#i don't hate it? normally watches do nothing for me but i like the looks of this one

[eub11ss]

TRIANGLE OF DESIRES.

chapter one. 001. A good fucking mistake.

The day started off as normal as usual. Suguru was in the kitchen making breakfast for you both since he was the only one able to do so without burning down the whole kitchen. Gojo walks over to the kitchen counter and takes a pic of Suguru from the back. "This will do" Gojo says. "Post me too, toru", You pout at Gojo. "When you look like you were fighting wars before you woke up? Hell no" Gojo sarcastically says. You roll your eyes at him as you brush your hair. Gojo types down on his phone for few seconds before throwing it on the couch. Soon a notification from Geto's phone follows. "You didn't tag me?" You ask Gojo. Gojo stares at you blankly. Soon another notification from your phone follows and gojo rolls his eyes at you. You giggle as you repost gojo's mention of you in his story.

Gojo is an influencer and Geto is a model. You are a youtuber. You started off with only 1k subscribers, from what your followers in social media could provide you. But you are one successful youtuber now. Why? because of your best friends. "Living with my two best friends" is a series your audience seems to enjoy very much. You had no business living with two of your very attractive friends, but they bought you money and whole lotta fame. Who are you to say no? Don't get me wrong, you did love them. They have been there for you at your highs and lows and you love them for it. But from how Geto and Gojo toss around girls after sleeping with them? You simply couldn't love them fully for that. That's one of the reasons why you were never really romantically attracted towards either of them. No matter how much others envied you for living with such attractive guys. Other than that, everything was fucking great.

Both Gojo and Geto's label loves the fame your channel brings to them. It helped boost up Gojo's career as an influencer. And for Geto, he was always popular for his gentleman behaviour. He would often stand up for other women whenever they were in trouble. No matter how many girls he brang to bed, he hasn't ever disrespected a single one of them. Gentleman my ass, you thought. His popularity helped his name to reach out to a model agencies and here he was, almost a professional model who walked for the best fucking brands out there. As for Gojo, He was popular in college for his good looks but his personality gave it away. Gojo would often get in fights and Geto would have to save his ass from it. Despite his looks, girls would often be scared to approach him for his fighting tendencies. Nevertheless, he got away with his reputation and is a successful influencer now. He goes around whole day posting his life on instagram and earns money from it.

You guys met in college and have been inseparable since then. The three of you were quite famous. And all for your looks. "I really hate my label" Gojo throws his head back and leans against the sofa. "I don't see why I need to go work today. My hell of a manager won't leave me the fuck alone" Geto sighs. "Why do you guys have work on saturday" you complain. "I thought we could watch movies the whole day today". "I know right" Geto puts his arms around your shoulder and massages the spot his hands rest on your right shoulder. "I promise to come up with something fun by the time I am home. All three of us will have a blast" Gojo says excitedly. "Sure" you roll your eyes once again. Geto kisses your temple and gets up from the couch. You watch as Both Gojo and Geto walk up to their respective rooms to get ready for the day.

-

The whole day was very unproductive for you. After Geto and Gojo left, you had to entertain yourself with movies. The movies were too damn boring and nothing you did seemed to make you happy. Now it was finally 9 pm, meaning, Both your friends will be back soon. Finally you had found a reason to be happy for the first time today. You hear the door unlocking and happily walk towards it to welcome your best friend. The door opens to reveal Geto with a flower bouquet and a big shopping bag. You raised an eyebrow at him in questioning look to conceal your excitement. "My label, it was giving away all this cool clothes I thought you would like" he hands you the bag. "Thank you!" you squeal and hug him. "And I bought booze!" Gojo exclaims as he comes up from behind Geto. "Gojo dropped at my office and wanted to buy alcohol. That fucker made me pay for everything" Geto complains as he walks inside. "Aww, come on man, I know you love me" Gojo says as he slaps Geto's shoulders playfully. You laugh as you help Gojo bring in the cartoon of booze Gojo was carrying.

"So now? what's the plan for today" you ask them. Both Gojo and Geto exchange looks. "What?" you ask. "How about we lighten up with drinks first and Gojo tells you his plan?" Geto says as he wraps his hands around your shoulder and leads you to the living room. "I don't like this" you say while eyeing both of them. Once, you had found yourself in a similar situation like this and Gojo had suggested something so absurd for entertainment that you and Geto had to knock him drunk and put him on bed before he suggested something more horrible. It was to fucking pee in a bottle and give it to a neighbour saying it's "a special juice" as a form of prank. "Oh trust me it's nothing like last time" Geto assures you as Gojo walks to the kitchen to get you guys glasses.

-

You are five glasses down as you feel yourself getting dizzy. Geto leans against the back of the couch and spreads his legs to get comfortable. "Oh dude stop, we know its big" Gojo says with playful irritation in his voice. "Oh I bet it is" you jokingly say. Suddenly Geto gets up from his comfortable position and looks agt Gojo again. They silently nod at each other and face you. "What?" you ask, clearly sensing they had planned something big on their way here. "Well uh, Gojo had came up with something just for fun for us tonight" Geto says while fidgeting with the thread of his grey sweatpants. You look at both of them, already guessing that whatever follows won't be nice. "Do you promise to not beat us up if I say it?" Gojo asks you with puppy eyes. "I'm too tipsy to do it" You reply. "It's just a game alright? Nothing serious" Gojo says nervously. "Yeah I get it Gojo, what is it?" "Really, it's something silly me and Gojo planned. Nothing to worry about" "I get it, but what is it?" "It really is meaningless, doesn't mean anything" "You can say no if you want to" "Can you guys fucking tell me what it is?" "It won't change anything between us, I promise" "YEAH BUT WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU GUYS PLANNED"

Gojo exhales before saying, "I don't know- it feels like a bad idea now". "At least we should ask her" Geto says as he nudges Gojo with his elbow. Clearly, he too, is excited for what Gojo has planned. You stare at them in defeat. Gojo and Geto are the last person on earth to hesitate before saying something. Especially Gojo. What is it? You thought. Are they going to suggest a threesome? That's something Geto would never agree to- "How about you take turns giving us head" Gojo says, too fast, almost as if he'd rather you did not hear him say that. "what" you say, completely flabbergasted.

"Yeah it was a bad idea" Geto says as he gets up. "It's okay. Pretend you never heard it" he adds. "wait" you say. Both Geto and Gojo look at you in sync. "What's in there for me?" You ask bravely. "You are getting our cock in your mouth, baby. Isn't that enough?" Gojo asks while smiling widely. Yeah, he is very excited. "Don't be a dick satoru. I will get you more of these clothes" Geto says while pointing at the shopping bag on the floor. "That works fine I guess" You say. "You see, me and Geto talked it over with. It will be a small game. You will suck us off one after another. Whoever cums first is the looser" Gojo explains.

You consider all the possibilities to yourself. Certainly after this, things won't be the same. Even if you guys decide to pretend like it never happened, there would still be a high tension. What if Geto and Gojo toss you out like they do to other girls? The thought almost makes you stand up and leave the room. But then you notice both of them looking at you with anticipation so you think to yourself, yeah, one time can't hurt. "That's fine by me" you tell them.

"Me first!" Gojo exclaims as he pushes Geto from beside you and sits on the couch. Geto shakes his head in acceptance and takes out his phone. He holds the clock app open in front of your faces. "I will start it once Gojo is hard and you are ready" He says. "No need" Gojo says as he adjusts his pants, the bulge already visible. Seriously? you think. He got hard just like that? But then you notice your hard nipples visible from your tank top so now you know why Gojo got hard. It makes you wonder if he gets hard like this often because you are almost never wearing bra. "So, ready?" geto asks "Hell yeah" Gojo says loudly as both of you roll your eyes.

You tie up your hair in a ponytail and pull down Gojo's pants. It wasn't your first time. You have had boyfriends before and you know how to do it. Actually you are quite good at it. Five minutes is all it will take you to make Gojo cum. Only five minutes. You hold Gojo's cock in your hand and start rubbing it up and down. Gojo throws his head back in pleasure as the stopwatch in Geto's phone stays on the table, seconds and seconds passing by... You start licking Gojo's dick from the bottom to up while maintaining eye contact with him. Gojo's eyes is locked in with yours and his mouth open, taking heavy breaths. You tease his tip with your tongue. Licking and rubbing the tip of your tongue on his foreskin, which makes low whimpers escape his mouth.

You take a his whole dick in your mouth and push it deep in your throat. Gojo groans as his hands grip the back of your skull and pushes you further down. You choke as a tear falls down from your eyes. "Mhmm..Fuck... you are doing so good" Satoru groans as his hands find the back of your head and pushes your skull down his cock. You palm his balls as more tears fall down your eyes. "Fuck" Gojo curses as more whimpers follow. "Ngh... fuck.. I can't keep it in anymore" Gojo moans as his hands keep bobbing your head down his cock. You lick the base of Gojo's dick then trail your tongue up to his tip. You run his dick around the tip of your tongue like a popsicle. That's all it takes for Satoru to reach his edge. Warm cum flows out of his dick on the base of your tongue. You keep your lips locked around his dick till he finally finishes cumming. You look at Satoru in the eye as you swallow his loads.

Gojo's breathing is still heavy as he watches you lick the corner of your lips. "Fuck" he throws his head back. "Exact five minutes" Geto says as he takes his phone from the table and stops the timer. There is a smirk on his face as he sits on the couch and nudges Gojo to get up. Telling him it's his turn now. Gojo gets up from the couch and pulls his pants back. "Any reviews? Feedbacks? Comments?" you playfully ask Gojo. "Your ex boyfriends weren't lying when they said you suck dick like an ovulating bitch who loves dick like she loves food" Gojo says. You bite your lips as you sultrily smile at him. "Why, thank you' you say. "My turn now" Geto says, with hint of impatience in his voice. Gojo sits on the same chair geto was sitting the whole time you were sucking him off as he takes his phone out. "I will start the stopwatch when your pants are off" he points at Geto. You play with the strings of geto's sweatpants as you maintain eye contact with him. You pull down his pants and hold his cock. A low sound escapes his throat as he looks down at the beautiful sight of you between his legs.

Without wasting more time, you start licking it up from the bottom to his tip. Unlike Gojo, Geto doesn't show his satisfaction by throwing his head back or even letting a whimper escape his mouth. It makes you want to suck him harder only just to exude a reaction from him. Geto maintains straight eye contact with you as he wraps your hair around his wrists and pushes your head down his cock with it. You rest your palms against his inner thighs and let Geto bob your head up and down his cock using your hair. Geto exhales deeply as he pushes his cock down your throat and you start to choke. You use your tongue more as he pushes your head up and down his dick only as to make him make the smallest of sound. And he does. A small moan escapes Geto's mouth as his grip on your hair lightens a bit. Indicating that he is close. You start sucking his dick harder and push it down your throat more. Geto's grip on your hair tightens again as he is slowly pushing your head down his cock now. So he likes the process harsh and can't even cum without me slowing down first? wow, you think to yourself. Geto lets out a moan and soon your mouth is filling with hot liquid.

