,” Trevor whispers, mirroring your reaction from earlier. His voice is shaky and his eyes roll backwards into his head. 

You bring your other hand down to cradle one of his balls, rolling it in your palm. You pump his cock at the same time and Trevor’s hips jump into your fist, catching you off guard.

“Gonna come,” Trevor chokes out. “Just– fuck– keep going.”

“Help me,” You request, taking his hand and bringing it so his hand covers yours.

He moans aloud, tightening his grip (and yours by extension), and moving his hips up into his hand in short thrusts.

“Fuck, is this– is this okay?” Trevor checks with you, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “Can I come?”

Your eyes stay on his face, watching as his face contorts with pleasure. “Yeah,” You breathe out. “Want to see you come, Trev.”

He lets out a moan at that, throwing his head back as you continue to stroke over his member in tandem. He fucks up until your fists as he hurls himself over the edge, ribbons of come shooting out of his tip and falling in pools over his hand and abdomen. 

A bit drips through his fingers onto your hand and you stare at it, crinkling your nose at the feeling of the sticky substance as it settles on your skin.

“Gross,” You say, wincing at the way it cools on your skin. 

“Let me clean you up,” Trevor offers, tucking himself away and rising off the couch to wet a paper towel. You stand and follow him, holding your hand a reasonable distance away from yourself, and trying not to drip everywhere. When Trevor turns to you with the paper towel, he laughs. “Well, don’t act like it’s acid!”

“You look pretty when you come,” You tell Trevor as he wipes his come off of your hand. He dumps the paper towel in the trash can and you elbow him out of the way to wash your hands for an extra long amount of time. He follows suit when you’re done and you plaster yourself to his back, hugging him from behind.

“What’s that for?” Trevor asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder fondly.

“For being so understanding and nice to me,” You mumble into his back, hiding your face. “Thank you.”

Trevor turns around in your grasp and returns your hug, holding you tightly to his chest. “Oh, baby, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Cuz you find me so hot when I’m innocent,” You giggle, poking his ribs.

“It’s my kink,” Trevor teases back, with a hint of truth to it, though you won’t find out about that until Trevor sheepishly admits it the next time you jerk him off and he’s babbling aimlessly about how pretty you look when you’re staring up at him in awe, asking him how he feels and if you’re doing well. He’s praising you and whining and when he finally comes, he almost hardens immediately after because you lift your hand up and give his come a little kitten lick, getting a taste of him. 

You end up scrunching your nose in distaste, not because you dislike it, but because it’s such a unique taste.

It makes Trevor laugh and it makes him lean in to kiss you, even venturing to open his mouth and let you take the lead with tongue (the way he taught you).

note: the monday morning streak continues! pls send feedback to my inbox (not requests, i'm booked) but i want to talk about this series!! I love chit-chatting with y'all! i also think that since i'm starting my new job(!!!!!!) this week, we might be down to one post this week & then i'll just work on a bunch of stuff throughout the week so i can hopefully post more when i'm acclimated to my job! also, my cousin is having her baby today! it's the first baby of the next generation! i'm so excited for her!

[euphorajeon]

oh, the joy of having jeon jeongguk as a boyfriend | jjk

— pairing: boxer!jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, slight smut | college!au, boxer!jk

— word count: 0.8k

— warnings: sleeveless jk, suggestive themes, usual boxer!jk and his gf shenanigans hahaha

— summary: you just want one bite.

— author's note: pls tell me im not the only one heavily affected by his vogue photoshoots D:

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

“Just one, please?”

You’ve been at this for the past fifteen minutes. The first five you spent leaning your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth on your cheek from the skin-on-skin contact. He was still unaware of your intentions, thinking it was just a silent gesture to initiate physical touch. He’d put his arm around you then, squeezing you further into his side.

The second five minutes you spent tracing his tattoos with the tips of your fingers. You paid special attention to your favorites—the tiger lily, the Winners Never Quit wording, and the recently-discovered moon on his shoulder (which you recolored with your own mouth some weeks ago)—and gripped his arm a bit tighter when you got to his bicep. The black tank top he’s wearing gives you too much of an easy access that you didn’t realize when you start squeezing your boyfriend’s bicep repeatedly like it’s your own personal stress ball.

“Babe, what are you doing?”

Jeongguk’s question triggered your next course of action, which you have been doing for the last one-third portion of the aforementioned fifteen minutes.

“Can I bite your arm?” was your opening line. When he blinks blankly, you continue with a paraphrased question, though it doesn’t really cease Jeongguk’s confusion: “Just one bite, please?”

“Why would you wanna bite my arm?” The puzzled look on Jeongguk’s face deepens, his thick eyebrows furrowing and scrunching up his face. A sliver of recognition flashes across his eyes as he squints at you in suspicion. “Are you horny again?”

“No, no.” You’re quick to deny. “It’s just—“ You give the bicep in your grasp yet another squeeze, watching, fascinated, as the skin bounces firmly in your hand. “—so … big, so sexy, so … delicious.” There’s a giant drooling emoji in your head right now and Jeongguk can only stare in part amusement and part confusion at his entranced girlfriend.

“Please, one bite?”

Your boyfriend’s eyes jump from your pleading eyes to your pouting lips, a tiny smile playing at the edge of his lips. The double piercing on the right side of his bottom lip taunts you, almost making you swerve to a whole new part of Jeongguk’s body to have between your lips and teeth. Oh, the joy of having a hot boyfriend.

“Okay.”

“Okay??”

“Okay, you can have one bite of my arm.”

You have your mouth on his arm not even a second after Jeongguk finishes his sentence. Sinking your teeth into the flesh, you’re careful to apply only a little pressure at the beginning before gradually adding more until you see Jeongguk grimacing from the corner of your eye. It’s his fault, though, for only giving you one bite of this big, sexy, and delicious inked arm. You’re just making the best use of the opportunity you were given.

In the seconds you spend attached to his arm, you think, why stop here? You could be doing so much more to this arm than just giving it a bite mark. So, with that in mind, you start to suck. The hiss Jeongguk lets out in surprise flashes something hot in your belly that you promptly ignore to continue your assault on his arm.

“I guess it’s kinda my fault, huh?” Jeongguk hums, his free hand tucking your hair behind your ear. The gesture seems sweet, innocent even, but the way he grips your nape after is anything but. “Always flaunting my tattoos, flexing my arms … even giving you surprise kisses. I wanted your attention and got more than what I asked for.” You pretend not to be affected by his words, now licking at the angry-red skin beneath the black ink. Jeongguk doesn’t need to know how much this is turning you on.

“I didn’t say anything about giving me a hickey, though.”

Jeongguk’s grip has moved from your nape to your hair, where he gives a slight tug to pull you away from his arm. When you look up, your blurry vision is met with Jeongguk’s piercing stare, making excitement course through your veins. You didn’t plan for any of this to happen—you just wanted to bite his arm, really—but if Jeongguk wants to teach you a lesson for what you did to him, you’d happily be a good student and accept whatever he decides to give you.

“Exactly,” you challenge him, grinning. “You didn’t say anything about it, therefore, there’s no reason for me not to give you a hickey.”

“Huh.” He squints his eyes. “You said you weren’t horny, didn’t you?” Your heart drops to your stomach as he leans forward to start tracing your neck with his nose, planting a tiny kiss on it. “So it won’t be a problem if I don’t let you cum while I use you to make myself cum, right?” The sickeningly-sweet smile on his lips contradicts the lewdness of his words. “You’re not horny so you don’t need to cum, am I right?”

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Oh, the joy of having Jeon Jeongguk as a boyfriend.

— a/n: thank you for reading! feedbacks here would be very much appreciated :D

[movingmusically]

Could there be a story where benny the biker is jealous of his gf's music professor who's played by harry styles? Benny knows she has musical prowess, but is harry's interest strictly scholarly? Y/N isn't really sure but she's kind of ashamed she doesn't mind being admired by two men that are so different

Word Count: 13.4k

Masterlist

Keys & Chrome

I was studying music by day, slinging cheap whiskey by night. That’s how it went—lectures and rehearsals at college, followed by shifts at a dive biker bar that smelled like stale beer and something always just about to catch fire. Rent didn’t care about Chopin.

The first time I noticed him, he was sitting in the back corner—half in shadow, boots kicked up, shoulders loose but coiled like a held breath. Blonde hair messy from the ride, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. He looked like trouble, but the quiet kind. The kind that didn’t need to prove anything. He was young—my age, maybe a year or two older—but already had the kind of eyes that made you think he’d been through it.

Benny. Youngest of the Vandals.

He was always with the others—loud, leathered, obnoxious—but not like them. He didn’t shout, didn’t leer. He just watched. Not in that gross, lingering way I was used to, but carefully. Like he was clocking the whole room without moving a muscle.

He never spoke to me. Not until the night I had to tell some guy—for the third time—that no, he couldn’t walk me to my car. No, I didn’t want his number. No, I wasn’t “being shy.” He laughed in my face, leaned over the bar, and grabbed my wrist hard when I tried to back away.

“You’re too pretty to be this cold,” he slurred. “Bet I could warm you up. Bet you’d let me if we were somewhere quiet.”

I didn’t panic. I’d learned how to go still, how to keep my voice calm, how to make eye contact without inviting anything.

But before I could say a word, he was gone—releasing me with a muttered curse as another shadow stepped between us.

Benny didn’t touch him. Didn’t even speak. Just stood there, still as death, staring. And it worked. The guy backed off like he’d just realised he was about to pick a fight with something wild.

After that, Benny started walking me to my car after every shift. No big declarations. No asking. He was just there. Leaning against the wall when I locked up. Lighting a cigarette while I crossed the lot. Or hands in his jacket pockets like he had nowhere else to be. I never asked why. I didn’t need to.

One night, I came out to find him crouched next to the driver’s side, bare arms dusted with grease, tools laid out on the tarmac. His jacket was slung over the bonnet, and he was wearing a faded cut-off shirt that hung loose over his frame, sleeves hacked off to the shoulder. His forearms flexed as he worked—lean muscle and calloused hands, strong in that quiet, lived-in way that didn’t try to impress anyone.

“You had a busted mirror,” he said, not looking up. “Loose bolt. Wasn’t gonna hold much longer.”

“You always carry tools around?”

“I fix things.”

It made me laugh, and he looked up at that—just for a second. Like maybe he wasn’t expecting it.

His eyes were blue. Striking, even in the low light. And for a second, he just held my gaze like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. Then he went back to what he was doing, and neither of us said anything else.

After that, he started talking to me. Little things, dry comments while I poured drinks. Snark about the regulars. A smirk when the jukebox skipped to something too cheerful for a Tuesday. I found myself looking for him in the crowd, and I hated how obvious it felt.

Somewhere in there, I must’ve told him about school. I don’t remember how it came up. Maybe I was humming while I cleaned glasses, or maybe he just noticed things. He always did.

He didn’t ask dumb questions. Didn’t pretend to get it. But he listened when I ranted about composers, or complained about endless rehearsals and how no one ever wanted to programme women in concert lineups. He didn’t offer advice—just let me talk, nodding like it mattered.

Then one night, after close, I sat down at the battered upright in the corner. It was wildly out of tune, a few keys stuck if you hit them too hard, but it was still a piano, and I needed something that made sense.

I played something small. Simple. Something just for me.

I didn’t know he was still there until I finished.

He was standing by the jukebox, cigarette unlit, arms crossed, eyes on me.

“That was good,” he said.

I blinked. “Didn’t know you were still here.”

“Didn’t know you could make it sound like that.”

I smiled a little, fingers still resting on the keys. “I’m studying piano performance. It’s sort of my thing.”

He nodded, then said, quietly, “I like hearin’ you talk about music. Don’t always get it, but I like the way you say it.”

That was the beginning.

Now it’s been months. And I’ve got a boyfriend who smells like oil and Marlboros, who kisses me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. Who pulls up outside on his bike with one hand on the throttle and a look that says get on. I ride with my arms around his waist, the wind tangling my hair, the world streaking past in golds and greys. Sometimes it feels like flying. Sometimes it feels like falling.

⸻

The rehearsal rooms on the top floor were always cold. Pale light spilled through the tall windows, catching on dust motes like a snow globe that had just been shaken. I liked this one best—big enough for the grand piano to breathe, quiet enough that I could, too.

Wednesday mornings were for tutorials. Two hours, just me and Professor Styles.

I was early. Again.

The piano bench creaked as I settled in, fingers already warming up on instinct. Major scales, then minor, then a slow drift into something more complex—a movement from my recital programme, still half-formed in my hands. I’d been working on it for weeks. I loved how it sounded when I got it right. And I hated how often I didn’t.

The door opened behind me with a soft click.

“Still the only student I know who shows up fifteen minutes early,” came the familiar voice.

I didn’t stop playing. “Still the only professor I know who notices.”

He laughed quietly—more a sound of agreement than amusement. “Well. There’s a reason I fought to keep you in my studio this year.”

I glanced over my shoulder as he entered. Professor Styles always looked like he belonged in a different century. Black trousers, wool coat left unbuttoned, shirt sleeves pushed up just enough to show the ink stain on his wrist. His hair curled slightly in the damp. There was a record tucked under his arm, as usual.

He set it on the windowsill, watching me with that particular kind of attention he always had—focused, but not overbearing. Like he was listening even when I wasn’t playing.

“You’ve been working on the Dutilleux,” he said, nodding toward the sheet music beside me.

“Trying to. It’s like learning to breathe backwards.”