You swallow it all and look up at Geto. His mouth is left in an O and his breathing still heavy. "Four minutes and 30 seconds. Really Geto?" Gojo says in disbelief. You laugh as you get up and tie your hair back in place after Geto had made it messy. "I thought you were better than me" Gojo says, still shocked. Geto doesn't say anything, too embarrassed from his failure. "I will take my leave now" you get up from the floor. "I am tired" you say. "Wait" Gojo stops you. "What?" "Nothing" "Seriously?" "Well I think we should-" "You should go rest now [name]" Geto cuts Gojo's speech. "Alright" you stretch your arms above your head and then walk to your room and close the door.

"Are you crazy?" Geto asks Gojo after you are gone. "Why? i thought we talked it out" Gojo says, feeling attacked by Geto's words. "Seriously Satoru? I don't even know how to face her tomorrow forget even about a threesome after the weird game you pulled tonight" Geto says. "Weird??? I thought we were in this together. Don't act like you didn't just have the time of your life few moments ago. And it's ruined already Suguru, Stop being a pussy and stress over it." Gojo says. "I don't know... I will ask her to pretend tonight never happened" Suguru says. "ABSOLUTELY NOT" Gojo snaps. Geto throws a cushion at Gojo for being loud and gets up from the couch. "I am too dizzy right now from tonight's events to even talk with you, Satoru. Let's wake up early tomorrow and discuss it over before confronting her. It is a good thing she went to her room than to ask us what we are now. Goodnight" Geto walks to his living room and closes the door. Gojo sighs as he leaves for his own room too.

Well, whatever happened, happened. It wasn't as if the three of you never had meaningless hookups before. If you had to pretend that nothing happened, then so be it. It's not like you can undo what you did. After all, playing ignorant was something the three of you excelled in.

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author's note: OH MY GOD SORRY FOR RELEASING THIS CHAPTER SO LATE. I kept over thinking my writing style :( LMAO lmk how it was it's really appreciated!!!!

word count: 2.8k

[vettesebas]

(x)

[eorzeashan]

tbh the biggest lie I was fed before becoming a dog owner was that every dog was the same as the idea of a dog (dog will work for treat. dog will wag, dog will play and be exactly like a golden retriever every time) and then I got this weird creature who arguably has a more human personality than me and strays closer to cat than dog most days

[michaellangdonswhore]

warnings: again, smut. put me in a fucking hospital.

word count: 5.5k

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You were, by far, Jonathan Crane's least favorite student.

You knew it, and it was complete bullshit. You were always on time, always in every class, and always completed the work. You had always had such good grades in every class, but not with him.

While not giving you the worst grade imaginable, you were never able to get over an A-, which pissed you the fuck off. Obviously, to any other normal student studying psychology, they'd take the A-, but not you.

And again, nothing over an A-. There was the frequent B+, sometimes B, and when you really pissed him off he would go as low as a B-.

You've done everything you could to get him to like you. You would ask questions, clearly put extra effort into the homework, and even applied to laboratory studies that he ran. You hated not being liked.

However, at this point in the year, you had given up on trying. You still did everything you were supposed to do, because you wanted a good grade, but you hadn't bothered participating or showing any interest anymore. You had decided to focus more on your other classes. Due to this, you had been working late into the night, causing you to be exhausted for your 8 AM lectures with Crane.

You were exhausted, trying to pay attention. Your head hurt so much for looking at a screen for so long last night.

Crane is flipping through a slideshow, and you find yourself dozing. It's not that this stuff bored you, you had just already learned it back when you took AP Psych your sophomore year of high school.

You snap back into reality when you hear your name being called.

Crane is singling you out with an annoyed expression on his face. You turn red because everyone, all 400 other people in the class, are staring at you.

"I'm sorry. Is this boring you?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"No-" You begin.

You're stammering. You normally don't have such a rough time with public speaking, but being downright exhausted and being singled out for nearly falling asleep in class is extremely embarrassing.

He pauses for a moment and stares you down.

You feel as if you were naked, as if you were completely exposed to him. You didn't like him looking at you like that, like he was taking into account every imperfection.

"As I was saying..."

Thank god.

He resumes to what he was talking about before and you're more alert, heart pumping full of humiliation. You're taking notes now, typing quickly and probably annoyingly loud (you can tell because he keeps shooting you small glares every time you hit the spacebar).

Finally, the hour is up and he reminds everyone about the homework due that Friday. You collect your stuff and head out the door. You don't realize, but he watches you leave.

Everything you do irks him.

Maybe it was because your first paper challenged his psychological beliefs, or because your intelligence challenged him in general. But literally everything about you pisses him off.

Your loud typing, your questions that challenges his lectures, how you turn everything in on time, how you flawlessly converse with the other students. He is so desperately waiting for you to slip up.

As previously stated, you were putting less effort than before into his class. He picked up on this. You were turning your papers and chapter readings in the last minute, you weren't asking questions, and you were even falling asleep.

You had three days to complete a portion of the assignments given. You completely forgot about it.

Due to your tiredness and your weakening desire to try for the class, you had forgotten to write down the homework in a planner that you always checked daily.

Crane is a quick grader, and usually he always grades your homework first; more specifically, as soon as you turn it in.

You realized you didn't do the work as soon as you woke up that morning for your 8 AM class. You had never ever missed an assignment. Ever. And you had no time to do it and make it to his class on time. You were freaking the fuck out.

It's okay. Maybe he hasn't graded it yet.

But no. He was such a strict grader. He was harsh.

Whatever. You may as well hope for the best.

To distract yourself from your predicament, you talk to the boy who sits next to you in the class. It's just smalltalk about the workload and about an upcoming test.

You stop talking when Crane clears his throat. You shift back in your seat and open your laptop.

"It's a Friday. It's 8 AM," Crane begins. You think this is going to be the introduction of a psychological speech. "For all 399 of you that did your homework last night, go enjoy your Friday morning."

People being looking around and whispering, not sure if this is a trick, but you know it's not.

You're freaking out. Your heart is racing and you cannot believe that he would actually do this to you. Usually teachers will just give you a bad grade and call it that, but to single you out and have the entire class leave except for you is an all time low.

"I'm not messing with you," Crane continues. "Go. You know who you are."

He's looking at you dead in the eye and you stay put as people slowly get up to leave, looking around to make sure others are doing the same. You avoid his gaze, looking at your computer screen.

Soon enough, everyone is out of the large lecture room, some looking back to see the one person who didn't do their work.

Once the door is shut, and everyone is completely out of sight, Crane locks both of the doors and looks up at you.

"Are you deliberately trying to fail my class?" He questions. "I thought you wanted to be outstanding."

You can't find words to say. He scoffs and moves to his desk, shuffling through papers and bringing out a decently large stack to over to you. It feels like hours pass by as he walks up the steps to you and drops them onto your desk.

You look at them, confused.

"This is the homework that was due at midnight." He explains.

"It's never so much..." You stammer. You can feel his hatred burning into your skin.

"It's what's due next Wednesday, Friday, and the following week too. Let's see if you can get this done by.... hm," He checks his watch. "By the end of the period?"

"All of this?" Your eyes widen.

"When's your next class?" He asks.

"You're my only one today." You continue to avoid his eye contact.

"Then you can stay." He says. "Until you finish all the work."

"But-"

"I can't trust that you'll do it." Crane says, taking a step back from you. "You need to complete it. In front of me."

"Please, Professor," You try to defend yourself. "I've been-"

"I can assume what you've been doing, you've almost fallen asleep in my class." He scoffs.

You feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment over him getting the wrong impression. Does he really think that low of you?

You take a deep breath. You'll just have to deal with this.

"Do you have a pencil?"

He grabs a black pen from his desk and looks up to you, motioning to sit in the front row. Close enough. You swallow your pride and grab your things and the stack of paper, walking down to the seats in the front.

The class itself is an hour, but it took you almost five to complete the amount of homework he gave you. The readings were long, and the quality of work was demanding. You were eager to do well, to prove yourself.

You hate that he hated you.

His eyes were on you the entire time you did your work. The silence was loud, but you pushed through it. You got three weeks of homework done, and proudly put the stack back onto his desk.

"I'll see you Monday, Professor," you smile, then walk away.

After that, you tried harder; harder than you tried compared to every other class you took. You did this, not to get him to like you- but to get back at him with the fact that you knew your shit; you were a good student. You sat in the front, did side research, and spent nights studying for his endless quizzes. And he wanted to fail you to make you stop what you were doing, but you were getting all the answers right and you both knew that. He wouldn't want you taking anything to the next level.

With you in the front, it made it harder for him to not be distracted by you. Mid speech he would find himself locking eyes with you, disrupting his words and leaving him stammering for a brief moment. Ever since you've upped the eye contact, you've gained more control of the situation.

You arrived in class that Wednesday; the situation in which Crane forced you to stay and do two weeks worth of work in front of him occurred around three weeks ago. You're sitting in the front in between two empty seats; no one likes to sit in the front in Crane's class. It's usually only filled with around three to four people. Crane isn't in class yet, which is weird considering he's always there early, before anyone else even gets there. The class is almost about to begin and he's never been late.

Soon enough, it's one minute after the class is supposed to start and he's still not there. You start feeling antsy, wondering where he is.

Finally, he walks in; two minutes after class is supposed to start. So unlike him.

He places his briefcase on the desk and begins setting up his computer while everyone takes out something to take notes with.

"Now, you all know what I specialize in, I hope," He states, not breaking eye contact with his computer.

He specialized in phobias. Apart from dedicating his time to teaching you, he was a therapist mainly for fears.

"I'm sure we all know what exposure therapy is, correct?" He asks. Pretty much the whole class nods in unison. "Good. For those of you not on the same page, it's the type of therapy which someone is exposed to their fear or trauma."

He begins flipping through his slideshow, giving more and more information and lecturing about it, but you can't help but notice it's an almost bias review.

You're left with homework to write a review on some boring documentary on the history of exposure therapy and a pretty long excerpt of the textbook you all were reading.

So, you did your work and followed all of the instructions. You wrote a review on exposure therapy.

The next Monday, you get to class and you sit in the front row. There's a big stack of paper on Crane's desk, and you assuming that you're getting a pop-quiz, but no, that's not the case.

Crane's waiting for everyone with his shoulder rested on the large stack of papers. Once the time hits 8, he begins.

"I printed out all of your outlines," He begins. "I've made some comments and given some feedback. We'll spend the class working on them."

He starts calling out names and one by one, people receive their papers. You're sort of anxious- you left a pretty negative review on exposure therapy, something that he seemed so passionate about.

"Y/N Y/L/N." He says, saying your voice with more of an annoyed tone than the other students. You get up and grab your paper from his hands, tugging harder due to his firm grip. Clearing his throat, he continues calling out the following names. You go back to your seat, nervous to look at the paper. When you sit and look at it, your stomach dropped.

There's nothing on the front page. Then you look at the second.

See me after class.

There is literally nothing but a see me after class.

Oh my god.

What did I do?

Was he offended at all by what was written? Surely, that wasn't your intention... yes, you wanted to piss him off, but you had some respect for him. You didn't want to actually maybe- make him insecure about his work?

Class seemed to take hours to go by; you didn't even know what to do about your paper. He gave no other feedback other than to see him after class. How were you supposed to work with that?

You looked around at your classmates typing away. You're annoyed that he actually helped them.

See me after class.

At least give me feedback on my fucking paper.

Everyone then realized the time and began to pack up. Crane stood up from his desk and took his glasses off.

"Remember, papers are due Friday!" He manages to get out before people start heading out the door.

You put your things in your bag, trying to act out to your classmates as if you were leaving. You felt so embarrassed. You hated how he kept embarrassing you and how he had the power to do that. It was infuriating. You felt him staring at you as you packed your stuff up, moving slower, nervous that he would call you out.

You took your time, though, waiting till everyone was out of the room.

With everyone else there, you felt so confident. You were one of the smart ones and you at least had witnesses, but alone with him? You were completely inferior. He could quite literally ruin your life with a bad grade and could easily tarnish your image, being the head of Arkham and all that.

"I found your paper quite interesting," He says, emphasizing quite.

"I'm sorry-" you begin. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" He scoffs. "You think you offended me?"

"I just- I know this is what you do, right?" You stammer.

"I'm interested in your point of view." He says. "About the pain, how it's long term. I'm interested as to why you seem so against it."

You shrug.

"What's your biggest fear, Y/N?" He asks you. "What is it? Failure?"

"I'm not trying to fail."

"Oh, yes, you've proven that." He clicks his tongue. "Sitting in the front, turning things in quickly, wearing shorter skirts. Don't think I don't notice what you're doing."

"What?"

"You write intensely about the struggle that people with PTSD-"

"Wait," you interrupt him. "What did you say?"

"I'm trying to discuss with you what you've written."

"Professor, my clothing choices have nothing to do with me wanting to do well in this class," you say. Now you're offended.

Instead of apologizing, which is what you think any decent person would do, he looks you up and down and scoffs.

"You're wearing tights."

"What?"

"Surely, those must be uncomfortable. You're not wearing those to satisfy yourself," he says.

You grow red, and angry.

He keeps humiliating you.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

"Will you stop?" you groan in frustration. "Why don't you just let me get by like you let everyone else get by? I do everything you ask!"

"I want to know who you're trying to impress."

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," you hiss, finally looking up at his crystal eyes.

You know it's disrespectful, but you turn to walk away and to leave.

"No, no. We're not done."

You ignore him, walking towards the door, but he quickly beats you to it, shutting it and locking you in.

"I said we're not done." He said, completely composed. "Sit."

"I want to leave."

"Your biggest fear is failure, yes?" He questions. You don't nod or shake your head, but it is pretty much true; you hate failing. You need to succeed and be good at everything you do. "Sit. I can very much make that fear come true."

"I do everything," you repeat. "Everything. I do it on time, I'm here always, I'm prepared for everything."

"Can you just fucking-" He pushes you down onto the seat next to his desk. "Sit?"

You weren't expecting him to physically force you to sit down, but you could pick up on the pent up frustration he had with you.

"The off the cut sweater, no bra-" He points out.

You weren't wearing a bra. You were surprised he had picked up on the fact- you could've been wearing a strapless, but no. He was right.

"Are you even wearing underwear?" He whispers.

You're flushed.

What the fuck was going on?

You thought he hated you.

And yeah, you knew he was an attractive man, that's what made this whole thing pretty exciting, but you never thought you would be sat down with him leaning over you saying things like this.

"Let me see."

"Professor?"

He grabs you off the chair and pushes you onto his desk, spreading your legs for you. Everything was moving too quickly; this all felt like a fever dream.

He tugs at the middle of your tights, ripping them open to expose your- and he was right- bare pussy. He lets out a chuckle.

"You're not trying to impress anyone?" He questions, again, peering up at you.

You try moving your thigh to cover yourself, but he forcefully keeps them open.

"Who was that boy you used to sit next to... Tim, is it?"

To be honest, you really didn't know that kids name. He was just someone you sat next to out of habit since you had picked that seat the first day of classes. But you hadn't been sitting with him for weeks at that point.

"Is Tim who you're trying to impress?"

"No!" You argue, still trying to fight the grip of his hand off your thigh. "I told you... I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"Hm." He says, placing two fingers on exactly the right spot of your clit, slowly rubbing in circles. . "You're not even trying to impress me?"

You stay silent, for a brief moment.

"Not in this way..."

But it's past that point now. He's already touching you, rubbing faster, and your exposed pussy is laid out right in front of his face. You're embarrassed and self conscious. He's too close for comfort.

"Yeah?"

The fingers once on your clit are now entering you. You still can't comprehend the situation.

But for him, he was putting you in your place. It was enough of the looks in class, the semi sexual and revealing clothing, the obvious need for his approval and to show him she was as smart- maybe even smarter than him himself.

"Is that why you're letting me touch you like this?" He asks, using the two fingers to pump your pussy.

It's out of your control but you're getting wetter the longer and faster he fingers you. It's beginning to show, beginning to drip down his fingers and onto his wrists. He notices this, then stops and looks.

"Disgusting," He huffs before licking his fingers clean.

"That's disgusting," You repeat at him, glaring a little, but you can't help but want his finger- more of him back inside you. You feel empty, desperate for his hands back on you.

"I don't see you asking me to stop."

You're silent, again.

He smiles, kneeling back down and spreading your legs open again, this time with a more forceful grip. He doesn't use his fingers this time, devouring you with his hot mouth and basically digging in.

He was really good at this. To be fair, no one had ever actually eaten you out, but you had never felt anything like it. He moves his fingers towards you again and fucks you with them as he sucks and licks at your clit. He was freakishly good. You felt something drip down your thigh; you didn't know if you were sweating or if you were fucking leaking. By the sound of it, probably the second one.

He removes his fingers and dives deep into your pussy more, making obscure sounds as he does so. He stops and looks up at you.

"Take your shirt off. I want to see your tits," he demands.

You comply; he's already seen a lot.

"Fuck, they're perfect." He says, now standing over you, playing with them and poking and twisting at your hardened nipple. He's pushing his hardened clothed dick into your bare pussy, giving you some friction has he sucks on your neck and plays with your nipples.

He grabs your hips and flips you over, putting you on your stomach and leaning you over the desk.

He kneels back down, eating your pussy again; he can't get enough of it. He can't get enough of the small whines escaping your throat and the way you leak and how you shake when it feels good- or when the pleasure becomes too much.

He adds his fingers in again, this time three, and you let out a louder, but not too loud, moan than usual.

"Professor-"

"You can take it." He assures you. "You better take it. If you can't take this how can you take my cock?"

You just weren't used to it- you had been fucked, but not for so long. He keeps licking and devouring your clit while pumping in and out of you. You feel so full- on the brink. You feel hot, and god you feel good. You don't even realize it, but you're riding his mouth and his fingers.

"You know, I wasn't going to let you come," Crane begins between breaths, keeping his face close to your pussy so you could still feel him. "But now that I think about it... I want you cum drunk on my dick. I wanna make you cum over and over again until you're a fucking mess."

He goes back to sloppily and messily eating you out again. It was so dirty; the noise, what was leaking out of you. You then felt that familiar feeling and you couldn't stop it; no matter how wrong this felt or how humiliated and exposed you felt, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning like a mess and cumming all over his mouth.

You needed a second to recover, but he stood up and grinded his clothed dick against you. You weren't ready for the friction, wincing over the contact with you sensitive clit. He grabbed your neck and pulls your back to him, kissing you, continuing to grind.

He unbuttons his pants and undoes his boxers, his large thick cock springing out, begging to be touched. He pushes one of your legs up onto the desk to give him better access to you.

"You're fucking soaked," He says as he teases himself some more, collecting what's came out of you as some lubricant.

He keeps rubbing your clit and the outside with his dick, back and forth. It feels good, but it's not enough. He pushes harder with his dick on your clit, continuing to hump you.

"Professor, please," you look back at him, trying to guilt him into giving in and fucking you, but it's not that easy.

"Shut up, and let me take my time." He says. He continues this for a little, before getting a new idea. "I want you to cum on my cock without me fucking you."

"What?"

He pulls you towards him then on his lap on the chair next to his desk.

"Grind on it." He demands, holding you in place by your hips. "Get it soaked."

You hesitate, but he's impatient. He pushes you down and moves your hips for you until you begin to do it with him. You grind your pussy against his cock, stimulating your clit once more. It didn't feel as good as his mouth, and god it probably didn't feel as good as his dick would feel inside you, but it felt good. And you were so fucking horny, you were on the brink of cumming again.

"Yeah, yeah, you got it," he praised you, rocking your hips back and forth. He digs his nails into your hips, definitely leaving some cuts in your skin, but you didn't care. You were so close. He begins to bounce up, pretending to thrust into you, adding to your pleasure. "That's it, you- oh fuck, yes, cum on my fucking dick."

You're dripping onto him as you ride out your high, clenching around nothing. It seems to last for a while, wrapped up in all the pleasure combined with his dirty talk.

He angles his cock towards your entrance and pushes into you- he feels hot and he's sensitive due to teasing himself. But no- he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to put you in your fucking place. And even if he does cum, he has no issue continuing and even fucking a baby into you. Then, you'd have to walk around with the shame.

He gently picks you up, but then harshly slams you up and down repeatedly onto his cock. You've had no time to readjust after cumming a second time, and you were extremely sensitive.

"Slower, professor, please," You cry, burying your face into his shoulder. "It hurts..."

"Shut the fuck up."

He grabs you by the neck and pounds up into you, rubbing your clit as well to add to the sensation.

Yes, it feels good, but it's so overwhelming you can't help but tear up. Crane notices this and it goes straight to his head.

"Are you fucking crying?" He scoffs. "Fucking crying for me?"

He picks you up, keeping you firmly attached to his dick, and throws you over the desk again. He's fucking you deeper and at an animalistic pace; like he fucking needs this.

"Keep crying for me. Keep fucking crying."

He harshly grips your tits, twisting your nipple in the process.

"Fucking perfect tits, perfect pussy, perfect everything. You fucking strive for perfection- but you're letting me fucking ruin you. Is this how far you'd go for a good grade?" He laughs, fingers deep in your clit.

You can only moan in response, but this doesn't satisfy him.

"Fucking answer me."

"Yes," you cry out.