His lips curved faintly. “That’s a compliment, for Dutilleux.”

He moved to the chair just behind me, not close enough to crowd, but near enough that I could feel the shift in air between us. He didn’t carry the scent of cologne, just paper and something woody—like old books and forgotten rooms.

“Go ahead,” he said. “From the top.”

I played. Slowly, then with more confidence as the piece unfolded. My fingers stumbled once—too much pressure in the left hand—but I didn’t stop. I’d learned not to stop. Professor Styles didn’t believe in halting just because you missed something. “Recover like it was meant to happen,” he always said.

When I finished, he didn’t speak right away.

Then: “You’re close. Not just technically. You’re… starting to let the music speak without getting in the way.”

I turned slightly. “That a compliment?”

He smiled. “Absolutely. You’re getting better at letting go.”

It was the kind of feedback that stuck with me. I liked that about him. He never handed out praise unless it meant something. When he said you were good, it was because you’d earned it.

I looked away, staring down at the keys. “Sometimes I feel like I’m chasing shadows. Like I know what I want the piece to say, but my hands haven’t caught up.”

“You’ll get there,” he said softly. “Your instincts are sharp. You just need to trust them more.”

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just long enough to notice.

He cleared his throat and stood. “Take a break. We’ll go again from the second movement.”

I nodded, letting my fingers trail off the keys.

He crossed to the window, adjusting the record slightly on the sill like it was some kind of habit. I watched him for a second too long before looking away.

It wasn’t like that.

Not really.

He was just my professor.

And I… I just liked being seen.

I packed up slowly after we finished, folding my sheet music with more care than it needed. He didn’t rush me—he never did. Just stood by the window, fingers brushing the edge of the record he’d brought in like it meant something. Maybe it did.

When I turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder.

“You’re playing well,” he said, tone casual. “It’s coming together.”

“Thanks Professor Styles,” I said, shifting my bag onto one shoulder. “I’m trying.”

He nodded. Then added, almost offhand, “And you can call me Harry, by the way. ‘Professor Styles’ makes me feel about twenty years older than I am.”

I blinked. “Oh. Right. Sure.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first student who’s looked like I just asked them to commit a crime.”

“You kind of did,” I said, trying to laugh it off.

He didn’t push it. Just gave another nod, softer this time. “Take care. I’ll see you in class.”

I left before I could think too much about how that landed. The echo of the piano still hummed in my bones as I pushed through the building’s heavy doors and stepped out into the street.

And there he was.

Benny, perched on his bike like he’d been born in that exact spot, one boot planted on the pavement, fingers tapping against the throttle in a slow, familiar rhythm. Wind-ruffled hair, oil-smudged denim, and a look that flicked to mine the second I appeared.

He didn’t wave or smile or call out. He didn’t need to.

I crossed the street and climbed on behind him, hands finding his waist like muscle memory. He passed me a look over his shoulder—checking, like always—and then the engine roared to life beneath us.

My world was split clean down the middle.

Grand pianos and bike engines.

Recital halls and back alley bars.

And somehow, I was balancing between them like I belonged in both.

Like I could keep it that way forever.

⸻

She came outta the building the same way she always did—like she had a purpose, even if it was just headin’ for me. Bag over one shoulder, hair a little messy from the wind, or maybe from pullin’ it loose after whatever lesson she’d just finished. Always looked a little different after. Like somethin’ shifted while she was in there.

She spotted me, and that small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The one she didn’t give nobody else. Or maybe she did—I wouldn’t know. I didn’t follow her in. Wouldn’t fit, even if I tried.

She climbed on behind me without sayin’ a word, arms around my waist, chin just brushin’ my shoulder for a second. Like always.

Oughta feel normal by now. Routine.

It didn’t.

I kept my eyes on the road, hands steady, but my head was somewhere else. Caught on the same damn thought that crept in sometimes—quiet, like a leak I hadn’t patched yet.

I didn’t know what the hell she saw in me.

She was all sharp edges and quiet ambition. Played like she was built for it, talked like she’d swallowed a library. And me—

I fixed shit.

I hit shit.

I rode fast enough to feel like somethin’ was chasin’ me, even if I didn’t know what.

She never looked at me like I didn’t belong. Not once. But sometimes I looked at her and thought, You could have anyone. Why the fuck me?

And worse—How long until you realise you shouldn’t’ve picked me at all?

We ended up at this spot a couple blocks from the school. Real diner—chrome counters, red vinyl booths, eggs all day, no music ‘cept the hum of the fans and the clink of cutlery. She liked it. Said it was the only place that didn’t smell like espresso or try to sell her a five-dollar muffin.

We grabbed a booth by the window. I always let her sit facin’ the door. No real reason. Just habit. She slid her coat off, smoothed down her hair, and started diggin’ through a mess of paper in her bag.

“Lesson go alright?” I asked, like I wasn’t already lookin’ at her mouth when she bit her lip.

She nodded, kinda distracted. “Yeah. Same piece. Second movement’s still chewing me up.”

“Sounded pretty good last week.”

“Pretty good doesn’t cut it.” Then she smiled, and hell if it didn’t hit me like it always did. Warm. Sharp. Like bein’ punched and kissed at the same time. “But thanks.”

Waitress came by, dropped two menus and poured coffee like she knew the drill. I got a sandwich. She ordered a salad, then stole half my fries like always.

“So,” she said, twirlin’ her fork. “What about you? Vandal business this morning?”

“Stopped by the shop,” I said. “Corky busted the front end of his bike again showin’ off for some girls.”

She snorted. “Charming.”

“They weren’t impressed.”

“Smart girls.”

I grinned. She stole another fry.

It was always like this. Easy. Like we’d known each other longer than we had. Like we hadn’t spent the first month pretendin’ we weren’t watchin’ each other from across the bar.

I still remembered our first kiss.

She’d just finished her shift and I’d walked her to her car, like I always did. That night, she leaned on the hood for a second before unlockin’ it. Said her hands were cold. I offered her my jacket. She took it, looked at me, and said, “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous before.”

And I was. Heart bangin’ around in my ribs like it was in the wrong damn body.

She kissed me first. Quick. Sure. Like she wasn’t waitin’ on me to get my shit together. I kissed her back—harder than I meant to, probably. Like I’d been holdin’ my breath for weeks and didn’t know what to do with the air now that I had it. She didn’t seem to mind. Just smiled against my mouth like she’d known I would.

And now here she was, across the table, eatin’ my fries and talkin’ about her music like this was normal.

Like we were normal.

But I didn’t feel normal with her.

I felt seen. And not for what I looked like, or what jacket I wore, or what crew I ran with. She looked at me like I was made of more than fists and silence. And the real kicker? I wanted to be. For her.

“You’re quiet,” she said, lookin’ up.

“Just thinkin’.”

“Dangerous,” she teased, nudgin’ my foot under the table.

I took a sip of coffee to cover the ache in my chest. “Yeah. Probably.”

⸻

The classroom smelled faintly of chalk dust and old wood. Not the kind of place where inspiration lived. Just rows of desks, open books, and stifled yawns. Music theory at 3pm on Friday had a way of thinning the soul.

I sat near the back. Not hidden, but not front-row eager either. I already knew most of what was on the board. Counterpoint rules. Voice leading. Dominant sevenths bending back toward home. I copied notes anyway. I always did.

Professor Styles moved through the lecture like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone—clear, efficient, never condescending. He didn’t use slides. Just spoke, occasionally scribbled on the board, and the room always quieted a little when he did.

Class ended with the usual shuffle of chairs and papers. People started filing out—some still half-asleep, some already talking about coffee. I was zipping up my bag when I heard it:

“Y/N—could you stay a minute?”

I looked up. His tone was casual, but it still made my stomach flip. A few people turned as they passed, but no one lingered. It wasn’t unusual. Not really.

I stayed in my seat as the room cleared out.

When it was just the two of us, he leaned against the desk at the front, arms folded loosely. No notes in his hands. Just watching me, not quite smiling.

“Just wanted to check in before Wednesday,” he said. “Our lesson.”

“Sure,” I said, standing slowly. “Everything alright?”

He nodded. “More than alright. I was impressed by your analysis today.”

I blinked. “You were?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Most students memorise the rules. You heard something different in that Brahms passage. Followed instinct. That’s rare.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Thanks,” came out before I could think.

“Don’t overthink it,” he said, with the faintest curve to his mouth. “It’s good to have a mind for structure. But the real magic happens when you start to trust your gut.”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure if he meant in music or… something else.

“I’ll see you Wednesday,” he said, pushing off the desk.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Looking forward to it.”

I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.

But I also didn’t correct myself.

⸻

By the time I reached the rehearsal room, the sun was just starting to warm the tall windows, the air still cold enough to raise goosebumps under my sweater. I was five minutes early, but he was already there, leaning against the edge of the piano, arms folded, eyes on the floor like he’d been thinking about something important and didn’t want to bring it into the room.

He looked up when I walked in.

“Morning,” he said, voice softer than usual.

“Morning,” I echoed, dropping my bag and rolling my shoulders. I hadn’t warmed up yet—hadn’t had time—but I sat anyway, fingers twitching to move.

“You look tired,” he said—not unkindly.

“Late shift,” I replied, flexing my hands over the keys.

“Another job?” he asked, stepping a little closer.

I nodded. “Yeah. Nights. A bar.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Busy?”

“Always.” I gave a dry smile. “Not glamorous, if that’s what you’re picturing.”

“Wasn’t,” he said. “Though now I’m curious.”

I glanced at him, then back to the piano. “It’s loud. Sticky floors. Jukebox that skips every third song. I pour drinks and tell men twice my age to keep their hands to themselves.”

He made a quiet sound, like disapproval caught in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it.

I shrugged. “Pays the bills.”

He didn’t speak right away. Then—

“I used to work weekends at a record shop.”

I looked up at him. That surprised me.

“Thought you were born in a tweed blazer,” I said.

That pulled a real smile out of him. “I wasn’t always a professor, you know. Just a kid shelving vinyl for minimum wage and stealing time on the shop piano when my boss wasn’t paying attention.”

“There was a piano in the record store?”

“Old upright in the back,” he said. “Completely out of tune. I loved it.”

For a moment, we were just two people, both with tired hands and old pianos in unlikely places.

I turned back to the keys and started in on the Dutilleux—soft, uncertain at first, then settling into something smoother. I could feel his gaze but didn’t look up.

Halfway through the second page, he moved beside me—closer than before—and reached out without warning to adjust my left wrist.

“Relax here,” he said, fingers brushing mine, light but deliberate. “You’re holding tension. It’s slowing you down.”

I faltered slightly, then caught myself.

“Thanks, Professor—”

I stopped, blinked.

“Harry.”

He glanced down at me, just for a second. Said nothing.

His hand stayed there a moment too long before he pulled back.

When we finished the piece, he moved to the windowsill and picked up the record he’d brought in earlier. He turned it in his hands, thoughtful, then looked over at me.

“Have you heard this one?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Don’t think so.”

“You’d like it.” He held it out. “Take it. Keep it for a while.”

I blinked. “You sure?”

“I’ve already played it to death,” he said. “Besides, it’s better in new hands.”

I took it carefully, the sleeve worn soft at the corners.

“And—actually,” he added, casually, “some friends of mine are putting on a small concert this weekend. Nothing formal. House show. Mostly composers and grad students. You might enjoy it. I could send you the details if you’re interested.”

I stared at him for a beat too long. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No pressure.”

When I left the room, the record was tucked under my arm.

And my hands still remembered the shape of his.

⸻

The bar had that warm, greasy glow it always got ‘round ten. Pool lights low, jukebox cracklin’ something slow, just enough noise to feel alive without leanin’ into chaos.

I was halfway through a game when one of the guys hollered over, beer in hand, grinnin’ wide.

“Hey Cross—how many stoplights was it again?”

I lined up a shot, didn’t even glance over. “They said seven, so…”

Laughter rolled through the room.

Johnny raised his glass. “So, what?”

I sank the ball with one smooth crack and straightened up. “So I guess that’s the number,” I said, tossin’ the cue up into my palm. “But it felt like more.”

That got a bigger laugh. Even Zipco cracked up from over by the jukebox.

Truth was, it had felt like more. Wind in my teeth, cops behind me, the whole world twistin’ sideways around the throttle. I didn’t do it for the thrill. I just needed to know how far I could push it before it all caught up with me.

Then I saw her.

Hair up, sleeves pushed back, tray of empties balanced like it didn’t weigh a thing. She passed by, caught my eye, tipped her head toward the alley door.

Break time.

I handed Wahoo my cue and followed her out back.

It was cooler outside, the kind of night that hinted at rain without deliverin’. She was already leanin’ against the wall, cigarette lit, the tip glowin’ warm against her mouth.

She passed it to me without lookin’. I took a drag and let the smoke sit in my chest a minute before speakin’.

“Wahoo says I ain’t allowed to win more than three games in a row.”

She smirked. “What happens if you do?”

“Says it’s bad for morale.”

“You are bad for morale.”

I exhaled, slow and amused. “Tell that to the state trooper who wrote me up for reckless endangerment and said I needed ‘professional help.’”

She laughed—quiet, real. That sound always knocked somethin’ loose in me.

We stood in comfortable silence for a while, passin’ the cigarette back and forth. I liked moments like this. No crowds. No noise. Just us.

Then she said it—light, casual, like it didn’t mean nothin’.

“Harry, my professor gave me a record after my lesson this week.”