"Yeah, you're just a fucking whore who'd sleep her way to the top if that's what it took." He says, tugging your hair back, your sweaty bodies pressed closer together.

His words are filthy, but you're fucking cumming again.

He's laughing, mocking you for doing so.

"You fucking like being treated like a bitch, don't you?" He says, fucking you through your third orgasm. You don't know how he's not tired. As you expect, he doesn't give you a fucking break. You're worn out at this point; almost numb.

"Professor, I don't know-"

"You don't know if you can keep going?" He questions. "Yeah, you can. I'll fucking make you keep going. What was that... your third orgasm? Let me see if I can double that."

"Professor..."

"I'll stop when you give me three more."

You feel like you're going to pass out; the pleasure had become too much, but you were so fucking sensitive that a fourth one had come quickly. Your pussy was so swollen and red, but he had not gotten off of you.

"You're fucking..." He brings you back to the chair and places you on top of him. "You're fucking leaking all over me, fucking hell. So wet... do you hear yourself?"

You could hear yourself. It was disgusting. It was filthy.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" He asks. He slows down his pace, and you know he's teasing you. "Embarrassed that you're whoring yourself out to me like this? To a professor that so clearly disliked you? This is what you do for my approval."

He slows his pace some more.

"Would you do this for any other professor, Y/N? Let them fuck your pussy till you have nothing left to give? Bounce on their cock the way you do for me?"

"No, professor," you shake your head, trying to bounce faster but he keeps your hips in place, restricting you. He had succeeded- made you cum drunk and fucked you stupid, but this wasn't enough. He needed more. "No, no, only you. I'd only do this for you."

You're squirming around on his dick. He's stopped moving at this point, just staying in you.

"Stop fucking moving around. Don't you want to impress me?"

"Have I not?" You begin to regain some of your strength with this somewhat of a break he was giving you. "Have I not impressed you, professor?"

You give him puppy eyes as you gain some control of the situation, his grip loosing and you bouncing on his cock at a pace you like.

"I want to impress you, professor," you say seductively. "I want to- fuck!"

You start chasing your high again, you didn't even realize that you'd ever be able to cum this many times.

"Fuck!" You repeat. Crane is letting you take control, enjoying the show of you riding his cock, using him for your pleasure. "Do you like this, professor? Do you like when I fucking bounce on your dick like this?"

You had never heard yourself like this, or ever expected to talk like this. You had never felt so confident.

"Have you imagined this professor?" You continue. He's obviously at a loss for words, not expecting this side of you. "Have you imagined fucking me? Have you imagined bending me over your desk and eating me out till I came all over your face? My tits? Putting me in my fucking place?"

His hands found your hips again and he's helping you ride his cock. He's loving the words coming from your mouth.

"God, I think you wanted this more than I did," you laugh. You're so close. You wanted him to talk, but his reactions to your words were enough for you. "Make me cum again, professor, please. I- fuck!"

He's pushing into you and bouncing you up and down quickly and you're riding out your fifth orgasm.

He pulls you off of him and lays you out on the desk again, licking up your sore pussy. He hums while doing this, telling you how you taste so good. You're so- so sensitive, though, and you can't help but cumming on his tongue again not even seconds later, letting out a string of incoherent words.

That's six.

You look at him, but he's positioning himself in you.

"You said six-"

"I say a lot of things. I want you to cum on my cock again." He says, kissing your neck. "Last time. I promise."

He pumps into you, at a softer, but still quick pace. You feel so incredibly numb, but he still manages to work you up quickly while fondling your breasts and pressing hot kisses into your neck.

"Ah- fuck." He pants, fucking himself into you. "Fuck... gonna cum in you. Want you to fucking carry me around for the rest of the fucking day."

You don't object- your hearing was probably a little impaired at this point.

"Yeah, you want that, don't you. It's like a fucking award to you."

He's holding you closer now. You both are so sweaty and sticky.

You're about to cum again, but he grabs your throat tightly.

"Fucking wait for me. Don't be impatient."

As hard as it is, you listen to him. He speeds up, becoming sloppy before he cries, "Fuck, cum! Cum all over my fucking- ahhh, yes, fuck."

He shoots hot loads into you as you clench around him, milking more out of him. He doesn't stop, continuing to fuck you until every last bit of his seed has marked you. Even after he's done, he gets a few more strokes in before he pulls out, showing the combination of you and him leaking out of your pussy. He pushes you onto the floor and presents his dick in front of him.

"Clean it."

You obey, wrapping your mouth on his cock and licking away the filth that the two of you made. He groans and pulls you off of him.

"You'll get me hard again." He says.

He puts all his clothes back on and hands you your sweater. Your nipples are hard, poking through them now.

"I look forward to your next draft of your review." Crane says calmly, as if what just happened didn't happen.

"You- um..." you stammer, brushing your fingers through your hair. "You didn't give me any notes."

"I didn't?" He questioned. You shook your head. "Well, stay again after class next session. I'll go over it, personally, with you."

"Oh." You blush. "This wasn't a one time thing?"

"Y/N..." Crane looks at the floor. "I'm your professor."

You felt awkward. Of course it was a one time thing; how could it not be?

But then he looks back up at you.

"You don't want to fail my class, do you?"

[luveline]

I read the Derek and Spencer fainting bit and now I want to complete it with Hotch :)))

If that’s alright of course…

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Aaron knows you harbour more affection for him than anyone else on the team, which is a true compliment to him, as you adore Spencer. He can never tell if you're friendly or loving, if you want some or all or nothing, the line between you blurred. 

When Morgan and Garcia first began their flirtatious friendship, Aaron thought they were seeing each other on the sly for a whole fortnight. He's a profiler, but he doesn't know everything. 

He does, however, know that something is wrong with you today. Hand held up over your eyes, you squint out over the crime scene with a wrinkled nose. The lakeside smells as bad as it looks with gore blackening the surrounding grass. He's been telling you for months to get some shades. You've been ignoring his advice. 

Your disapproval of the smell is normal. Your unsure footing is not. You take his forearm when he offers it and step across the muddy bank to the body without audible complaint, though you give him a 'this fucking sucks' narrowing of the eyes when he gives you the time. 

"Agent Hotchner," a deputy greets, "Agent L/N. We found the second body here. Bystanders pulled the first out thinking she was still alive, but that was unfortunately not the case." 

You shift unprofessionally close to Aaron. He doesn't really care. The sheriff barely looks at you both, his attention on the corpse hidden between overgrown cattails. 

Aaron hates to admit that he gives you more of his attention than is helpful. You seem odd. Call it intuition, call it plain old profiling, Aaron reads the next minute of events in the smallest twitch of your finger.

You put your hand on his back and he doesn't think, he just grabs you. The sheriff deputy startles as you fold over Aaron's arm like a marionette with strings sliced, exhaling hard as your body does its best to hit the grass beneath your feet. 

"Agent L/N!" The deputy yelps. 

"I got her," Aaron says, easing you down to the ground. He keeps a hand behind your head to lay you down flat, the other quick to leap from your side to your cheek. You'll likely have bruises in the shape of his hands at your waist. "Y/N?" 

He rubs his thumb under your eye. Quick, he leans down with an ear to your lips and relaxes at the sound of your shallow breathing. He pulls away, resting a hand atop your chest. 

"Can you hear me?" he asks, conscious of and ignoring the copious pairs of eyes watching over you. 

You don't respond. Aaron goes into emergency mode, flagging down a cop who races for a paramedic, hands at your throat unbuttoning the first button on your blouse, the second in an overabundance of caution. 

"Y/N, if you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that?" His tone wavers somewhere between demanding and desperate. "Come on. Come on." 

Fainting is one thing. Fainting with no signs of dehydration and little sun exposure is another, especially considering you hadn't moved from one position to another. You've passed out with no obvious cause. Any number of things could be wrong. 

He doesn't slap you —it works in the movies and not often elsewhere. In fact, Aaron finds himself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Patient outwardly and insanely panicked on the inside, he holds your face in his hand and waits for someone to tell him you're alright. 

Your breath catches, your head lolling into his palm. He straightens it, weary of your airways. "Y/N? Tell me you can hear me." 

The whirlwind of your fall and the eternity of your recovery has him holding his breath. 

"I can hear you," you mumble, again attempting to turn your head. He lets you this time. He's so relieved, he'd let you do anything. 

He fights the urge to shout, Where's the medic? instead following your face, tilting his head to the side. "Open your eyes, honey," he murmurs, for your ears alone. 

Your lashes twitch against his pinky index finger. You frown as though you're in pain and finally rouse to attention. 

"What hurts?" he asks, brows furrowed.

"Nothing hurts…" Your frown worsens. "You look really unhappy." 

"I'm not ecstatic about this," he says. He gives in, shouting, "Where's the medic?"

"Oh, no, please," you say, trying to sit up, "that is so embarrassing."

Aaron pushes you flat to the grass beneath you. "Stop, you need to stay flat. You passed out. This is the solution–" He puts his hand flat over your chest as you put in some effort. "Hey, this is what you need to do. Listen to me, agent." 

"What happened to honey?" you ask quietly. 

"That's when you were doing what I wanted." 

You close your eyes in a faux strop. "I guess I'll have to do what you want more often, sir." 

"That's enough." He sounds fond. Why does he sound so fond? 

The deputy clears his throat. "Paramedics are here." 

You groan. Aaron hides a smile. Through everything, his hand has stayed on your cheek. He doesn't pull it away until he absolutely has to, and even then, he holds some part of you. Your elbow, your wrist. He has the sense to be sheepish about it when the paramedic ushers him back, but even then, he's thinking about when he'll get to touch you next; he needs the assurance that you're okay. 

He gets it a half hour later when you're sipping on a gatorade in the back of an SUV. 

"Do I still get paid for today?" you ask, smiling playfully. "Or is this a write off?" 

He wants to joke about it with you, but there's work to be done. He sends you back to the hotel with a frankly unprofessional hug and a demand to take it easy. He's sure you'll be back stepping on his heels by late afternoon. 

[a-hazbin-reader]

Hii I love your work!

Could you do a (romantic but.. crush stage) headcanon of Alastor helping the reader and the reader gives him a kiss as a thank you and Alastor is like "what the hell was that?" Reader genuinely feeling bad for kissing him and Alastor says "you should be sorry" but then Alastor starts to constantly help the reader (even more than before) and everyone in the hotel knows what he's doing but reader is dense. Then eventually alastor just bursts into her bedroom shouting "FOR FUCK SAKE WHY WONT YOU KISS ME" (maybe not that but same energy)

Please and thank you :>

I'm just gonna...combine these two...

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being jealous, DOORS, Saucy?

Description: ☝️⬆️

You gave affection freely to those around you, everyone got a hug or a small peck on the cheek

So when you're struggling with something and Alastor helps you out? It's only natural for you to give him a quick kiss on the cheek

It's his reaction to it that makes you think you made a mistake in doing so, his body going stiff and gaze dark

You step back as you start to notice a green haze around him and the glass on his monocle cracking

"Don't you ever do that again, my dear."

"I'm-I'm sorry, Alastor-"

"You should be."

And just like that, he's back to normal, carrying on like nothing had happened and humming a jolly tune

But you still feel so guilty for making him so uncomfortable, that was the last thing you wanted

So you work hard to do better, to respect his boundaries and keep a respectful distance

It's not until later when Alastor has time to think about it that he actually realizes that he kinda enjoyed it

And that he's envious of the others who now freely get to soak up your attention and affection for doing little tasks

Like Husk getting scritches and scratches under his chin because he carried a box for you

Angel getting a warm hug with lots of nuzzling and cooing, all because he used his multiple arms to help you cook

Vaggie sheepishly accepting a thank you kiss because she caught you when you almost took a dive down the stairs

Charlie and Niffty are the worst offenders, always helping you and just eating up your praise and hugs

And now whenever Alastor helps you... you just give him a meek thank you and dash off

He's left there waiting for his hug and kiss that won't ever happen

He's not jealous, he told you not to thank him with physical affection

He just didn't realize that he was shooting himself in the foot when he snapped at you

So he starts trying to tempt you into it, taking every opportunity to help you out with every little thing

Alastor will physically shove the others out of the way in order to be the person who helps you out

And he never gets the proper thank you that he's looking for

It's getting to the point where you're driving him insane with those kissy lips and warm embraces

Why won't you just fucking give him some attention!? Oh yeah. Because he ruined it for himself

You do tell him that you're grateful for him and his help, sweetly smiling at him but keeping yourself at a distance

But it's not enough, he wants what everyone else is getting and then some

He hates being excluded or not being special and it's even worse when it comes to you

Alastor's thin patience suddenly snaps when one day while he's out running errands with you

The two of you bump into Zestial and the great overlord opens a door for you, earning a soft kiss on his cheek

It would almost be cute watching you struggle to do that, considering Zestial's height

But instead...Alastor is fucking irritated 😤

Zestial takes it well and you continue to run errands with Alastor for the rest of the day even though he's visibly sulky

His ears are bent back and his eyes are furious

You wonder what you did wrong

He's a bit distant from you for a couple days after that and you miss having him around

Even if you couldn't be with him, you still liked hanging around him and spending time with him

Just when you're starting to feel sorry for yourself and thinking you did something to offend him, wandering the hotel

He shows up by your side and grabs you, miraculously stopping you from almost falling into a fucking hole in the floor that wasn't there yesterday

Charlie is to blame somehow

You're just so happy to see him hanging out with you again that you hug him out instinct

Only to realize you fucked up and try to pull away-

But Alastor's firm grip on you stops you from moving, and he's looking at you in a way that makes your face heat up

"U-uh...um...thank you...Alastor..."

He tuts at you while shaking his head, pulling you flush against him as he leans in closer

"Words won't suffice anymore, my dear~ I'll only accept one thing as payment for my heroic services~"

You definitely don't melt when he suddenly kisses you and if your arms find their way around his neck then...

Who are you to deny him his payment? Kiss that bastard until he's crawling away and begging for mercy

Me hoping I didn't just shoot myself in the foot by bringing up the door thing again..

[aemondsbabe]

Taunt

obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!

summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.

pairing: michael gavey x reader

warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 10.5k (dear lord)

a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

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

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟

“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.” 

A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page. 

“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?” Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”

“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”

“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces. 

He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more. 

It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another. 

His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.

You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering. 

“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board. 

“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”

“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”

Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips. 

“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging. 

“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile. “Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned. 

Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again. 

“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.

Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”

Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead. 

“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.” 

“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat. 

“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks. 

Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them. 

As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?” 

“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”

“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade. 

“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.

“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner. 

You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.” 

“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”

You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder. 

Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”

“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”

“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”

“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men. 

“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers. 

The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses. 

“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.

“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.” 

The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”

“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter. 

“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.

“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.

“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware. 

His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”

You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”

Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.” 

You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.

“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”

The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him. 

“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.

He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy. 

You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering. 

But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.

“But I’m bus–”

“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck. 

“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain. 

Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves. 

Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.

“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck. 

You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.

“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder. 

“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt. 

“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach. 

Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”

“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”

“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.” 

You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister. 

“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase. 

“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail. 

“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”

You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.

Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.

Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”

“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place. 

“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”

“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush. 

The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”

You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?

“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice. 

He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window. 

“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.” 

His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”

“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”

“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute. 

Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”

“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?” 

You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act. 

Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?” 

He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth. 

See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.

It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem. 

“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook. 

“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?” 

“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?” 

You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low. 

“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket. 

“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.” 

“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request. 

He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”

“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you. 

He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.” 

You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?” 

He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?” 

“Do you?” 

“Fine, yes.” 

“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables. 

You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes. 

You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone. 

A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together. 

“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles. 

“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes. 

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”

“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?” 

You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”

“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing. 

“You.” It comes out as a breath. 

He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark. 

Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.” 

He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.” 

“None?” 

“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.” 

“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. 

“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair. 

Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his. 

He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,” he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.” 

You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger. 

“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”

“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands. 

“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling. 

You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine. 

“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.” 

You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading. 

“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump. 

“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly. 

He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk. 

“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.” 

You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.

You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric. 

“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”

You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip. 

You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath. 

You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat. 

“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you. 

His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand. 

Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need. 

You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit. 

Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?” 

“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl. 

“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table. 

You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally. 

“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses. 

“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric, 

“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”

“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”

“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”

“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”

You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child. 

“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”

You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.

“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you. 

You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud. 

You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit. 

“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers. 

“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”

At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open. 

He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”

The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants – both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment. 

“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?” 

You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance. 

Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.” 

Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down. 

He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.” 

His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock. 

“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?” 

“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock. 

“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately. 

“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release. 

“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.

“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.

He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”

“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”

“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.

Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release. 

The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair. 

You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.

“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin. 

You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things. 

You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”

You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.

He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.” 

You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down. 

“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”

“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”

“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”

“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat. 

“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.

“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”

His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air. 

Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.

tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot

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

[lucidfairies]

ride it [a.a]

pairing: gymrat!abby x pilates princess!reader

synopsis: abby normally enjoys going to the gym alone, but on the rare occasion that you ask to come, she never passes it up. (based on a tiktok I reposted!!)

warnings: heavily self indulgent on the reader part and my gym experiences, poc friendly, not exactly smut but SUGGESTIVE, subby abby

"y/n, I'm going to the gym, be home later." abby yelled up the stairs, trying to get your attention from whatever you were working on up there.

"baby, can I come? I haven't gone in a while." you yelled back, hopping up from your spot on your guy's shared bed, quickly grabbing a workout set and stripping to get it on.

"if you change fast enough." she joked. the set was pink, just a bra and shorts, but it fit what you normally did at the gym, which was yoga or a pilates workout. it was nothing compared to abby, who did extensive lifting.

when you got downstairs, abby was leaning against the wall in a muscle tee and shorts, but her shirt happened to be pink as well. "we're matching." you grinned, pulling her attention from her phone as you gently pressed your hand to her chest, pushing up on your toes to kiss her softly.

the ride to the gym was relaxed; abby's hand gripping to your thigh as you hummed along to the songs on the radio and tried to find a good workout video.

the gym wasn't packed, which was good. you hated working out in front of other people, and you especially hated when other people looked at abby when you guys were working out together. "what are you working today?" you asked her as you walked in.

"legs. worst fucking day of the week." you rolled your eyes. "you should try some of the stuff I do. it could be fun, y'know?" you looked back at her as you opened the door to the locker room.

"abs... have you looked at your quads recently? I don't think I could do half the shit you do." abby grinned, like it was funny how much bigger she was compared to you.

"not with the same weight, dumbass. just the same exercise. please sweetheart, I promise it'll be fun." she tossed her bag in a locker with yours and locked it. you sighed.

"fine. but if I don't like it, I'm going back to what I had planned." abby grinned, grabbing your waist as you left the locker room.

you both warmed up on the treadmill, then she took you to various machines –the leg press, leg extension, hip abduction– and explained how to use them, then showed you while she did it. it was embarrassing how much weight you could do compared to her, but you couldn't quit now. you were almost having fun.

she brought you to the weight side of the gym, where most of the intense lifters went. that portion of the gym scared the shit out of you. she set up a bench and grabbed a bar, loading an obscene amount of weight onto it.

"these are called KAS hip thrusts, they work your glutes and stuff, I think." you stopped listening after that, consumed in the way she pulled the bar over her lap, held it in place, then thrust her hips up.

she did this every time she was at the gym? regardless of who was watching?

you couldn't tell how much weight was on each side, but that hardly mattered. you were spitting out words before you could even think of what you were saying. "you should do it with me on your lap." she set the weight down and looked up at you, cheeks rosey.

"baby.. I- uh, what if people watch?" she was a stuttering mess, at the thought of doing that to you in public. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad, but it would certainly get her worked up, that's for sure.

"what if?" you shrugged. abby complied, obviously, who is she to say no to you, and pushed the bar off of her lap, letting it roll forward.

you straddled her, legs on each side as she pressed her hands behind her head. "you got it, baby." your voice was low, attempting to throw her off her game. it did. she forgot for a moment what she was supposed to be doing until you raised your eyebrow, expediently.

abby's hips rose in the air, bringing you up with them, then slowly dropped, controlled. every time she lifted her hips, your ass pressed perfectly against her clit, and she was getting wetter by the rep. "shit, baby." abby groaned, keeping her hands locked behind her head so she didn't take you right now.

"c'mon abs, just a few more for me." you didn't know how many reps she did for this particular exercise, but four was hardly enough. you placed your hands gingerly under her shirt, just tracing lightly with your nail.

her hips stuttered, surely almost dropping you, but she kept going. when she finally got to her max raps, her hips fell roughly, and she panted, head in the crook of your neck and she tried to calm herself.. and her clit. "put your things away and meet me in the locker room shower." you smirked and stood up, leaving her wet and bothered.

safe to say she fucked you good after that.

tag list: @baumbii @tlouadditc @abbysvictim

[bluejutdae]

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Felix x you

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Seungmin | Jeongin

genre: romance, best friend to lovers

warnings: none, except that i am not satisfied at all with this but I’ve read it so many times I’m starting to hate it. I might edit heavily later

The moment you park outside the restaurant Lixie is in, you press the call button. Faking an emergency is not too hard, you talk about a friend getting injured and at the hospital, exaggerating your tone and almost making Felix laugh.

He’s out in less than five minutes. Under his bright smile there’s something you can’t decipher. He gets in your car and just his presence makes you happy. Everyone loves Felix, and you’re not immune to his charm either. He’s always kind, generous, sweet and funny. You’re really lucky to have him in your life.