I glanced at her. “Yeah?”

“Said I’d like it. Told me to keep it for a while.” She tapped ash off the end of the cigarette.

I didn’t say anythin’. Just took the smoke back.

“And he invited me to some composer thing,” she added. “Like a house concert. Grad students, mostly.”

I raised a brow. “That normal? Professors handin’ out vinyl and party invitations?”

She shrugged. “He said it was low-key. He’s… kind of like that.”

“Kinda like what?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, “I guess I mean… he’s not formal. Doesn’t act like other professors.”

I handed the cigarette back. “You call him by his first name?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “He asked me to.”

I nodded once, slow. Watched the ember flare as she inhaled.

I wasn’t gonna say anythin’. Didn’t wanna ruin the quiet. But somethin’ shifted in my chest all the same.

I knew men. Knew how they moved when they were testin’ somethin’. I didn’t care if this one read music instead of engine gauges—he wasn’t subtle. And he wasn’t stupid.

She looked down at her boots like maybe she felt it too.

I didn’t push. Just said, “What’s on the record?”

She looked up again, smilin’ like none of it landed.

“I haven’t listened yet.”

⸻

The address Harry gave me was a townhouse off a side street I’d never noticed before. Narrow steps, cracked paint, lights glowing low behind the curtains. I stood on the pavement longer than I meant to, record in one hand, nerves in the other. I wasn’t even sure why I’d come. Curiosity, maybe. Or the part of me that wanted to prove I could belong here too.

The door was slightly ajar, and music drifted out—something dissonant and freeform, a little jazzy, a little odd. Not the tidy string quartets we analysed in class. Inside, the air smelled like clove cigarettes and old wood, and the furniture didn’t match. A baby grand was wedged into the corner, half-surrounded by people in denim and flannel, shoes kicked off, instruments balanced on laps or propped against the wall.

Not quite bohemian. Not quite beatnik. Somewhere in between. Less berets, more frayed hems and opinionated laughter.

I hovered in the entryway until Harry appeared, smiling like he’d been waiting for me.

“You made it,” he said, and the way he said it made something behind my ribs pull tight.

“Yeah,” I managed. “Wasn’t sure what to wear.”

He laughed softly. “There’s no dress code here. Just ears and an open mind.”

Then his hand brushed the small of my back as he guided me inside, light but deliberate. My pulse flickered. It didn’t mean anything. Not really.

He introduced me around—composers, grad students, a couple of visiting alumni. Each time, he spoke just a little too highly of me. “One of the most intuitive pianists I’ve taught,” he said once, and I had to force myself not to flinch. It was too much.

He stayed close as the performances started. There was a makeshift set-up: a guy with a modular synth, someone else bowing a saw, a girl singing without words into a loop pedal. It wasn’t bad. Some of it was beautiful. But I didn’t know how to react—how much was supposed to move me, how much was meant to challenge me.

Every time I shifted, I felt Harry’s eyes. Watching me instead of the music. Leaning in to say something about the phrasing, or how this performer had just premiered a piece in Berlin, or what he thought I’d find interesting about the structure. His voice was low. Too close. And I realised, after the third or fourth time, that no one else’s professor was sitting next to them like this.

At some point, I let myself wonder what it would be like.

To belong to this world.

The one with mismatched chairs and open chords and quiet conversations that spiralled into theory at midnight.

To be the kind of woman who fit here. Who could talk about contemporary French composers and knew what year each recording of Mahler’s Fifth was released. Who would end up with a man like him—refined, articulate, brilliant. Who’d sit beside him at recitals and open wine with one hand and manuscripts with the other.

And maybe that would’ve been enough.

But then I thought of Benny.

I thought of the sound of his laugh cracking across a smoky bar. The way he always walks me to my car, like it’s just what you do. How he fixes things without asking, like it’s second nature. How the other Vandals—rough, crude, loud—look out for each other like brothers, and nod at me now like I’m one of theirs.

I thought about the way he rides—fast, reckless, like the wind belongs to him.

There’s no piano in his world. No professors. No theory debates over coffee.

But there’s something else. Something real. Something that feels like home even when it’s messy.

And I felt it then—the shame. Hot, creeping.

Because I’d come here. Because I’d been flattered. Because I’d let Harry’s hand rest on my back for too long without stepping away. Because part of me wanted to be admired by two very different men who lived in very different worlds.

Even if I never planned to do anything with it.

I stayed a little longer. Long enough not to seem rude. Long enough for one more performance. Harry leaned over to ask what I thought of it, and I mumbled something noncommittal. I didn’t trust my voice not to betray me.

When I finally stood to leave, he followed me to the door.

“Thanks for inviting me,” I said, and handed his record back.

He looked at it for a second—just a beat too long—before taking it from my hands.

“You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It was… interesting.”

“I meant it,” he said, voice lower now. “You belong in rooms like this.”

He didn’t touch me again. But he didn’t have to.

I stepped out into the night air and exhaled like I’d been holding something in.

I didn’t know how to name what I was feeling. Just that it stayed with me on the walk home—rattling around beside the silence and the heat still low in my chest.

I hadn’t done anything wrong.

But I didn’t feel clean, either.

And that was the part that stuck.

⸻

I was late.

Only by five minutes, but it felt like more when I spotted her already outside, halfway down the steps, not alone.

There was a guy with her. Tall, wiry. Had that sharp, unbothered look some guys get when they’ve never been punched in the mouth. Coat open, sleeves rolled. Voice low, easy. He wasn’t facing’ me, not fully—but I could see the way he leaned in when he talked, like he wanted her to lean back.

She didn’t. But she smiled at somethin’ he said. Brushed her hair behind her ear the way she does when she’s bein’ polite but don’t quite know what to do with it.

I slowed the bike to a crawl and coasted to the curb. Couldn’t hear what he said, but I saw the way he looked at her.

It wasn’t sleazy. Would’ve been easier if it was.

Nah, this was different.

Calculated. Patient. Like he thought he already knew how it’d go. Like he was settin’ the stage and enjoyin’ the wait.

That was worse.

I killed the engine and stepped off. Sound must’ve cut through, ‘cause she turned fast—eyes liftin’, smile changin’. That one was mine. The real one.

He looked too.

And I knew.

He didn’t know who I was. Not yet. Just saw some guy in leather crossin’ the street like he meant it, and didn’t like it. He straightened up. Hands outta his pockets now.

I got close enough to see the crease in his brow before he ironed it out.

“Hey,” she said, steppin’ toward me a little. Not away from him—just into my orbit.

My hand brushed her back. Easy. Natural. And just like that, she turned to face me.

The guy cleared his throat. “Didn’t realise you had someone picking you up.”

Y/N glanced between us. “This is Benny.”

I didn’t say nothin’, just looked at him.

“Hi,” he said, stickin’ out a hand. “Harry Styles. I teach here.”

I looked at the hand. Didn’t take it. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ve heard.”

A beat passed. He let it drop. His eyes flicked to my jacket. My boots. Then to her. “I was just catching Y/N before she left,” he said.

I nodded. “Looked like it.”

Her voice cut through the air between us. “Harry was just heading out.”

He held her gaze a second too long for my likin’. Then smiled—tight and polite. “Right. Of course.”

He turned toward the building. Didn’t say bye. Didn’t nod. Just let his eyes flick one last time to my arm at her back, then walked inside like he already made up his mind about me.

Soon as he was gone, she let out a breath like the air’d changed.

“He just came out to—”

“I know,” I said. But it came out flatter than I meant it to.

We stood there for a beat, then she reached for my hand. I let her take it.

“He’s not—he wasn’t—”

“I know,” I said again, softer this time.

I gave her hand a squeeze. “Come on.”

We walked back to the bike together, her hand still warm in mine.

She climbed on behind me, arms around my waist, chin brushin’ my shoulder. Same as always.

But the way he’d looked at her—that calculation, that pause—sat heavy in my chest the whole way home.

The ride home was quiet.

Not the good kind—the kind where the wind fills in the blanks and you both fall into it easy. This was the other kind. The kind where every gear shift felt louder than it should, and her arms around me were the only thing keepin’ me from flyin’ straight outta my own head.

She didn’t say nothin’. Just held on, steady as ever, but I could feel the way her cheek pressed against my back a little tighter than usual. Like maybe she felt it too.

I dropped her off at home. Didn’t go in. Just waited while she climbed off, hair wild from the ride. Her eyes searched mine like she was about to say somethin’. But I beat her to it.

“I’ll see you at the bar tomorrow,” I said, voice too low, too flat.

She hesitated. Then nodded. “Okay.”

I didn’t kiss her goodbye.

⸻

The bar was louder than usual. Not wild, not dangerous—just buzzing in that Friday night way, all cheap laughter and jukebox static and the sound of pool balls cracking like bones. I moved through it easily, carrying a tray of drinks, weaving around the regulars like it was second nature. It was. The sticky floors, the hazy lights, the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the curtains—this place lived under my skin now.

I spotted Benny the moment I came back through the swinging door from the back. He was near the pool table, cue resting against one shoulder, face unreadable. Quiet, which wasn’t unusual. But this kind of quiet—closed-off, stormy-eyed—was.

Corky elbowed me gently as I passed, jerking his chin toward Benny. “Your boy’s in a mood.”

I gave a noncommittal smile. “Yeah?”

“Nearly laid out a guy at the gas station this mornin’, hasn’t said five words all night.” he said, swiping his drink. “Wahoo offered him the next game, and he just shook his head.”

That wasn’t like Benny. He never turned down a game. Even when he lost, he liked the play.

I caught Cal watching him too, leaning back in his chair with a beer bottle resting on his chest. “You want us to talk to him?” he asked, not unkind.

I shook my head. “It’s alright. I got it.”

I made the rest of my rounds, but my eyes kept flicking back to him. The shadows he wore weren’t about a bad day or a busted engine. They were heavier than that. More personal.

When my shift finally gave me a break, I headed straight for him.

He was leaning against the wall near the back, where the light didn’t quite reach. Not drinking. Just watching the room like it was moving without him.

I walked up slowly, letting him see me first. He didn’t smile, didn’t shift. Just looked down at me with those storm-cloud eyes.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” I asked, soft but firm.

He shrugged, barely a movement. “Nothin’.”

“Right. That’s why you look like someone ran over your bike and then pissed on your boots.”

His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite make it. I stepped in closer, tipping my chin up.

“Is it about—” I hesitated. “What happened outside school the other day?”

He didn’t answer.

I reached out, fingers brushing the side of his jacket, just a light touch to say I was here.

“He’s no one,” I said.

That made something flicker behind his eyes. “Doesn’t act like it.”

“He’s a professor,” I said. “That’s all.”

Benny looked away, jaw tight.

I stepped between his legs, placing a hand flat on his chest. “You really think I’d trade leather and engine grease for a man who talks in semicolons?”

That earned the ghost of a grin. Still, he didn’t say anything.

I leaned in a little closer. “You wanna know what I was thinking while he was talking about tempo and tone and all his Very Important Thoughts?”

He looked down at me. “What?”

I smiled. “That I missed the sound of your laugh.”

And there it was—just like that. The smallest huff, the tiniest lift at the corner of his mouth.

I tapped my knuckle lightly against his sternum. “There it is.”

“You’re annoyin’,” he murmured.

“But you like it.”

His hands found my waist like they belonged there, and for a second, I thought he might say something. His mouth parted—then closed again.

Instead, he kissed me.

Right there against the wall, with the din of the bar around us and the jukebox cracking into a new track. It wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t desperate. It was a kiss that said I see you. I still want this.

When he pulled back, his eyes had softened, just a little.

“Still mad?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Little bit.”

I grinned. “Good. Keeps you interesting.”

He rolled his eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You ever shut up?”

“Only when I’m busy kissing you.”

He kissed me again.

And this time, he smiled.

⸻

The room was too warm. Not in a comforting way—just stifling. The radiator had two settings: off and furnace, and today it was firmly in the latter. I peeled off my sweater halfway through the class and tried not to shift too much in my seat.

Professor Harper handed back essays with a distracted nod, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She paused when she got to mine, hesitated like she might say something, then placed it on my desk with a faint smile.

“Excellent work,” she said. “Your analysis of the Prokofiev was… really perceptive. Thoughtful.”

I muttered a thanks, kept my eyes down. I could feel the shift around me before I looked—someone clearing their throat a little too loudly. A small snort from the row behind. A quiet murmur, half-laughed, that I couldn’t quite catch. I didn’t need to.

They weren’t cruel. Not outright. Just… comfortable. And I wasn’t.

After class, Emma and Theo caught up with me in the hallway, the way they always did. I liked them—easy to talk to, always quick with a joke or a half-whispered complaint about deadlines. It never felt like I had to try too hard around them. Most days, I didn’t even think about the gap between us.

“You killed that paper,” Emma said, nudging me. “Seriously. I was staring at the page like, ‘cool notes, scary chords,’ and you’re out here writing dissertations.”

I laughed a little. “Thanks.”

Theo was digging around in his bag, muttering about being out of pencils again. “Anyway,” he said, “we’re heading to Colorado over break. Skiing, maybe snowed in. Honestly just hoping to survive a week with my cousins.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m going to our lake house. It’s like this frozen ghost town in winter—kind of beautiful, kind of creepy. Total escape.”

They both looked at me then, casual and curious. “What about you?” Emma asked. “Any plans?”

I shook my head. “Just staying local.”

“Oh, nice,” Theo said. “Honestly? Jealous. No travel stress.”