“Ice cream?”

“Yes, please.” It’s so funny to hear his deep voice in such a childish tone.

You don’t press for answers about his date during the drive to your favorite ice cream place, you put on some music and sing loudly with him. Save for that indecipherable look in his eyes, he seems pretty normal.

You take your ice creams and decide to take a walk on the riverside. The wind is pretty chill, but neither of you mind too much. It’s him who brings up the date he was on.

“The date… it was like a blind date. But I didn’t know it was a date until it was too late.”

“Uh- what?” It doesn’t make sense: how did he manage to go on a date without knowing?

“Hannie.” Yeah, maybe it makes sense. Jisung means well, but most of the time the execution is, at best, messy.

“How did he get you?”

“He begged me to go on a double date on the premise it was just because this girl he wanted to go out with was wary of going out alone with him so she’d bring a friend with, but we were supposed to be just wingmen. Or so he told me.”

He licks his ice cream and shakes his head.

“About 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet he called and told me it was a lie and it was a blind date…”

You’re not sure as to what to say. It is very on brand for Jisung, but you can also understand how frustrating it can be for Felix. He’s a sweetheart, he must have felt guilty for having unwillingly misled the girl.

“I couldn’t just leave and stand her up. She knew nothing about the lie, so it wasn't her fault.”

“Was she nice, at least?”

He nods, but he seems almost distracted. “She was nice. Pretty and funny, to be honest.”

“Why didn’t you stay, then?”

He slows down to a stop, and the moment you notice you turn around to look at him, a question on your face. He cleans his mouth with the small napkin and exhales with a small grimace.

“Lix?”

“Because I like you. And I’m not interested in other girls.”

He likes you. Felix likes you. And not in a friendly way. In a like like way. You weren’t expecting that.

“I-“ you start, but you don’t know how to continue that sentence. What do you say to your best friend who just said he likes you? Do you even like him? You’ve always been pretty good at keeping your feelings in check, so after knowing him, when it was clear you were headed towards just being friends, that’s what you set your mind -and your heart- to. He’s your friend, and you didn’t even ever consider more.

“I’m sorry. I’ve kept it from you for a while but I couldn’t anymore. That’s why Jisung insisted on this date. He was trying to distract me.” He turns slightly to watch at the river flowing fast but quietly. “Things don't have to change. If you don’t feel the same it’s okay, but I’d like to stay friends if you’re okay with that. I don’t wanna lose you.”

The idea of Felix losing you is ridiculous to you, nothing is ever gonna make you distance yourself from him. You try to tell him so by hugging him. “Lixie, we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

You speak into his jacket, and maybe it’s easier this way.

“I thought we were only meant to be friends, so I didn’t even consider looking at you in a different way.” You can feel him tense under your hug. “Wait, wait, listen to me please.” Still hugging him you try to look at him, a smile on your lips. He’s your best friend, he’s the best person you’ve ever met. Being liked by him is an honor, and if you think about it, trying to be something more it’s not something that you hate.

“You’re my best friend, Lix. You know I love you, and I think you’re perfect. I never let myself think about you like that, but I know that if I give it a chance, it’d be so easy to fall in love with you romantically.”

“You don’t have to make yourself like me.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d be lucky to love you. Give me a chance?”

He’s smiling now, and he’s so so pretty like this. He’s always pretty, you tell him constantly, but when he smiles it’s his best look.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure Lixie. Let me take you out on a date? I promise to spoil you…”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?”

“It’s okay. You can ask next time.” You kiss him on his cheek and hold his hand, making him resume your stroll.

He really is easy to love, and not even a month later you ask yourself how you ever managed not to be head over heels in love with your best friend boyfriend.

[simpingland]

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 3

[prompt: fingering] male reader x kim chaewon 2.5k words

Chaewon hates that you’re actually good at this.

To be clear, there’s plenty more that Chaewon hates; it’s not exhaustive, just that bit.

She hates losing. Hates whenever anyone talks over her or doesn't give a second's worth of attention to whatever it is she's trying to say. She absolutely loathes it whenever her friends insist on complimenting her appearance when she doesn't have her clothes or makeup or hair or attitude down just yet.

But the thing she hates most? There's reason to believe it might be that her friends laugh at your jokes, or that when you roll up your sleeves and smile, they all notice things they normally wouldn't (and like it), even when Chaewon fixes them a look just this side of sour and scowly.

Realistically however, and Chaewon doesn't seem to mind admitting this part out loud - especially once you stop teasing her thighs with kisses that tickle the crease where her legs meet her hips - you really are good at going down on girls.

This, is absolute truth.

"Fuck," and "me," she breathes out, harsh little syllables coming with her fingertips knotting into your hair, right above the nape of your neck. She crashes down into the pillow behind her. Back and hips tensing - thighs all spread wide. She probably gives a bit too much, but Chaewon's the kind who gives, then turns around to take some more:

"You can-" is cut short when she gasps at the sudden, slow touch of a finger at the sensitive bundle of nerves atop her folds. There and back. "Ah - a little more, fuck, god. Again."

It's your mouth. The exact right movements - pulling and kissing, sucking gently, fluttering your tongue. Then harder and harder and harder, licking against the crease. That's what has her toes curling and feet flat to the bed. Little fistfuls of cotton sheets twisted up in her grip.

Actually, It's the flat of your tongue, soft and slick and moving on her clit in these long and languid sweeps that really makes the tears in her eyes begin to sting - like all that ache around her pussy is nothing compared to the one simmering in her stomach - like if only she could unwind around you a little bit faster and have her body turn to water and utterly ruin your sheets, she could catch her breath - and find her voice again.

You pull her puffy lips into a kiss, a devilish little suction, and her thighs press tighter and tighter together, around the sides of your head until you start to get a little dizzy. With a hand splayed open across her thigh - a tiny tickling gesture - you urge her to spread. Beg for breath.

Only to your surprise, she closes her legs completely.

"Asshole. Fuck," Chaewon sighs out.

"Did you think you'd lose me?" You kiss your way up from her hips to the flat of her stomach and grin into her skin.

"Was about to kick you," she rolls her eyes, then raises an arm and pushes her bangs off her forehead - wiping a sheen of sweat with the back of her palm. "No mouth."

"No mouth?" You cock your head, giving her an innocently questioning look.

"It's..." Chaewon is barely a hair's length away from what you expect. "Don't kiss me either. Unless you wanna make out, in which case actually, the answer's also no. I don't want to taste myself."

"Chae, you actually taste pretty good."

"Stop." Chaewon's sigh has a lilt, something obviously worried in the noise. Tucked into the shape of her half-lidded eyes. "I'm literally too turned on for this."

"So you want me to touch you."

Here’s to that what Chaewon doesn't say, "I want you to stick three of those fingers into my pussy and fill me 'til the knuckle and eat my ass while your thumb is tucked deep in my cunt. I want it to hurt, how badly I'm aching for you to fill and ruin and tear me the fuck apart."

She instead asks, "what the fuck do you think?"

"But no mouth," you repeat, slowly running your fingers down the creamy skin along her thigh, watching how she shivers when you brush a certain spot near her knee, and feeling a tightening grip on the opposite hip.

Chaewon groans a bit, lips twisting down.

"Can I perhaps, like, ask why?" you ask, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses into the flesh of her leg, down from her knee, over the curve of a thigh - but not, determinedly, into her where she's hotter and softer and practically melting, from all this pressure built up inside.

"Mind your own business," she mutters back.

You look. Chaewon's pussy is so, so pretty. Wetness gathering at the glistening, flushed hood. She's fluttering: desperate for the faintest touch. It's hard to imagine yourself doing anything other than making her writhe and gasp and wail on your mouth and lips and tongue, as your undoing - reducing her to an exhausted, sweat-drenched, wracked mess, the kind of spent that follows with long, long sighs and whispered curses under her breath.

With a fingertip ghosting touches around her cunt, Chaewon lets out an unexpectedly high-pitched whine. One that fades, bit by bit. Into an eventual murmuring - begging?

"Baby," you say, when you just can't resist. "I just want to make you-"

"I said, I wanted-I want-" and then with the pillow over her face, her groan, muffled, "look - it's fine. It's...great, even," is what you think she means by "amazing," but she continues, "you're literally the best thing I've ever felt, please. Fuck-come on. Keep touching."

You slow your hand, smoothing down the soft skin over her thighs.

And as soon as your lips cover her hole, from where she's wet and dripping and open, her hands fall to her side, pillow sliding into the corner of the sheets. "It's too good."

You're kidding. With a tip of your head, and your most self-satisfied little smirk, you ask, "too good?"

"Can you shut the fuck up, I hate you. I really fucking do," she says in what you figure was meant to be a dismissive sigh. One that's something stuck in a guttural moan and the squeak of mattress springs. "Please, you make me cum too fast otherwise."

You chuckle, trying your damnedest not to keep the mood going and actually get her to enjoy the moment - the best orgasm of her life, you want her to remember. To deserve the bragging rights.

“Odd complaint, princess.”

The stare she has fixed on you - over the space where her shirt is bunched up over the arch of her ribs - cuts right through you, if a bit hazy. And with her hands over her face, squirming her hips closer to you, she says, “don’t fucking call me princess.”

The implication is not lost on her. You let out an apologetic laugh, bringing your mouth, if briefly, closer to the peak of her hips and blowing a cold breath.

Chaewon just mutters something that sounds vaguely like, "fucking prick, just go back down."

Which is where she ends up. Or, starts. Because now she's lying back on the pillows with her hand slung across her forehead, leg up and bent and calf draped over the crook of your elbow, her eyes rolling back as you start to touch her - really, earnestly; work her up again, thumb rubbing the length of her clit. You can hear Chaewon's breath leaving her chest, in a broken pattern, until the sensations finally allow her to settle into one smooth inhale.

And then, slowly, just the length of one finger up to your first knuckle, the second - you slip inside her so, so easily. Then almost all the way. Her body tense, and her cunt, deliciously soft.

When you stroke and rub and slide your way back in, adding another digit, the noises she begins to make - your name, then god - sound raw, like a far-off cry and a drawn-out wail. There's a swishing sound whenever you get really slow and rhythmic, with the push, that turns slick-wet from the hot, milky way her insides get all sticky with her own want, before you can press more kisses into the bone of her hips and lap against the same skin - almost biting.

"Tell me if you want to stop," you whisper, the hot, humid breath of which does not fail to cause her spine to bend.

"Don't."

She's half-swearing, half-whimpering.

"Fuck you," is what follows next. As she wraps a hand in the hair around the base of your skull and pulls you close, right into her thighs and hips.

It's the small pleasures that have always gotten to you the most, the smallest, most vulnerable and unthinkingly personal acts, like, you think, when she presses the heel of her hand over her eyes and half-smiles, when the palm spreads out across the flatness of her stomach, as if, somehow, her whole self could not be any more delicate and devious at the exact same time.

And you are compelled, because of course, you are compelled: to be anything and everything Chaewon asks for in this moment, you tell her.

(Here's the embarrassing part. For her, really.)

You have your thumb tucked up along the muscle of Chaewon's thighs, opening and stroking a straight line from where your finger is still nestled all the way up the entirety of her folds, "so good and so," before circling the tensed point in a delicate, feather-touch, "tight, baby."

"Shit, oh, that's. You're." And all you do is hum, agreeing, adding another stroke and letting your lips fall into her open thigh. Your finger fucking her cunt a few times before twisting back and pulling out.

"You're making me feel so," and her whole body relaxes. Not only her voice. A shudder that breaks up her spine and spreads to her thighs, loosening. And looser and looser.

And at the exact same time she's saying: "hot."

Chaewon runs the pad of her thumb over her lip, bucking her hips into the flutter of your fingers. The soft, velvety heat of her cunt takes quickly to the slow circle-stroke, slide and curl, repeat, again. Her whine is longer, louder. More-so once her whole body tightens up once your fingers fuck into her, especially deep, in short-rhythmic staccato strokes, rubbing at her from the inside until she's shaking all over and can hardly breathe.

"Fuck, the way you're so-" Chaewon's heels digging deeper, "oh, deeper. Right there, please right there–."

This isn't even the worst of her embarrassment. When her stomach gets visibly tensed, muscles bunching and giving, and your free hand falls to rest on top of it. All this friction happening within her. Just beneath the surface of her skin and how that must be lighting every nerve along her spine and sending them all aflame, so overwhelmed and tightened, only relaxing in small increments whenever you move a bit too slow, to a bit more pressure - adding the extra touch, kissing her everywhere between her thighs, right into the dips between them. Close but not there. So frustratingly near, and she barely has the air left in her lungs to make a frustrated noise, but somehow finds the impetus to let the weight fall out of her body - let her limbs stretch open, give, release the tension.

Then all those incoherent twitching spasms: "God. Now-"

When the sudden ache inside her walls hits, it catches first in her chest, spreading out where the fist curling into the covers can't hide. "Right there, right there," she's panting, nodding her head in these tiny little shakes, rocking her hips into the movement and pushing them into your touch. And you just nod back.

Her orgasm hits her like a fucking lightning storm: blinding and thunderous, heavy. 

Chaewon simply cries out when she unravels, finally, and the sound is a little wrecked. Cursing your name, god's. 

Her hand is twisted in your hair, and she pulls, twists and wrenches, an arm tossed over her face when it feels like you're rushing, surging waves breaking all along her senses, the pads of your fingers pushing into the ridges, knuckles wrapping, knocking at her core, finger prints seared into her skin and pressing into that knot of pleasure, swollen and raw.

She just exhales into a groan and runs a palm down her face and throat, and breasts, rubbing a bit harshly at the tops of her shoulders. You raise yourself over her, until your head's just next to her collarbone, not speaking but watching how her breaths are slowing - the moment they become steadier, like a boat to shore.

You prop an arm over her, carefully, letting Chaewon twist her palm, finger the tips of yours. It's like listening to music, hearing how she laughs and swallows around this haze. Her whole body in the dreamy afterglow, writhing a little when the ache crawls back up through the space between her hips and she settles onto her side, curling up in your half-embrace.

"Oh, well. Look what you did to me, fuck," she murmurs. You can't help smiling.

"Too fast?" you ask, lowering your head, propping yourself up on a single elbow and gently placing a kiss along the top of her hair, tangling her fingers with your own.

"You're really annoying," she huffs. She tries her best not to blush, but the glow in her cheeks is quite apparent - especially once it reaches her ears. You laugh right into the top of her head, and she playful slaps a fist to your chest. "Go to bed, idiot."

"To think - you said you liked me."

"Said. Said, being the key word here."

When you roll over - slightly onto her and slip a thigh between her legs - Chaewon groans, and her hands press into your back. The touch is light. Practically nothing. Then you're grinning down at her, a sly smile playing in your eyes. "Maybe it’s my turn," she murmurs, "to make you squirm."

"No mouth?" you tease. "You might need the help sweetheart."

"Fuck that. Absolutely not." Chaewon rolls and turns until she's on top of your thighs, pinning you gently in place. She’s fixing her hair into a clumsy little ponytail, hallmark signs of impatience, that says, "if I want to suck your cock, I'll do it," she glares a little, but her smirk is turning the corner, and her whole face softens. 

"Shouldn't have laughed earlier, asshole."

(And here is the start and end of all you think you know, watching as she places a trail of kisses down your chest.)

[moonchildstyles]

angel getting high for the first time 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

cw: drug use! its only weed, nothing heavy but if that makes you uncomfortable please skip :)

wordcount: 11.8k+

—————

(Y/N) kicked her legs in the air as she laid tummy down on her bed. She listened to the ringing from the phone pressed to her ear, waiting for a familiar voice to answer. 

In the middle of the third ring, her hopes were answered when a click sounded. Muffled background noise started through the speaker, accompanying a honeyed drawl.

"Hi, lovebug," Harry murmured, his speech seemingly slower than normal. 

"Hi," she chirped through her smile. Her feet kicked in the air, free hand coming up to twirl her hair around her index finger. "What are you doing?" 

A random burst of laughter bubbled through the other line, distant from the phone though it was still loud. "'M on the phone, be quiet," Harry reprimanded, voice far from the receiver before he returned with a decided softer tone, "Nothing, jus' trying to watch a movie with Mitch. What about you, baby?" 

"Just in bed," she mused, "I wanted to call before I went to sleep. Did you want me to let you go since you're with Mitch?" 

Since deciding on moving in together once their respective leases expired, (Y/N) had been making a point to spend more time with Sarah while she was still so close. She didn't want to get in the way if Harry was trying to do the same. 

"No, no, I wanna talk to you, 's alright," he assured her, "How was your day?" 

It was still sweet to (Y/N) the way that she could text him all day long, telling him everything about her day, and he still would ask her a question like this. He told her once that he likes hearing her voice, even if he already knows what she's telling him. 

"It was alright," she said, rolling to lay on her back, looking up at her ceiling, "I turned in that paper that I was working on last weekend, so that's all done. The library was super quiet today, though, I almost fell asleep in the philosophy section." 

A small laugh sounded from Harry. "Did y'really?" 

"Yeah," she sighed, a smile curling her lips, "Elizabeth had to come entertain me. But, what about you? You did that big piece today, right?" 

"Yeah, the thigh piece," he said, voice thick, "She was a nice girl, but I had a headache by the time we took the first break. She liked to talk a lot. M'hand's been cramping since lunch." 

A pout landed on (Y/N)'s lips. She hated hearing about those kinds of details from Harry's job. She had always figured it was so fun and glamorous, easy and fulfilling. She had never thought about the physical toll of drawing and shading and designing all day long. 

"Oh, no," she hummed, instinctively rolling her wrist and curling her fingers as if she could take his pain from miles away. "Did you take anything to help?" 

"Kind of. Mitch and I have been relaxing since he got home." 

She knew exactly what that meant. Though Harry tended to keep this specific hobby of his separated from her, set on the back burner away from the time he spent with her, she knew better. Besides, she had found that little bag in his dresser months ago, she wasn't completely clueless (of course, he did have to explain what she had found to her, but that was a different story). 

That would explain why time seemed to be moving a little bit slower on the other end of the phone, and the boisterous laughter Mitch was sharing in the background. 

"Have you been smoking?" she asked, voice quiet. She always felt a bit silly bringing this up to him, unsure of what terms to be using and what meant what exactly. 

"A little bit, yeah," he affirmed, "Sorry. I didn't know you'd be calling. I wouldn't have if I knew you wanted to talk tonight." 

Shaking her head despite the fact he couldn't see her, (Y/N) rushed her protests. "No, no, don't be sorry. I don't mind, you know that. As long as you're happy and you guys are being careful." 

"Always am, baby." 

A heat bubbled in her chest at his words. While he never did it around her, there were times that she called him or he FaceTimed her before bed when he was under the influence and his voice drawling just a little deeper, sitting heavier in his chest, hit her just perfectly. She could imagine the way his eyes were a bit hooded, his tongue sticking around his words, the easy smiles that spread across his face for no other reason than he liked the feeling. 

She wondered what he looked like in the act. Was it like the movies with lavender smoke and pieces of blown glass with intricate details? Or did he make his own little rolls, hanging from his lips like a cigarette? 

Mitch's loud laugh on the phone brought her back to reality, blinking her back to her room and Harry's static on the other end of the phone. Harry gave a muffled response before his own laughter joined his best friend's, the sound drawling and breezy. 

When he returned to the phone, she could hear the lingering smile in his tone. "I think Mitch found a movie for us to watch, love." 

"What is it?" she asked, feeling the end of the phone call nearing. She would have to settle for spraying the stuffed bunny he gifted her for Valentine's Day with a sample of his cologne for her to cuddle for the night. 

"I don't even know," he laughed, "but, I think 's gonna be funny. I think 'm gonna have to make us food, though, so I don't think I can talk for much longer." 

"That's okay. Have fun with Mitch and I'll talk to you tomorrow, right?" 

"Right," he affirmed, voice soft, "Sleep well, lovebug. I'll call you during my lunch." 

"Okay," she sighed, fitting her cheek against her pillow, "I love you." 

"I love you more, baby," he cooed, "Goodnight." 

An exaggerated kiss noise sounded through her phone, pulling a loud peal of laughter from (Y/N)'s lips. He never really did that when he was around his friends, only putting on the show when he was calling her in private. She thought it was very sweet. 

"Goodnight," she laughed, pressing the red button before she became too spoiled with his shenanigans and tried to keep the call going. 

Setting her phone on her nightstand, she snuggled into her comforter, a throw blanket covering her body instead of her duvet. Pulling her studded bunny from the fringes of her bed, (Y/N) nestled her cheek against the soft fluff. The sown still smelled of Harry's house from the last time she had spent the night, bringing her back to what he was doing in her absence. 

The mystery surrounding his activity of choice for the day is what flicked her curiosity. She'd seen a few movies with marijuana being an uncredited character along with a couple of books with the high feeling being described, but she had never been exposed to anything substantial in real life before she moved away from her parents. Even then, she still hadn't experienced more than the herbal scent that inevitably clung to apartment complexes so close to a university campus and the few bleary eyed classmates she had to work with. 

Specifically, she wondered what Harry was like when he was in that state. Those classmates of hers always seemed disconnected, tired, and in their own head. Was Harry the same way? Did he act the way he did when he drank a little bit too much wine? Or was he wild and excitable like those in the movies? Or sleepy like she had read in her books? 

What would she be like? 

The idea followed her behind her shuttered eyes, her mind going a bit floaty the closer she sunk into sleep. 

—————

"Sarah, have you ever... smoked weed before?" 