I smiled, but something in my chest tugged a little sideways. They meant well. They always did. But just like that, the line was there again—quiet, invisible, undeniable.

The truth was, I hadn’t been home since I moved to the city. I didn’t plan to. I’d left for a reason—and staying away felt like the only way to keep what I’d built.

By the time I got home, my chest felt tight in that familiar, unspoken way. Like the walls had shifted a few inches closer without asking.

The studio was small—barely enough space for the bed, the tiny kitchenette, and a secondhand piano wedged into the corner. But it was mine. And I didn’t have to answer to anyone here.

I changed into something soft, sat on the edge of the bed, stared at nothing for a while. Eventually I curled up, an old film playing quietly on the TV. Something black and white. I wasn’t really watching.

Just as I was about to reach for the light, I heard it—his boots on the stairs, then the knock. One low tap. Then another. No rhythm, just familiar.

When I opened the door, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at me with that quiet, steady way he had—like he’d already figured something was wrong and wasn’t going to press until I let him in.

He toed off his boots and shrugged off his jacket, then followed me to the bed. No questions. No small talk.

I climbed up first, settling against the pillows. He stretched out beside me, close but not crowding and I let my head tip to his shoulder.

We didn’t talk. Not right away. The TV was still humming in the background but I wasn’t watching it.

After a while, I felt his hand shift. The lightest touch against my knee where it was tucked beneath me. His thumb moved in slow circles through the fabric. Grounding. Quiet.

We stayed like that for a while, not saying anything. Just sharing the space. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was warm. Like something solid I could lean against. Eventually, I curled closer. He adjusted slightly, his arm came around me slow, steady, his chin brushing the top of my head.

He didn’t ask what happened.

I felt the slow rise and fall of his chest. Heard his breath catch just a little when I turned into him.

I didn’t need him to talk. I just needed him close. And Benny… he always knew the difference.

He kissed the side of my head. Just once.

And then we stayed like that. Quiet. Close. A little broken, but less alone.

⸻

I hadn’t planned on goin’.

She’d told me about the performance—talked about it for weeks—but never said, you should come. Maybe she didn’t think I would. Maybe she figured I wouldn’t want to. But I remembered—how her hands moved when she talked about it, the way her eyes lit up, then dimmed again like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be proud.

So I showed up.

Didn’t belong there.

Small recital hall near campus. Dim lights. Old wood floors. People in soft coats with soft voices, sippin’ wine like it meant somethin’. I came through the back, didn’t sit. Just stayed in the shadows against the far wall. Arms crossed. Jacket zipped. Boots still scuffed from the ride.

My colours. Always.

Then she walked out.

Simple dress. Hair tied back. That quiet kind of calm she gets right before doin’ somethin’ that matters. Sat down at the piano like she owned it.

And then—

Hell.

She was somethin’ else.

Not just good. Not just real good. Brilliant. One of those performances that makes people stop breathin’ without realisin’ it. I didn’t know the piece, didn’t know the theory. Didn’t matter. Every note, every breath—hers. And the worst part?

She looked like she belonged.

When it ended, the applause was loud. Deserved. I clapped too—quiet, quick—then slipped further into the dark.

The professor stood right away. Harry. Front row seat. Of course. He headed for the side of the stage, waitin’ there like he’d earned it.

She stepped off, still glowin’, flushed and smilin’. He leaned in. Said somethin’ close to her ear.

She laughed. Bright. Tired.

Then he hugged her. Close. Too close.

My jaw tightened.

I moved.

Didn’t think. Just… moved.

Found a side hallway, stayed outta sight near backstage. I didn’t know what I was doin’—only that I had to see.

Had to know.

She was surrounded now—people like her. Students. Friends. The kind who knew all the right words.

I stayed in the dark.

Listened.

“Let’s get drinks,” some guy said—tall, blazer, clarinet player earlier. “But not at that dive bar she works at. I’m not trying to lose my shoes to the floorboards.”

Laughter.

Another voice:

“Yeah, I’m good on dodging a knife fight with her biker boyfriend.”

More laughter.

Then Emma—her friend—nudged her. “Come on. You can’t seriously like hanging out with those guys. They’re sweet, sure, but rough doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Y/N smiled. Too fast. “They’re… yeah. Not exactly concert hall material.”

She didn’t sound cruel. Just… tired. Like she didn’t have it in her to argue. Not tonight.

That was enough.

I turned and walked.

Didn’t wait to hear the rest.

Didn’t hear her say, not five seconds later, “But it’s not what you think. They’re actually kind of great.”

Didn’t see the way she smiled talkin’ about the jukebox, or Wahoo and Corky arguin’ over pool.

Didn’t hear her voice go soft.

I was already gone.

Out into the cold.

Leather creakin’. Boots loud on pavement.

Breath tight in my chest.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It was somethin’ meaner.

The fear I didn’t belong in her world.

And the worse fear—

Maybe she was startin’ to see it, too.

⸻

The meet was out at the edge of the racetrack. Old rally grounds where the Vandals had been parkin’ up for years—long enough that nobody questioned it, even when some of the new crews started sniffin’ around.

Sun was high, air sharp. The lot was full—bikes, boot prints, leftover smoke from a drag run still curlin’ across the field. I was sittin’ on the hood of a beat-up car with Brucie, a beer cold in my hand, not really listenin’ to what he was sayin’.

I should’ve still been thinkin’ about the night before.

She’d been somethin’ else. Even now, I could see her under that light—fingers flyin’, spotlight catchin’ the edge of her jaw, that little flicker in her eye like she was proud but tryin’ not to show it. It stuck to me like smoke. I’d barely slept, hadn’t talked to her yet. Didn’t know what I was s’posed to say. Didn’t know if she’d wanna hear it.

But that thought vanished the second I looked up and saw Johnny.

He was standin’ across the field, real still, squared off with some guy in a patched jacket I didn’t recognise. Another club. Mouths movin’, shoulders stiff.

Gail said somethin’, maybe a warnin’, but I didn’t catch it.

I was already on my feet.

I don’t remember movin’.

Just the feel of gravel under my boots and the way my knuckles cracked as I swung. My fist caught him clean in the jaw—one hit, full force. He went down hard. I didn’t stop.

Didn’t think. Just kept goin’.

Next one came at me. I slammed him against a car and went for his ribs—but he shifted. My hand went straight through the window.

Didn’t feel it at first.

Then I saw it.

Glass stickin’ out of my knuckle. Deep. Glintin’ red. Whole world blurred for a second—noise, motion, the cold air like a slap. I grabbed it, yanked hard.

Blood hit my cheek. The car. Maybe him. Didn’t care. Just stood there a beat, watchin’ it drip, heart hammerin’.

Then I saw him again. The guy.

Took him down.

Blood—mine, his, whoever’s—started flyin’. Boots hittin’ ribs. Fists hittin’ faces. Roar in my ears so loud I couldn’t hear nothin’. Didn’t want to.

Someone grabbed me from behind. I fought like a fuckin’ dog, teeth bared, body wild. Elbowed back. Hit a gut. Didn’t care whose.

It was Johnny.

Arms wrapped around me, tight. Haulin’ me back like he’d done it before. He was shoutin’—my name maybe. Maybe nothin’.

“Benny—hey—hey, that’s enough—”

I wasn’t listenin’.

Couldn’t.

I tried to twist free. He held tighter. Like if he let go, I’d tear the whole goddamn place apart. We hit the dirt hard. Wind knocked outta me.

Didn’t fight after that.

Just laid there. Chest heaving. Blood in my mouth. Eyes wide.

The others were quiet now. Not ‘cause it was over—‘cause of me.

Johnny didn’t say a word. Just stayed next to me in the dirt.

Waitin’ for me to come back.

I didn’t.

Not all the way.

⸻

It was one of those nights where the bar buzzed without tipping into chaos—warm lights, jukebox skipping between blues and static, the usual crowd packed around the pool table with beers in hand. My apron was already damp with spilled whiskey, and my feet ached, but I kept scanning the door like an idiot.

Benny wasn’t here.

Not that he came every single night. But he usually showed up at some point—even just for a smoke out back or to lean against the wall and wait until I finished. A nod from the doorway. A glance across the bar. Something. But tonight? Nothing.

I tried not to let it bother me. Wiped down the counter. Collected the empties. Laughed at some guy’s half-decent joke about the jukebox skipping every Ray Charles song. Normal stuff. The stuff that made the hours pass.

But then I heard it—one of the guys near the back, loud and already three beers in, retelling a story like it was the best thing that’d happened all week.

“Man, I’m tellin’ ya,” he said, eyes wide. “He flew outta nowhere—just clocked the guy right in the face. Didn’t even wait. Didn’t even ask. Bam.”

The others broke into laughter, hooting and cursing and clinking glasses.

“Johnny had to drag him off,” another chimed in, shaking his head. “Never seen him go off like that, not even back in Lakeside.”

“Think he mighta knocked the guy’s teeth out,” someone added. “Whole side of his face was swellin’ up like a damn peach.”

I paused mid-pour, listening. My stomach turned.

Corky caught me looking and grinned. “You shoulda seen it, Y/N. Your boy snapped like a live wire. Was kinda beautiful, in a messed-up way.”

“What happened?” I asked, wiping my hands on a towel, trying to keep my voice even. “Where?”

“The Springfield rally,” he said. “Some guy got mouthy with Johnny. Wasn’t even Benny’s fight, but he just lost it. No warnin’.”

My hands stilled. “Is he okay?”

Corky shrugged. “Physically? Sure. Mentally? I dunno. He’s been different lately.”

Brucie leaned in from the side. “Reckless,” he said simply. “Like he’s tryin’ to burn the edges off himself.”

They went back to their drinks like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t sticking in my throat.

I didn’t ask any more questions. Just nodded, quietly, and went back to serving drinks, heart thudding too loud in my chest. I tried not to picture it—Benny’s fists, Benny’s face, the way he looked when something finally broke inside.

It wasn’t like him. Not like that.

Later, after last call, I was restocking the fridges when Johnny came around the back of the bar. He didn’t say anything at first—just grabbed a stool and sat like he’d been waiting to speak.

“He’s alright,” he said, voice low.

I didn’t ask who he meant.

“But he’s… off.” Johnny rubbed a hand over his jaw, like he was still working through whatever happened. “Kid’s always had a fuse, you know that. But this? It was more than temper. Was like he wanted to hurt.”

I swallowed hard. “Why?”

Johnny looked at me. Really looked.

“I was hopin’ you’d know,” he said. “He listens to you. When he’s not listenin’ to the ghosts in his head.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because all I could think was: Why wasn’t he here tonight?

And what the hell was going through his head that made him go looking for blood?

⸻

The road didn’t give a damn how fast I went. Didn’t care my knuckles were still split from the fight. Or that my chest’d been tight for two days straight. Asphalt just stretched out in front of me, long and dark and cold, the kinda straight that dared you to keep pushin’.

So I did.

Throttle wide open. Engine screamin’, shakin’ like it wanted to buck me clean off. Wind tearin’ past so loud it stripped the world away.

Didn’t matter where I was headin’. Didn’t even clock what highway I’d taken. Just rode. Fast. Hard. Like if I pushed it enough, maybe I could outrun the sound of her laughin’ with him. The way she smiled when he pulled her in.

The way she hadn’t said nothin’.

—

I turned up for my shift the same way I always did—coat pulled tight, boots still wet from the snow slush outside. The bar was already humming, half-full, jukebox skipping tracks every so often like it was drunk too.

No Benny.

I didn’t panic. Not yet.

He wasn’t always early. Maybe he’d had something to fix. Maybe he was out back.

I started wiping down the bar. Checked the clock again. Poured a round. Still no sign.

Then I heard it—one of the guys, near the pool table, laughing with his drink sloshing a little too wide.

“—you should’ve seen him, man. Took off like the damn devil was chasin’ him. Didn’t even slow at the turn. Thought he was gonna eat it.”

“Worse than usual?”

“Hell yeah. Thought he was always nuts, but lately he’s got that look again.”

I froze. Dried glass halfway in my hand.

—

I don’t know how far I went. Just tore down the highway, past city lines, past anything familiar. Didn’t care. Didn’t even look. Wind stung my face raw. Just the cold and the engine and the sound of my own thoughts gettin’ louder the longer I ran.

Eventually I pulled off at some nowhere exit. Didn’t recognise the place. Didn’t want to.

Old motel with a busted sign. Neon flickerin’. Place smelled like wet smoke and cheap plastic.

I didn’t go inside. Just killed the engine, parked under the busted streetlamp, and leaned back against the seat. Cold air in my lungs. Exhaust tickin’ as it cooled.

I didn’t wanna go home. Didn’t wanna ride past her place. Didn’t wanna slow down enough to see if her light was still on. If she was thinkin’ about me. If she’d stopped.

And fuck, I missed her.

Not just the way she looked or how she felt when she curled into me at night. I missed her laugh when somethin’ caught her off guard. The way she talked with her hands when she got goin’. The way her fingers twitched like they were always lookin’ for a piano. Even when there wasn’t one around. The way she always knew when I was comin’ apart and didn’t ask. Just got close. Just stayed.

I missed her, and I was the one who left.

—

The bar felt colder now. Like something was missing from the air and I couldn’t get warm.

I tried asking Johnny casual. Just, “Hey, has Benny been around today?”

He didn’t lie, but he didn’t say much either. Just shrugged one shoulder like maybe it hurt to move.

“He’s layin’ low,” he said. “Ridin’ a lot. Out toward the edge of town, I think.”

“Why?”

Johnny looked at me, then looked away. “He’s just figurin’ stuff out.”

That didn’t sound like Benny. Not the version I knew. Not the man who’d walk me to my car even if it was raining sideways. Who sat with me when I didn’t want to talk. Who showed up without asking just to hand me a greasy sandwich after class.

My chest felt tight. My eyes burned a little.

When my shift ended, I drove home slower than usual. Let the streets stretch out longer than they needed to. Took the long way—past the diner where we used to sit side by side in the booth, split fries and talked like the rest of the world didn’t matter. Past the garage where the Vandals always hung out, light still on, door half open like someone might still be inside.

I glanced toward the back, hoping maybe I’d see his boots sticking out from under a bike, hear his voice teasing someone through a cigarette haze.

Nothing.

At my apartment I parked and sat in the car for a while. Just… thinking.

Then I went inside and left the lamp on.

Just in case.

—

I didn’t go back the next day. Or the day after.

I thought about it. A thousand damn times. Thought about walkin’ in, seein’ her behind the bar. Thought about her askin’ where I’d been—and me standin’ there with nothin’.

’Cause how do you say that?

How do you tell someone you saw their life from the outside and didn’t think there was a place for you in it?

I didn’t have the words. Not the right ones. Not ones she deserved.

So I kept ridin’.

And when I stopped, I stayed outside. In the cold. In the quiet.

’Cause that hurt less than showin’ up and seein’ it in her eyes—that maybe she’d started wonderin’, too.

—

The bar was closing. I stepped out into the alley and looked down the street one last time.

Still no bike.

No boots. No knock.

I stood there with my hands in my pockets, coat pulled close, and thought about how easy it had been—how natural—for him to always be here.

And how heavy it felt now that he wasn’t.

I didn’t know what changed.

But something had.

And I wasn’t sure if I’d be the one to fix it.

⸻

With school out, I was picking up extra shifts, staying late without worrying about dragging myself through a morning lecture. The nights stretched longer, but I liked the hum of it—the clatter of glasses, the familiar weight of routine. It gave me something to do with my hands, something to focus on when my thoughts tried to drift somewhere they shouldn’t. Somewhere like Benny.

The bar was slower than usual tonight, but not empty. The regulars were still here—same old boots, same old orders—but the cold had kept most folks close to home. Wind howled every time the door opened, snow sticking to shoulders and boots like it belonged there.

Paul had been behind the bar when I came in, grumbling about the boiler at his place making weird noises again.

“Think it’s the pilot light,” he muttered, wiping down a pint glass. “If it goes out, I’m screwed. Pipes’ll freeze by morning.”

“Want me to close up?” I asked before he could get around to asking. “You go. Check on it.”

He blinked, like maybe he hadn’t expected the offer, then gave me a grateful look and tossed me the keys from behind the register. “You’re a saint.”

I wasn’t. Just didn’t mind the quiet.

By midnight, most of the regulars had trickled out. A few stayed longer—Corky and Zipco slow-playing a game of pool, arguing over rules they both knew—but eventually even they bundled up and called it a night.

The place settled.

Low lights, low hum. I turned off the jukebox, stacked the last of the glasses, and took a long breath behind the bar. I didn’t mind nights like this. The stillness after the noise. The soft echo of boots long gone.

I was halfway through checking the back door when I heard it.

The front door creaked open.

My heart jumped before my mouth caught up. “We’re closed,” I called, loud enough to carry, trying to sound more certain than I felt.

No answer. Just the click of the door shutting again. Slow, steady footsteps across the floor.

I stepped out from behind the bar—and stopped.

Benny.

Standing in the half-dark like something the storm had dragged in. Snow melting off his shoulders. Hair damp. Eyes fixed on me like he wasn’t sure I was real. Or maybe like he’d been hoping I wasn’t.

And for a second, neither of us moved.

He looked rough. Hollow in a way I hadn’t seen before. Dark circles under his eyes, hair damp from the snow, boots tracking melted slush across the floor like he hadn’t noticed. Or didn’t care.

But it was his hand that stopped me cold—right one, curled tight at his side, knuckles split wide open. A deep gash between the middle two, red and raw. Like he’d dragged it through something he shouldn’t have. Like it hadn’t quite healed because he hadn’t let it.

“Jesus,” I breathed, stepping forward before I could think. “Benny—what the hell happened to your hand?”

He glanced at it like he’d forgotten it was bleeding. “Nothin’.”

“Don’t give me that.”

He looked at me—really looked—and something behind his eyes sparked. Defensive. Closed.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.

“Well, I am,” I snapped. “I work here. Remember?”

He flinched like the words hit harder than I meant them to.

I crossed my arms, trying to hold steady. “You’ve been gone for days. Everyone’s saying you’ve been riding like a maniac, starting fights, blowing through stoplights—”

“Why do you care?”

That stopped me.

His voice was sharp. Accusatory. Like I was the one who’d vanished.

“Why do I—are you serious?”

He didn’t answer.

“You disappear. You nearly get arrested at a rally. You’ve still got glass in your goddamn hand—”

“I didn’t ask you to worry.”

“Well, tough shit. I do.”

Silence cracked between us. I saw the clench of his jaw. The flicker of guilt he didn’t want me to see.

“You think I haven’t been going out of my mind?” I said, voice rising. “You think I haven’t been looking for you everywhere we used to go? You think I didn’t wait up, hoping maybe you’d come knock on my door like you always do?”

“Maybe I figured you had better things to do,” he muttered.

“Like what?”

He looked away. “Like bein’ with people who fit in a fucking recital hall.”

And there it was.

My chest tightened. “This is about the recital?”

He didn’t answer.

I blinked. “You were there?”

He scoffed, eyes hard. “Course I was. You talked about that piece for weeks.”

Something cracked open in my chest.

“I didn’t know,” I said, voice suddenly small. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, well. I saw enough. Heard ‘em laugh at me like I was a joke. Like I was somethin’ you’d outgrow.”

“You were there—and you left before I—” My voice cracked. I swallowed it down. “I said good things, Benny. I told them they were wrong. That they didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.”

He didn’t move.

“I talked about the jukebox,” I said, softer now. “About Corky and Wahoo fighting over pool rules. I smiled. I was proud.”

He looked at the floor like it might open up and swallow him.

“You didn’t stay long enough to hear it,” I said. “You left before I could make it right.”

A beat passed.

Then: “He hugged you.”

The words were quiet. Shaky.

“He touched you.”

I stared at him. “You’re pissed about a hug?”

“He looked at you like he knew somethin’ I didn’t.”

“Well, he doesn’t.”

“I saw the way you smiled at him.”

“You saw half a moment and made up the rest.”

His fists curled again, and I could see the blood welling fresh between his fingers.

“And you know what?” I said, stepping in closer. “You don’t get to talk to me like I’ve betrayed you when you’re the one who ran off and didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”

His jaw worked. “I didn’t run.”

“You did. You saw something that scared you and you vanished. Like you always do when you think you’re not enough.”

Silence.

I didn’t mean to say that part out loud. But I didn’t take it back either.

His voice was a whisper. “I’m not.”

My breath caught.

He let out a breath, like it hurt, and looked away, jaw clenched. “Look at me. I’m all fucked up. Ain’t got a house. Ain’t got a real job. Just pick up shifts at the shop when they need me. I don’t care about none of that grown-up shit—it ain’t me. Never has been.”

His eyes flicked back to mine. “I didn’t wanna come back ‘cause I didn’t wanna see it happen. You figurin’ it out.”

“Figuring what out?”

“That I don’t belong with you.”

The air left my lungs.

“Benny—”

“I don’t got plans. I don’t got a future. But you do,” he said.

“Music. People who speak your language.”

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Write me off like I’m one of them.”

“I’m not writin’ you off.”

“You are. You think I’m gonna wake up and realise you’re not worth it. But I already know you’re worth it.”

His eyes flicked up, meeting mine.

“I didn’t grow up like them,” I said. “You think I belong in that world, but I never have. Not really.”

He didn’t move. Just waited.

“My mom was on welfare,” I said. “Worked just enough to keep us in the system. She drank. Had a new boyfriend every month. Half the time, I didn’t know their names.”

His brow furrowed, gaze sharpening.

“When I got older, one of them started looking at me weird. Not touching. Just… watching. And I knew. I knew I had to get out.”

Benny’s shoulders shifted—just barely—but it felt like an earthquake.

“I threw myself into school. Every subject. Every paper. Every late-night study session just so I had something to use when the time came. And somewhere in there, a teacher sat me at a piano, something clicked. I got here because I worked my ass off and got a scholarship. Because music gave me something to be good at. Something that was mine.”

I shrugged. “That’s it. That’s why I’m here. Not because I grew up with money. Not because I fit.”

I swallowed. “I’m in this in-between space where I’m not enough for them, but sometimes I worry I’m too much for you.”

He flinched.

“You’re not,” he said. Quiet. Steady. “Fuck, Y/N… you’re not.”

He stepped forward, finally closing the distance between us, slow like he didn’t know if he was allowed.

“I just… I didn’t know what to say,” he exhaled, shaky. “When I saw you there, in that world. I kept thinkin’… what if she figures it out? What if she wakes up one day and sees what I really am?”

I reached for his hand—the one that was torn up—and took it gently. Felt the way his fingers trembled, just slightly.

“You’re mine,” I said. “That’s what you are. And I’m yours.”

His eyes searched mine. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

A beat passed.

Then he stepped closer—slow, unsure—like he wasn’t sure if the ground between us had really settled. Like maybe he thought it would crack open again if he moved too fast.

I closed the space for him. Wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my face into his chest, and held on.

His breath hitched.

Then his arms were around me—tight. Desperate. Like he’d been carrying the weight of it all alone and only just remembered he didn’t have to. His hand came up to the back of my head, fingers curling in my hair like he didn’t quite believe I was real.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. Snowmelt still clung to his lashes. His lips were parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide what.

So I kissed him.

Soft at first—just a press of mouths, steady and slow, like a question. He answered it with a sigh, with the way his hand tightened on my hip, with the way he kissed me back like he’d been holding that need in his chest since the night he walked away.

I felt it all in that kiss. The apology. The ache. The fear he hadn’t known how to name. And I gave it back—every part of me that had waited, every breath I’d held hoping he’d come back.

The kiss deepened—heat rising, mouths opening, tongues sliding. I felt his fingers skate under the hem of my sweater, rough palms on bare skin, and I shivered. Not from the cold.

He broke the kiss, just long enough to rest his forehead against mine, breath ragged. “You sure?”

I nodded, already pulling him back in. “I don’t want space tonight.”

He kissed me again—harder this time. Hungrier. Like he was trying to replace every second we’d spent apart. His mouth moved to my jaw, my neck, open-mouthed and warm, and I let my head fall back, heart thundering.

We stumbled backward until I hit the bar. He didn’t stop. One hand slid into my hair, gripping gently but firm, tilting my head just enough to keep me looking at him. The other stayed locked around my waist, pulling me flush against him as his hips pressed into mine—slow, deliberate, unmistakable. I could feel him, thick and hard through his jeans, heat and want radiating off him like a pulse.

My hands found the lapels of his jacket, pushed it off his shoulders, then went to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with clumsy fingers. He was still cold from the ride, but his skin was hot underneath. Real. Alive. Mine.

“Here?” he murmured against my throat, voice low and rough.

“Unless you want to wait till spring.”

He huffed a laugh into my skin. “Fuck, I love you.”

I pulled back just enough to look at him, hand against his cheek.

“Say it again.”

He did. Without hesitation. “I love you.”

His mouth returned to mine before I could say anything else, hungry and sweet and rough around the edges. He pushed my shirt up, pulling it over my head, dropping it somewhere behind him without looking. I reached for him, finished the job of unbuttoning his shirt, dragging it down his arms and tossing it aside.

His skin was flushed, marred with fading bruises and old scars, and the sight of it—all of it—hit me hard. I tugged at his belt, fumbling with the buckle, and he let out a low groan against my mouth like he was holding back too much for too long.

“Easy,” he murmured.

“I don’t want easy,” I breathed.

That made something flicker behind his eyes—something dark and tender and burning all at once.

His belt hit the floor with a clatter. I got his jeans open, fingers slipping beneath the waistband just enough to feel the heat of him—hard and twitching against my palm. He kissed me again—rougher now. Desperate.

One hand tangled in my hair, the other yanking my skirt up with something close to urgency. His knuckles grazed my hip, still bleeding, still raw, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or didn’t care. He groaned when he found how wet I already was for him, fingers slipping under the fabric of my tights and into my panties like he needed to feel it for himself.

His fingers slipped free, dragging slow over the seam of my tights like he didn’t want to let go. Then his mouth found mine again—breath hot—and he pressed in close, voice gravel rough against my ear.

“Turn round.”

I didn’t hesitate.

Hands on the bar, legs shaking a little, breath catching in my throat as I felt him come up behind me. He slid my skirt higher, fingers curling in the waistband of my tights and panties in one sharp tug—down to my knees, then lower, pooling at my boots.

His hand came to my back, steady, grounding. Then his thigh nudged between mine—firm and deliberate—urging me open until I was spread for him, trembling and ready.

I braced my elbows against the bar, hips tipping back instinctively. “Benny—”

He lined up, the blunt head of his cock nudging against me once, twice—then he pressed in, slow at first, a long, delicious stretch that made me gasp.

He leaned over me as he bottomed out, forehead to my shoulder, hand gripping my hip so tight it bordered on bruising. He didn’t move for a second—just stayed there, buried deep, breath ragged.

Then he pulled back, snapped his hips forward—and I moaned, loud and unfiltered, head dropping between my arms.

He found a rhythm—rough, raw, perfectly desperate. Every thrust punched a sound out of me, pushed me harder against the bar. His hand slid around my front, found my clit, and circled tight and fast until I was choking on his name.

“This what you want?“ he growled.

“Yes—god—don’t stop—” I was already close. Too close.

And when he slammed into me again, angled just right, his fingers relentless, I shattered—hips jerking, cry muffled in the crook of my arm. He fucked me through it, hips never slowing, until he groaned deep in his chest and came hard, thrusting once, twice, then burying himself as deep as he could go.

We stayed like that for a beat—panting, still, wrecked.

Then his arms came around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. I felt the rise and fall of him—heart still racing, breath catching—as we stood there tangled in each other, not ready to let go just yet.

His mouth brushed the curve of my shoulder, soft and warm. He didn’t say anything at first—just held me tighter, like he was afraid I might slip away if he loosened his grip.

“I didn’t mean to leave like that,” he said finally, voice rough against my skin.

“I know,” I whispered. My fingers found his and laced them together, holding him there. “But next time, just come home.”

He let out a shaky breath. “You are home.”

I turned in his arms then, slow and careful, until I was facing him again. His hair was still damp from the snow, curling a little at the ends. The gash between his knuckles had opened up again, blood drying along the edge, and I took his hand in mine, lifting it gently.

“This needs cleaning,” I said, voice soft.

He nodded, but didn’t let go. “You first.”

“What?”

He brushed my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You’re shakin’.”

Only a little. But it was true. The adrenaline hadn’t quite faded. The rush of everything—of losing him, of getting him back—still thrummed through me like a second heartbeat.

“I’m okay,” I said, even though we both knew it wasn’t just about tonight.

He looked like he wanted to argue, then thought better of it. Just leaned in, kissed me once—slow, lingering—and let his forehead rest briefly against mine.

“Come on,” I murmured. “Let’s lock up.”

We moved in sync. Quiet. Careful. I pulled my tights back up, adjusted my skirt, found my sweater where it had landed near the jukebox. He shrugged into his shirt, buttoned it and put his jacket on while I grabbed the keys.

By the time the door was bolted and the lights were off, the storm outside had softened—snow still falling, but slower now. Gentle. Almost forgiving.

He reached for my hand again as we stepped into the cold.

Didn’t let go.

The ride back to mine was quiet—engine loud beneath us, snow biting at our cheeks, but neither of us seemed to mind. I held onto him tighter than usual, not because I was cold, but because I could. Because I wanted to. The night felt softer now, like the worst of it had passed and left something quieter in its wake.

We didn’t say much when we got inside. Boots kicked off by the door, jackets shrugged loose and hung up still damp. I switched on the lamp in the corner, warm light pooling across the tiny studio like a sigh.

Benny stood in the middle of the room, glancing around like it looked different somehow. Or maybe he did.

“Sit,” I said gently, nodding toward the bed. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He obeyed, quiet and still, watching me with those wide, tired eyes as I rummaged through the cupboard under the sink.

When I came back, he’d rolled up his sleeve. His hand rested on his thigh, the gash between his knuckles raw and angry, blood dried in thin rivers along his skin.

“This might sting,” I said, kneeling in front of him.

He smirked—barely. “You think I haven’t heard that before?”

“I mean it.”

He didn’t flinch when I cleaned the wound, but I felt the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch. I worked slowly, carefully, the way you do when something matters.

When I was done, I wrapped the bandage snug, smoothing it into place with both hands.

“There,” I murmured. “Good as new.”

“Not quite.” His voice was low. “But better.”

He looked at me then—really looked. Like maybe it had just hit him that he was here, that I was too. That we’d come through the worst of it and were still in one piece.

“I meant it,” he said quietly. “Back there. What I said.”

I met his eyes. Reached up to his face, cupping his cheek, thumb stroking gently across the bruise-shadowed skin.

“I know,” I said. “I love you too.”

Something in his expression softened. Like it was the last piece he’d been holding out for, even if he hadn’t said so.

He turned his head just enough to kiss my palm—slow, deliberate—like it mattered. Like it meant everything.

I climbed up beside him on the bed, curling my legs under me. He shifted, leaned in, and I let myself melt against his side, my head on his shoulder, his arm around me like it belonged there. Like we were made for this.

Outside, the snow kept falling—soft and slow and endless.

Inside, we didn’t need to say anything.

He kissed my hair.

I closed my eyes.

The heat kicked on.

His hand found mine beneath the blanket—a quiet promise, steady and warm.

We were still bruised. Still mending.

But we weren’t doing it alone.

⸻

She breathed soft against my shoulder. Eyes closed. Warm all over.

I didn’t move. Just watched the snow through the window, watched the way it caught the light.

This was it.

Not the bar, not the bike, not the noise in my head.

Her.

And maybe I’d never be the kind of man who fit into her world easy.

But she made space for me anyway.

And fuck if I wasn’t gonna try and stay.

Taglist:

@thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @butlerrizz @myradiaz @chocolatetree222

[calummss]

Sheldon Cooper Blurb

masterlist

summary: sheldon’s hot new gf pays him a visit

pairing: fem! reader x sheldon cooper

words: 600

why i wrote this? bc jim parsons is so attractive to me and no one writes fics about him

Raj, Howard, Leonard where gathered together in front of the TV, their eyes glued onto the screen showing the newest unreleased footage of Star Wars. Absorbed into their world, a knocking on the door was heard.

Knock knock

Leonard stood up only to be ambushed by a half-jogging Sheldon, a rare sight for mankind, as he went towards the door. ‘That will be for me.’

Sheldon opened the door to reveal the prettiest girl any of the boys had seen. Their mouths gaping at her as she hugged Sheldon to greet him, Sheldon accepting the hug. Second weirdest thing to have happened in the apartment since Sheldom speed walked to the door.

‘Sheldon, who is this?’ Leonard asks, his tone between sweet and hostile.

‘Yes, Sheldon, who is this?’ Howard repeated, his usual sarcasm sweeping his words. ‘You didn’t happen to tell her that you are Sheldon Cooper.’

‘Well of course! Meeting Sheldon Cooper is a great honour, you know when I was—‘

‘Introduce us,’ Leonard cut Sheldon off, taken a back a bit.

‘Ah yes. Meet Y/n, my girlfriend .’ Sheldon introduced you, as you gave them a small wave, the three boys staring at you like Sheldon had given them amazing news but all they did was look shocked, their eyes and mouths never shutting. ‘I met Y/n at the Cheesecake Factory after Penny got my order wrong. I don’t know how that happened since I always order the same thing but one's simple mind can be overwhelmed with orders I suppose, even if it was only us there…’

‘Hi, I’m Y/n.’

‘Your Penny’s friend?’ Howard asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And Penny made me go on a date with Bernadette?’ He stared ahead of him, eyes almost popping out of their sockers

Sheldon turned his head, unaware of how to react to Howard’s outburst.

You also gave Sheldon a confused look to which he replied, ‘No worries, Social interaction with a spark of unsolicited germ exchange.’

‘So how did a theoretical physicist pick her up?’ Leonard gaped at the pair.

‘Oh I didn’t pick her up. I think you’re referring to is how we met?’

‘Yes, Sheldon…’

Suddenly Penny bolted through the door, phone in hand, ‘Sheldon has a girlfriend!? Y/n it’s you?’

‘If I may resume to Leonard’s question, I was minding my own business staring at the bird I was sure was out to kill me when she walked up to me with the words: You’re cute. I want you. Quite demanding if I might add.’ Sheldon gave you a brief look. ‘Straight to the point which is just right up my alley.’

‘You went up to Sheldon?’ Howard checked in on the facts with you.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry what?’ He replied, his eyes crossing.

‘Have you met him? Like met him?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you know he’s an extremely arrogant, narcissistic, ruthless, entitled, self-righteous, cold, condescending, selfish, pompous person, right?’ Howard said.

‘He’s also cute, lanky and gets me horny just doing his silly physics rants so if you don’t mind,’ You grabbed Sheldon’s hand, third weirdest thing to have happend in the apartment, ‘I have to give him something else to think about,’

The mouths couldn’t have been wider.

‘But today is game night,’ Sheldon whined.

‘Sheldon…’

Sheldon avoided eye contact, his eyes darting across the room.

‘Sheldon.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ He responded immer, holding your hand and following you to his bedroom, leaving Raj, Howard, Leonard and Penny alone.

‘Did Sheldon just bring the hottest girl in the state of California through this door?’ Raj said.

‘Yes.’ They all said union.

‘And he’s getting sex even though he didn’t ask?’

‘Yes.’

‘Dammit.’ Howard hissed.

[eeulysian]

ha. ha. ha. since ur requests are open.. I'll be requesting a fic for my beloved, chelsea from path to nowhere. writer!reader who makes novels and chelsea is interested in reader's works hehejwheueh.. he.. heh.. ok neways ^_^ chelsea then gives reader an opportunity to make their works more popular!!!.. if tjat makes sense idk but!!! in exchange, chelsea gets to have reader for herself! then reader is tempted but they'll make money from it so.. yah. in other words, this is kind of like idk prostitution— but i promise if u word it in a different way, it's ok... this happened to me in a dream btw

(heh.. nsfw.. if that's ok.. idk im kinda down bad for chelsea since shes my gf)

⟡ . IRRATIONAL COMPENSATION

summary: all in the request above!

cw: afab!reader, developing smut, oral and fingering (f!receiving), dom/sub dynamics, chelsea is a flirt, did i make it too long... chelsea is a squirter change my mind

a/n: i wouldn't call it prostitution? maybe compensation is a better word!! and i'm sorry if this isn't good enough, its my first time making smut 😞 and i think i went overboard and made it too long... soz i was too into it 💔💔

WRITING used to be a hobby for you, you used to be that wattpad kid that would make those alpha vampire boyfriend and the sheltered white girl kind of fics. but as you grew older, you began to take your hobby seriously, and it became a dream for you to become a novelist. so of course, you were able to get yourself into a publishing house, making yourself an official author. the only problem is, the publishing house is really unknown, so none of your works were able to make it big. you only had about like what — 50 or so fans/readers? yeah, even though you were grateful that they read your works, a part of you still wishes for the numbers to magically increase by the coming days.

you thought there was no hope for you, your works and your dreams, so you decide to drown yourself in alcohol, hoping to forget all your worries. so you went to a bar to get yourself a drink. then a second. then a third. then a fourth. then a fifth.

when is this going to end?

oh you were soooo depressed, no matter how many shots you took, your worries couldn't get out of your head. "i'm about to lose it," you think. not until a sultry voice called out to you from your right. "hey cutie, you seem to be stressed. what's the matter?"

you hastily turn to your right to find the source of the silky voice, and your (e/c) orbs meets with ones that are as red as wine. not to mention, her hair was pink. oh fuck. pink. pink hair??? you had a thing for pink haired girls. and this girl made you weak to the knees. it's probably because you're a little tipsy, but right there at that moment you wished you could kiss her oh so annoyingly, attractive red lips. this woman was downright beautiful and it's amazing how only her voice made you forget your worries.

she waves her hand infront of your face, trying to get your attention "hello? earth to... what's your name?" she chuckles, and at that moment you realized you've been too lost in your thoughts so you look like you've been staring at her for quite some time now... how embarrassing. "oh, m'sorry i think i'm just a little tipsy right now hahaaa... i'm y/n. andddddd you? beautiful lady?" what the fuck y/n why did you say that you're WAY too drunk to be flirting with gorgeous ladies right now you could trip and laugh it off like it's nothing in this state what is wrong —

your thoughts were cut off by her honey voice yet again once you hear her laugh ring in your ears. she laughs at your attempt to flirt even in such a state, but she replies nonetheless. "just call me chelsea. so tell me, what has made you so stressed, that you have to take about 5 or more shots of alcohol at once? are you a divorcee or a widow? work problems?", she asks you, curious to see if she's able to help you. what a kind beautiful lady. "the last one you just said", you managed to let out, and averted eye contact to not look at her. "i'm a failed novelist... ugh. i can't even get any of my works to be a hit. it's always just a 2-digit-amount of people reading them. i'm not saying i'm ungrateful, i just wish it was more popular." you sounded so exhausted, so worn out, and so stressed. chelsea felt bad, and she was trying to think of a way to console you.

then an idea came in. "how about this", you turn your head around to look at her again once she said that. "i'm quite rich, and i have a big social media platform as well. i could promote your works for you so your works can do numbers", your eyes lit up at that sentence, "but in exchange, i get you." then your eyes widened. confused on what she meant. "you get me in exchange...?" you were baffled. "yes, meaning i get to have a one night stand with you... or you can even just be mine straight away~" she smirks, looking at you dead in the eye. at that moment you noticed her eyes are filled with lust and desire.

oh that sentence, that smirk, the way those eyes look at you, you were sobered up. the bustling sound of chatting and laughing of other bar customers goes deaf in your ears, you're only focused on this pink haired woman and the loud beating of your heart. why is your heart beating so fast do you have arrhythmia? "so, what do you say?", she asks you again, and all the thoughts are running in your head. this might be a bad idea... but your co workers don't have to know, right? i mean, you're tempted. tempted to make your works a hit, and tempted to spend a night with this beautiful, enchanting woman.

at last, you decided to go with the latter, and accept her offer. "... okay. i'll accept that exchange." you hesitantly said, and all you see is a wolf-like smile infront of you. you can't deny that the way she looks at you is kinda... turning you on. "good girl." you flushed at that sentence. you look like the equivalent of a tomato right now. she called you a good girl? oh fuck you could even get on your knees for this woman.

"give me a copy of one of your best works, and i'll read it when i'm home. after that, i'll tell you if i like it and promote it for you. but you'll have to give me your number first so i can let you know how it goes," she winks, she is a woman of her word indeed. "if it turns out to be successful, then i can give you my address and you can come over... after all, our exchange can't be one sided, right? ♡" you were still blushing, but i mean... popular works? money? pretty girlfriend? you were more than happy to comply. you two exchanged numbers, and luckily you coincidentally brought your best work in your bag to read it when you get home, so you gave her your book, which was about a highschool slowburn romance, the characters are too happy so expect them to be doomed by the narrative because you're evil just like that lmao. you told her she didn't have to worry, as this is just a copy and you have all your original works at home.

she took the book, and you said "i'll be waiting for the results then, tell me if you like it and if you're able to promote it", you laugh sheepishly, kind of embarrassed how a beautiful woman is helping you and not you helping the beautiful woman instead. "of course, i'll read it in my free time and tell you how it goes~," she says in a sultry, flirtatious tone. you could only laugh nervously. "get home safely now," she leans in close to you to give you a peck on the cheek, and it left a faint red lipstick stain. you couldn't even talk at all, you were left shocked, baffled, flustered, shy, embarrassed, confused. girlfailure moment

✧༺♡༻✧

almost 2 weeks have passed, and you were procrastinating in your room because it was your day off. you were playing games, reading books and eating. at this moment you're watching a show of your choice on netflix on your laptop, but alas your peaceful moment was disturbed by a loud buzzing from your phone. "who the hell is calling me?", you said, clearly annoyed because whoever is calling you just ruined your netflix and chill time. probably your best friend or a co worker ready to bother you.

but the name you see on your phone is "chelsea", so you just had to pause your show because you just knew it was about your novel. you hesitantly answered the phone, and the first thing you hear is "hey cutie, i just finished reading your book", she says through the phone, and you swallow, scared of how she thinks of it. "... and i have to say, your writing is quite impressive, the way you organize the storyline and give your characters so much personality," you smile at the compliment, though she can't see it, so you say "really?", hoping she hears how happy you are.

"yes, so it's safe to say i can promote your name and your work on my social media. but even so if i ended up not liking it, my interest for you would have not gone away anyways." she says, followed with an attractive giggle that has your heart going crazy. but you're very ecstatic nonetheless, because you know your works are about to get popular after she promotes it. yes bitch get that bag

"thank you for helping me, i really appreciate it. i'm sorry i had to trouble you over my own work problems." you answer her, apologetic for dragging her into your personal matters. "don't worry about it baby, i'm happy to help. but please do remember..."

"that if you want to pay me back, then you'd have to pay back with you, and only you."

you remembered the exchange you had with her. and you become red, whether it's about the pet name, or the agreement you guys had. "oh, right... uhm, what do you want me to do then? come over?", you asked. "yes. that's exactly what i want. i'll text you my address. i'll be waiting, hot stuff~", and that's where you know you're going to have the time of your life. whew

✧༺♡༻✧

you finally arrived at her house. damn it was a nice house. 2 storey, clean, shiny and modern, and you can tell theres a pool in the backyard. you check your phone, it's 8:32 PM right now. you knocked on the door 3 times, no answer. you knocked again, another 3 times. then the door swings open, and you're met with those red wine eyes and luscious pink hair again. and you notice that she's wearing one of those... dress-type lingeries. you were sure you were at your last percentage of sanity because of it.

"hey, it's been a while." she gives you a silent giggle. "it certainly has been. well uhm, how have you been? did you post anything about my works?", you asked her, i mean you were eager to know if your work is gonna do numbers and hoping you'll wake up to your works getting sold out by tomorrow. "oh, straight to the point... is your work more important than me?", she answers, clearly sarcastic with the way she immediately laughs right after. you panic slightly, but before you could protest, she talks once again. "don't worry, my post about your book is already going viral, so expect all your works to get sold out tomorrow and your publishing house flourishing overall~"

once you heard that, you were glad you met this woman by a miracle. but oh, you shouldn't forget the deal you made with her. "thank you so much, really. i appreciate it. but so um, about the deal...", you say weakly, heart beginning to pound fast in your chest and you try to avert eye contact with her. but yet again, she always manages to catch your attention, and she pulls your face closer to hers, making you look into her eyes.

"mhm, and you remember what you have to pay with, right?~", she says with her red blood pupils looking right into your (e/c) ones, by now it's obvious how eager she is to devour you whole. you swallow, sweat falling down your neck, and you look flushed. "yes... i guess i shouldn't make our exchange to be one sided."

and with that, she pulls you inside her house, shutting the door and crashes her lips onto yours. she pulls you slowly to her kitchen while sloppily making out with you, and you feel like you're on fire. you want to please this woman, and make her feel so good. you start taking the lead for a bit and push her onto a counter, continuing to make out tongue to tongue with her. she wraps her hand around your shoulders and hair, moaning in between your kisses and grinding on your thigh... and that was when you can tell that she's quite... damp.

"mmhh hah~", she pulls away from the kiss to look at you with hazy eyes, "i want you to... go down on your knees, and eat me out." she manages to let out breathlessly, "i want you to please me, and be a good pet for me." you could only nod quietly. even if it means getting on your knees and barking like a dog just to marry this woman, you would do it anyways.

you slowly get down on your knees while she sits still on top of the counter, spreading her legs to give you easier access. you reach out for the hem of her pantie lingerie, slowly pulling it down. by the moment her pantie reaches her thigh, her pussy juices made a thin bridge with the inside of her pantie, which was an erotic sight for you and turned you on even more. that thin bridge was cut off the moment you pulled her pantie down completely and threw it onto the floor. gripping her thighs and spreading them a little wider, you lean it to give her aching clit a kiss. you earn a shocked gasp from the pink haired woman above you, shuddering the moment you made contact with her pussy.

you lick her slit, going down then up to her clit again and start flicking your tongue on it at a pace that's not too fast, but fast enough to make her throw her head back. she takes ahold of your hair and grips it slightly and whimpering your name, letting you know how good you're making her feel. you decide to push your tongue inside her tight velvety walls, and she almost puts you into a headlock with her milky thighs all because it was too sudden. you thrust your tongue into her in and out, constantly hitting her g spot. "ahmm...! ughmnggh... y-you're doing so good, hah! keep goinggghhngg..", she manages to blurt out weakly, mindlessly grinding her hips to meet your tongue, you can tell she was close from the way her moans started sounding more louder, the grip on your hair tightened and her walls started spasming a lot more than earlier. but you only ended up pulling your tongue out last minute and you were greeted with a disappointed whine. "why did you do that?", she looks at you, face so fucked out, but she's still a little angry even in a state like this.

you smirked at her, and went back down to kiss her clit and flick your tongue on it. she went back to moaning and whimpering, but what she didn't expect is you shoving a finger inside her and slowly thrusting it in and out, receiving a choked moan from her. you added another finger inside, and curled them. chelsea lets out a loud cry and her breathing starts getting more ragged and unstable, her thighs starting to shake uncontrollably. "ah! mmpleaseeee pleasepleasepleaseplease— fasterrrrhngmnhhh...", and the constant chanting of your name was all you could hear until she started squirting all over, onto your face and to the floor. at this point, the countertop was dripping wet with her juices, and it's slippery. one wrong move, she could accidentally fall down and injure herself. you wait for her to calm down from her high, getting up and holding her by the waist to stable her.

leaning into her neck and giving her kisses, relishing in the her rose scented perfume, mixed along with the smell of sweat and sex. she snakes her hand up to your neck, and kisses you, soft and chaste. pulling back, she could only say "i didn't know you were skilled like that... you really did good, cutie ♡", and you give her a promising smile, one that made her heart flutter and look at you with hearts in her eyes.

© 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗲𝗲𝘂𝗹𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗮𝗻. 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗹, 𝗿𝗲𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁.

another a/n: finally i'm done!! one of my longest fics yet... let me know if i made any mistakes or my writing was too long, sloppy or rushed. once again it's my first time making smut, sorry if i disappointed you! :( i'll do better next time ❤

[joseimukeaddict]

Haikyuu and Public Transportation Headcanons: Date Tech

So I had planned to finish this like a month ago but then I got stuck and then finals hit and now I may be pulling an all-night to finish my final project for art… and yeah, I really do only post whenever I’m stressed out of my mind 🙃. Anyways I’m trying sth new and am linking some good causes below if you guys want to support someone in need ⬇️ ⬇️⬇️ Also at the bottom are my headcanons for the other teams.

Third Years

Yasushi Kamasaki - Bro is the most normal guy on the subway ever like actually I got stuck on him for WEEKS bc I couldn't think of anything; every once in a while he has payment problems with his phone not scanning but other than that riding the bus and subway is just riding public transportation for him; he gets his driver's license and a car pretty quick too and bro would never get on the subway again if his car didn't have limited capacity (it's not like he hates the subway or anything) (I'm so sorry to any Kamasaki stans I cannot get a read on this guy)

Kaname Moniwa - Always been a bus kid, has his bag in his lap to not take up space; gets slightly motion sick on longer rides; eyes glued to the phone on rides so not to accidentally make contact with random passengers

Takehito Sasaya - Prefers the train; honestly, I see him riding the train often on the way to a date with his girlfriend (who will be his future wife, I can’t believe someone actually gets canonically hitched in Haikyuu AND WITH KIDS, damn the sacrifices you have to make to be a main character 😔); stander on the train even when his gf is with him but it’s annoying bc of the height difference so she needs to pull him down into a seat (this man is a girl dad, he listens to his future wife)

Second Years

Mai Nametsu - Travels either on bus or train with a small group of friends except for mornings when she comes in early to prep the gym before practice; always works on something when she’s alone like notes for practice or homework (my girl gives such diligent worker vibes); public transportation has always been convenient for her so if she gets a driver’s license, she’ll still use public transport if she can

Takanobu Aone - poor lonely boy on the train who people won’t sit next to 😭 (actually from Haikyuu-Bu!!); he’s very punctual and has a very predictable schedule so eventually the people who always ride the same train car as he will realize he’s not scary and some grannies will end up sitting next to him later on, not much of a talker but a great listener and they’ll offer him candies; I don’t care if this is not canon but he’s a sitter because the train car heights are too short for him to feel comfortable standing

Kenji Futakuchi - sits at the end of the seats right by the door so he can immediately get out of the train car because he has no patience for slow people; wants to nap on the train but the train seats are so uncomfortable so he just ends up scrolling on his phone the whole time, which just makes him more tired and cranky; actually prefers riding with friends since he won’t have to be on his phone but man will not make conversation himself and will just half-heartily listen, unless he’s with Aone, in that case, Futakuchi needs to talk or else it’s going to be a silent train ride

Yutaka Obara - Power naps at the back of the bus, waking up just in time to rush to the doors to get off at his stop; doesn't like the subways much because it's always crowded whenever he has to get on one and he hates the feeling of being packed like a sardine; loves a long-distance bullet train ride, especially if he can get some extra leg room, then he can stretch out and watch the world go by

Tarō Onagawa - One of the few kids who get driven by their parents ( helicopter mother) so riding the subway for the first time was kinda special for them; a little wary of all the strangers in close distance at first but the headphones and music combo makes the experience so much better on the subway than car; I see the guy never getting his license when he grows up and gets a job that allows him to make great use of public transport

First Years

Kanji Koganegawa - chronically barely makes it onto the ride and thus rarely gets to sit (it's fine bc he's too tall to sit comfortably anyway); gets his jacket caught in the doors after barely making it too so after tugging for a bit, he gives up and waits for the next stop; even when the ride is completely packed, he really likes looking out the window so at least one perk of being this tall is there's rarely anyone blocking his view

Jingo Fukiage - Rides the bus but stands since he's also too tall for the seats to sit comfortably; similar to Aone, people didn't really sit near him until they realized he just had a resting blank face, and Fukiage definitely noticed this happening but just didn't do anything because he has no idea how to respond; if someone asks him for directions he blanks on response until a minute later when his brain has finally booted up and he can give an articulated response

Kōsuke Sakunami - He cannot ride public transportation with anyone from his team, because 1) the train is almost always packed and he has to be squished like a sardine, and 2) his dignity when his face is squashed between the wall and Koganegawa's chest, which isn't helped by the fact that Koganegawa keeps asking if Sakunami is okay when Sakunami can't even move his mouth without fear of biting the inside of his cheek; the slipperiest traveler in the subway, he can squeeze in between and around half a train car's length of people and slip onto and off a train as the train doors are closing; he ends up getting his license but chooses instead to carpool since he was kinda lonely and now it feels weird to travel anywhere without Koganegawa’s insistent yapping

——

Bonus:

Takurō Oiwake has a car, which cannot be any smaller than mid-sized if not an entire truck. This man has ridden public transport a total of 3 times in his life because his family can fix their own cars.

———

Palestinian Relief:

Just by sharing the links you can help!

⬇️⬇️⬇️

^ Vetted by Operation Olive Branch (#26)

Less than $800 away from their goal!!! 99% of the way through ➡️ @hayanahed

—

^ Vetted by @/90-ghost

Almost a quarter of the way there! A fellow college student 💪💪 ➡️ @asmaamajed2

—

^ Vetted by @/gazavetters

Just over 30%! The family is trying to get to Egypt and rebuild their lives! ➡️ @familgazaamal1

———

Other Teams: Nekoma, Seijoh, Karasuno

——

Yea I need to get back to lineart, next one is either the owls or foxes, I'll decide when it comes to it. Remember to pretend these headcanons don't exist if you don't like them, and stay safe everyone!

[stump-not-found]

Second or Third Contact

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

---

what base is this

[smolbeanie1221]

Being aroace spec can be so confusing

My first relationship was with a girl, and I kinda just went along with what she wanted to do bc I figured, well she’s enjoying it so I must be enjoying this too… I didn’t mind anything we did, I just didn’t care or think about it.

Second relationship was with a guy, and at this point my mom had made me feel incredibly guilty for having been with a girl before, joys of being afab in a religious family and the first person you date is a girl. And he was… definitely pushy. Again tho, I just went along with it bc I figured, well he wants to do this and I just have to be bi so there’s a chance I’ll be a normal girl and end up with a guy someday so I have to be enjoying this too… Yeah I definitely was feeling a lot of pressure there.

At this point, I had not felt actual sexual attraction towards anyone, and I don’t think I was ever romantically in love with either of those people.

Third relationship was with a guy who was also one of my best friends. We were kinda dating for a summer and it was a better relationship than the previous, but in the end we went back to just being friends and it was better that way.

At this point, I’m very confused, but I discover this wonderful thing called ASEXUALITY. And everything suddenly made sense. Except for one small thing.

Fourth relationship that never actually became a relationship. I was in some type of love with a different best friend, I would say demi/sapio-romantic (romantically attracted because of both an emotional and mind connection basically). But he was definitely aromantic, but allosexual. I was romantically attracted to him, but asexual… right??? For years I was confused because I wanted an actual official relationship and I would’ve been more than okay with sleeping with him. But… that can’t be sexual attraction?? I’m ace?? Right?? Ahhhhhh. Yeah so I was very confused around him. Turns out, I’m actually demi-ace, but I didn’t realize that until years later after I lost contact with him, and I’ve been too scared to reach out to him lol. Anyways I have a gf now anyways. And that’s been the only time that the demi part of my ace-ness has come out, pun intended lol.

Actual fourth relationship. Definitely romantic and completely non-sexual. Really good relationship for over a year, and that partner helped me become more comfortable with my gender identity and we both were ace and it was really good for a while. It just wasn’t a relationship that was built to grow, so eventually we drifted apart.

Fifth relationship. A non-romantic and non-sexual relationship. Lasted less than a year, but made me realize that I was also aro spec bc being in a relationship that did not have romantic or sexual expectations felt so comfortable and right.

Sixth relationship. The one that broke my heart. My other best friend in that time frame, we were incredibly close and bonded over everything, from our mental health struggles to books to sheetz runs to everything. Eventually we officially were boyfriends in a qpr. They were my number one person for so long, my life partner. There was never anything romantic or sexual, but we loved each other deeply. Until life happened and they changed and I had to break up with them and got my heart broken.

All of these took place from late middle school to early college by the way. I went from, oh I’m a girl and I like girls! To, shit I can’t like girls so I have to like boys too bc I have to be bisexual at least. To, ohhhh so I can actually not want to sleep with people and that’s normal too?? So I’m nonbinary and asexual? That makes sense. To, why why if I’m ace would I be more than okay sleeping with him??? To, huh i think I’m aro spec too. To, okay I’m definitely aro spec, probably demi-aro technically and… probably demi-ace too? Yeah that’s probably right.

At the same time, I didn’t feel as tho romantic was necessarily the right word for me. I mean I’ve experienced romantic attraction I think, but it usually felt kinda forced by either my partner’s expectations or by society’s expectations. I think that’s why my non-romantic non-sexual relationships felt so comfortable to me, bc there wasn’t any of that expectation. I have no freaking idea what romantic attraction really feels like to me. I’ve experienced it I think (??), but for several reasons including outside expectations and general-emotional-processing-issues at those times, I have a hard time knowing any emotions I was feeling at that time in my life. The “butterflies” and “spacey eyed” and “gooey lovey” feelings I felt could’ve been romantic, sure. But they could’ve also been someone who was heavily emotionally repressed all their life just being happy to have someone that they loved who loved them back and getting excited over how cute they were and enjoying their rambles and just generally being happy with someone and also liking some physical contact like hugs and cuddles bc physical touch is their love language with everyone and they like hugs with everyone they care about, and it wasn’t necessarily romantic…..

I get a similar feeling to “butterflies” when I’m nervous about something or excited to see someone in my family I haven’t seen for a while bc I love them and am excited and happy. Not necessarily a “romantic indicator”. I get “spacey eyed” all the time, and usually it’s bc I’m obsessing over my latest fanfic idea. Again, not a “romantic indicator”. I get “gooey lovey” feelings when I see an adorable animal, when someone in my family or close friend group does something really sweet for me or I’m really happy to see them or I get a hug from anyone I love. Once again, not a “romantic indicator”.

Because of all this, I have settled on alterous as my general term for the type of attraction I have with people I have or wanted to date. Alterous to me means this: “I want to be with you and talk with you and do everything with you, I just don’t care how it looks for us or how we categorize ourselves.” I would also attach romance-inclined or sex-inclined as a prefix type thing when applicable. Fourth relationship that never actually happened? Sex and romance-inclined alterous. Fourth actual relationship? Romance-inclined alterous. This doesn’t actually mean that I will feel romantic or sexual attraction or interest or desire with someone, but I may be inclined to want aspects of that type of relationship and I might have those actual feelings from time to time.

The partner that I have now, seventh relationship for those counting lol. This relationship feels stronger and better than any that I’ve had in the past. There’s no pressure or expectation about sex, and she knows that I’m on the aro spectrum, so there’s no romantic pressure either. At the same time, I love the romantic type aspects we have, but I can’t with any certainty say that my feelings are romantic, or at least not romantic all the time. But I feel about her differently than I have about anyone else. There’s several possible reasons, but one main thing I think is that I’m now in a healthier place emotionally so I can better feel and process all my emotions, including my feelings towards her.

Anyways, at this point I would say I’m aroace spec. Demi-altrose (alterous, romantic, sexual).

[smueivrse]

੭୧ 　﹑　⁺　　۪ CECILIA ➳ she / her / they. in a healthy relationship with my girlfriend! omnisexual (leaning more into girls). multifandom writer & reader. current hyperfixication : alien stage. till fangirl. filo. mostly uses english & tagalog but is actually bisaya. love language: words of affirmations, acts of service and mostly physical contact ˙ᵕ˙

𝜗𝜚. . . about ceci’s dislikes, likes, music genre and favs!

IN BOLD. overall favorites of cecilia!

dislikes. . . toxicity. bringing up trauma during an argument. making fun of insecurities. insects. horror movies. public speaking. homophobic. racism. sexism. spams. forcing ppl. asking people for help. being included in a argument. gore. bitter foods. talks about sa (as a SA survivor) ++ more.

likes. . . sweet foods. sour foods. mildly spicy foods. savory foods. my gf. plushies. keychains. clean environment. my friends. music. walking alone. organizing. making stories. till. alien stage. animes. movies. biology. zoology. prehistoric facts. dinosaurs. travelling. oceans.

music genre. . . mostly romance. filipino songs. slow rock. heavy metal. songs that are good or a banger i like them.

music artist/s. . . conan gray. cigarettes after sex. the neighborhood. olivia rodrigo. park byeong hoon. arctic monkeys. chase atlantic. imagine dragons. one direction. 5 seconds of summer.

favs. . . alien stage. toilet bound hanako kun. school babysitters. kuroko no basketball. assassination classroom. sleep aids asmr. my gf. wind breaker. kaiju no. 8. genshin impact. honkai impact third. a sign of affection. a silent voice. domed ships. till. ivan. mizi. sua.

𝜗𝜚. . . facts (extra infos) about cecilia ( trigger warning )

has a lot of failed talking stage and relationship.

broke up with her ex and got back and broke up again.

has no motivation to write.

is a junior. the only female in the family.

is an SA survivor.

wears eyeglass (has a bad eyesight)

used to be straight but became omnisexual after finding out she also likes girls.

is very loud when she’s with her best friends.

normally is stuck on her phone if she is with somebody else.

has a wonderful, amazing girlfriend.

is a hopeless romantic, falls inlove easily but also lost interest faster if someone she likes doesn’t reached their expectations.

used to be in the DREAM SMP fandom.

sleeps early (9:00 pm)

never once tried drinking alcoholic drinks. smoking. vaping. having a tattoo.

is bipolar. has ADHD. OCD.

𝜗𝜚. . . resources (used in the picture above)

the png used..

the filter used..

[merlucide]

Every time I think it’s all over….

Again…. It’s my wives… @kurona-theshark and @sharkissm yet again has been kidnapped…

With all of the kidnappings, there is a consistent pattern, the kidnappers.

The first kidnapper, Aiku, was @soleilonthesun ‘s ex.

The second kidnapper(s), was Isagi and possibly Bachira, who is @glue-thief ‘s gf and Bachira was my ex

The third kidnapper, I believe was Chris Prince.. @kurona-theshark ‘s ex….

Besides the pattern of GF FC members ex’s being kidnappers, I also believe that it’s Chris due to the note left and the scene of @kurona-theshark ‘s kidnapping

Unfortunately, neither of our healers were wearing any of their GF FC attire, so I cannot track them.

However, perhaps I could try to reach out to those close to Chris…. Perhaps a colleague? Though I doubt I’ll get any answers from that.

I do not know his motives, but I think it could be the same as Aiku’s I fear….

I will continue to look for clues, if you have anything please contact me….

I will bring my wives home!!!

[chaosverse-mainblog]

How about 5 headcanons for if the first three One for All holders reincarnated in the modern day? Thank you!

Ooo this will be fun!! I’ve got some headcanons for ya

Starting off with Yoichi. He wouldn’t realize he’s alive yet. At least, I imagine that incarnations of people don’t fully remember their past lives. In his new life he is still very much a comic nerd and is now properly named as the oldest kid in his new family. Yoichi is a bit of a horror fan, watching videos and coming up with his own theories. He rambles often and his two friends, Third and Second’s reincarnations, are always happy to listen. He may have a tiny crush on them.

2. Next is Second. He is an over achieving athlete with the same kind of attitude that he had in his previous life. The only two people who he hasn’t managed to scare away is Third and Yoichi’s reincarnations. He will sometimes listen to Yoichi ramble about the newest horror series he’d binged and had gotten him some plushies based on some of his interests.

3. Third’s incarnation is the first female reincarnation. She’s very much like Kendo, but with the seriousness of Todoroki. In the group she keeps Second in check and is a horror fan herself as well. Third’s style has changed from space to deep sea and has been on the school’s swim team. She walks home with the other two after practice and art club.

4. One day Second brings up how he’s been finding flowers at his place to Third. Third has no idea about it either, but does have a question about random art that she finds in her locker. Eventually it comes out that Yoichi is the one leaving them the gifts. Embarrassed, Yoichi avoids them for weeks, that’s because he is able to avoid any interaction with them including the walk home.

5. When they do catch him, he accidentally blurts out a confession and runs back home once again embarrassed. They try contacting him to no avail and it takes a few more weeks before they can catch him again. This time they’re able to get him to have a conversation with the two of them and the three begin a relationship. Of course it ends up being Third who proposes a few years after college

I imagine their relationship is akin to Morticia and Gomez but with a lot less casual violence. Second and Yoichi just love their gf

[psychics4unet]

Hey,

I see you take three cards so

Is there is a potential for my relation with my crush to be a long term. For about 1-2 year ?

We’ve never talked with each other so how our relation will be like?and his feelings Both as a friend and is possible so gf-bf ?

Thank you

Free Psychic Reading – Message from the Spirits via Ouija Board! 😊✨

Hello! I reached out to the spirits to see if there's potential for a long-term connection with your crush and what the dynamic between you two might look like. Here’s what the spirits revealed:

The first word was "patience" ⏳. This suggests that the relationship could take time to develop. Since you two haven’t spoken yet, things might start slow. It’s important to allow the connection to grow naturally without rushing anything.

The second word was "discovery" 🔍. There’s a strong feeling that once you both start talking, you’ll uncover a lot about each other. As friends, this means getting to know each other on a deeper level—finding common interests, values, and maybe even sharing some meaningful conversations.

The third word was "possibility" 💖. This shows that there is definitely potential for something more, like a romantic connection. But it will depend on how things unfold between you two. There’s a chance for it to shift from friendship into a relationship if you both feel that deeper connection.

In summary, the relationship with your crush could have long-term potential, but it will require patience and time to grow. First, you’ll start as friends, discovering more about each other, and from there, there is a possibility for it to turn into something romantic if the connection feels right to both of you. 🌟💞

Got questions or need some insight into your life? I'm here to help with personal psychic readings! For just $7, you can get answers to up to 7 questions! More info at:

In case anyone else here on tumblr would like a free psychic reading (message from the spirits via Ouija Board), Click the link and follow the instructions (I answer only to those who follow the instructions, thank you):