The words felt silly falling from (Y/N)'s mouth. Was that even the correct term? She didn't know, but she kept her attention on the food she was making in front of her, hoping Sarah wouldn't notice. 

"Yes," she answered with a suspicious drawl, sweeping through the apartment with a laundry basket on her hip, "Why?" 

(Y/N) only shrugged. "I don't know. I've just been thinking about it." She paused, tipping her head. "What does it feel like?" 

"Smoking?" Sarah pressed. 

"Yeah," (Y/N) chirped, feeling shy that she was even breaching this conversation. "Or, like, being high. Is it like the movies?" 

"A little bit," Sarah mused, folding her laundry on the dining room table into neat piles. "It's not as dramatic or crazy, but it can feel that way sometimes. It depends on the person. Everyone's different." 

Rolling her lips, (Y/N) nodded her head. She chanced a look over her shoulder at her friend, slowing her stirring. "What are you like?" 

Sarah shrugged, a crease between her brows as she thought. "I haven't smoked in a while, but I used to get really tired. It always depended on what kind we had, but I usually got really tired." 

Is that what Harry did? Did he get sleepy, like some of her classmates? Did he nod off during the movie he and Mitch watched the other night? 

"When was the last time?" (Y/N) asked, hoping Sarah didn't cut her off. She was genuinely curious, she hoped she wasn't prodding and poking past her welcome. 

"Maybe a year ago? Could have been longer," Sarah answered. "I was with Mitch so it wasn't too long ago." 

Fixing her attention back on the stirring of the soup she was making for their dinner, she tried to act casual as she spoke. "W-Was Harry there, too?" 

"Harry?" 

(Y/N) could hear the smile in Sarah's voice as she realized where (Y/N)'s curiosity was stemming from. She never tired of teasing just a little over how in love she was with her Harry. (Y/N) only hummed a confirmation, keeping her voice to herself. 

"He wasn't there the last time, but he did used to smoke with us sometimes," Sarah explained, sounding a little too amused as she spoke, "Why?" 

Shrugging, (Y/N) pretended as if she wasn't intrigued at the info Sarah could share. "No reason really. Was it fun? With Harry and Mitch and all?" 

"(Y/N)," Sarah sighed, her voice floating through a smile, "C'mon." 

Stopping her distracting task, she turned to face Sarah who was looking at her with that knowing smile she somehow always had when it came to (Y/N)'s secrets. She was an open book as her friend could tell. 

"What?" (Y/N) feigned nonchalance as if she hadn't already been caught. 

"Did Harry say something? Is that why you're asking about all of this?" Sarah poked, her features set in a gentle tease. 

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth she canted her head, eyes dropping to where Sarah's hands had stalled her folding. "Not exactly," she started, "He just... I don't know, I called him the other night and he was with Mitch and they had been smoking, he told me. I know he's done it a few times since we started dating, but I've just been thinking about it since then." 

Sarah hummed, nodding her head as she listened. "I get it," she said, "I know he doesn't do it around you or anything, right?" (Y/N) only shook her head. Popping her hip with a furrow appearing in her brow as she cast her mind back in search of answers for (Y/N)'s previous questions. "I wouldn't say it's exactly like the movies," Sarah continued, "But it depends on the person and the strain, and things like that. I usually get pretty tired and hungry, Mitch is like the movies sometimes—loud and everything is funny—, and Harry gets really lovey and lazy. None of us really make much sense, though." 

(Y/N) tried to picture it. Lavender smoke in the air, Harry lazing about with hearts in his eyes, Mitch laughing about nothing, and Sarah passed out in the corner with a pillow under her cheek. A pinch appeared between her brows as she tried to see where she would sit amongst those characters. 

"What do you think I'd be like?" 

Blinking, Sarah brought her gaze to her friend. She pursed her lips as she took in (Y/N). 

"I don't know. It's not the same as being drunk, so I don't know if you'd be as excitable." Sarah contemplated for a moment longer. "I don't really know, honestly. Are you thinking about finding out?" 

She could only shrug. A similar anxiety she felt around alcohol before she broke that barrier still surrounded this, if even a bit heightened given the fact the substance was still very much taboo in her life. There were so many scary, over-exaggerated out there about marijuana, along with the fact that it was still very much taboo in (Y/N)'s life. The use of it seemed to be something that was only done in private and kept as a secret for some people. She was worried that if she found out why, she would regret it. 

Though, there were those puffing thoughts in the back of her mind that begged to differ. It couldn't be that bad. Harry, Mitch, and Sarah were three of her favorite people in the whole world. They weren't devilish burnouts with a one-track lifestyle taking them down the drain, like horror stories and PSA's liked to project. They were good people who sometimes indulged in extra relaxation when they had the chance and the mindset to do so. There was nothing wrong with that. 

"You could ask H, if you wanted. You know he'd answer anything you wanted to know." 

"I know," (Y/N) drawled, unsure despite the fact she knew Sarah was telling the truth. "You don't think he'd be annoyed or anything? I know he keeps it all separate from me for a reason, so I don't want to make him upset." 

Sarah leveled her gentle gaze on (Y/N)'s face. "I think he does it because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything. It's different than drinking wine with him and things like that, so I bet he just doesn't want to scare you." 

(Y/N) shook her head, "He couldn't scare me, though. He's too nice." 

"To you," Sarah clarified, her smile soft and teasing, "You know he just worries about you and all of that. You wouldn't upset him if you wanted to know more about anything he does."

He did love teaching and showing her things, she knew that. 

"I'll think about it," (Y/N) settled.

"Good," Sarah smiled, grabbing her stacks of folded laundry, "Is dinner ready?" 

"Almost," (Y/N) chirped, adding a little bit of extra seasoning to the pot, "I just need to add the noodles. It'll probably be ready by the time you're done putting everything away." 

Sarah gave a small cheer, stacks of clothing now rehomed in the laundry basket to be returned to her room. "Thank you," she sung, "We should watch that yacht show when we sit down, don't you think?" 

Perking up at the suggestion, (Y/N) quickly nodded her head. "That sounds perfect!" she smiled, mellowing some as she turned her attention to her swirling soup base, "And, thank you for answering everything, by the way. It always helps me." 

"I know, that's why I do it," Sarah settled, reaching out to squeeze (Y/N)'s arm gently before she swept away. 

Left in the silence of the kitchen with only the simmering soup, (Y/N) felt a little bit lighter. Some of her questions were answered even if she had more she wanted to hear from Harry directly. More than anything, she was a little enamored at the idea that Harry was loving and lazy under the influence. She already had a small idea given that she had seen how easy and bubbly he became when he drank, but she'd never seen him really slow down the way she pictured it in her head. 

She wanted to see just how lovey he became, if she was being honest. She already had the privilege of experiencing the affectionate side of him, she wondered just how much higher that volume would be kicked to if he had been smoking. What if he really did have hearts in his eyes?

The thought brought a quiet smile to (Y/N)'s face.

Maybe, she really would have to ask him. 

—————

"What are you thinking for dinner, my love?" 

(Y/N) puckered her lips to reciprocate the small kiss Harry gave her as he traipsed by the couch. Her eyes followed the broad of his back as her made his way towards the kitchen. With her hands folded on the arm of the sofa, she rested her cheek on her forearm, kicking her legs up behind her as she watched him.

"Whatever you want, I'm okay with," she told him, voice soft and easy. 

"Yeah?" he prodded, looking over his shoulder as he washed his hands in the sink, "Even if I didn't feel like making dinner tonight and decided to order sushi instead?" 

"Sushi?" (Y/N) bubbled, "From the new place?" 

Harry nodded, dimples thumbed into his cheeks. "I figured we could try it out tonight, if that was alright." 

"Yes, please," she beamed, her grin only widening when came around to join her in the common area after drying his hands. 

His lip ring bobbled as he matched her smile, using a gentle hand to push a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "Why don't you pull up the website for us while I put my sketches away, and find what y'like. Then we'll order, yeah? 

Despite the long hours he worked at the shop this past weekend, he looked as gorgeous as ever to (Y/N). He lacked eyeliner after wiping it off as soon as he made it home, but his eyes were still the star of the show against his creamy skin. A fresh bee tattoo stood out on the column of his throat, the mosaic wings following the line of his jaw amongst the rose bush filler he had inked across the skin. With the way he stood over her, she got the perfect view of his spiraling curls and the cut planes of his face complete with his glimmering nose stud and lip ring. 

She nodded her head in a lovey daze. "I can do that." 

Amusement flickered in his eyes as he looked down at her. He dipped to her level to press a lingering kiss to the tip of her nose. "Thank you, baby," he murmured, moving away to gather the art supplies he was working with, "I'll be right back." 

Pulling out her phone, (Y/N) searched up the restaurant up while her mind was still on Harry. 

While the questions she had for him were still in the back of her mind, it was too easy to become distracted with him. They weren't apart for a long time by any stretch of the imagination, but even spending a long, four-day weekend away from one another allowed enough fondness to grow between them to keep her mind from wandering very far from what was right in front of her. Besides, Harry barely let her get a word in since she stepped foot in his home, having tugged her to his bedroom with his lips pressed to hers, only breaking for breath. 

She'd ask him at some point, she was sure. If she had the mind to after dinner. 

Browsing through the menu for a few minutes, (Y/N) found the rolls she was interested in, picking things she had a feeling Harry would like and finding other little gems on the website that she would mention in hopes of getting his opinion on. She searched through the site, trying to find an option to order online with no luck, the browser rerouting her to the main page every time she tried to plug into the ordering site. 

"H?" she called, realizing he still hadn't come back from resetting his utensils. 

"Yes?" he answered back, still in the bedroom, "What do y'need, love?" 

Instead of responding, she stood from the couch and moved towards his room, brows knitted and phone screen bright in her hand. "The website isn't working—it won't let me order," she explained, stepping over the threshold to his room. 

Lifting her head, she saw him standing at his dresser, back to the door with his head angled down and hands fiddling across the top of his dresser. He looked over his shoulder at her, his hands slowing. 

"Give me a second, and I'll take a look," he told her, "I'm still cleaning up—forgot I left some things out." 

"Oh?" she sounded, stepping towards him with her phone being slid back into her pocket, "Do you want any help?" 

Growing close enough, she peered around him to see what he was working on. Instead of spotting the graphite and colored pencils she figured she'd find, she instead saw tiny green buds splaying across the wooden surface with a pair of loose pieces of thin paper and a tall black canister. Harry worked quickly to clean up the mess, majority of the green flakes having been scooped up and replaced in the container though he was struggling to wrangle the remains back into their container. 

"'S alright," he murmured, shifting just enough to cut her view of the space, "'M almost done." 

Rolling her lips between her teeth, she rocked on her heels as she stayed put. Before she could think better of her words, they were already spilling from her mouth: 

"Is that weed?" 

She cringed at the sound of her voice wrapping around something so outside of her vocabulary. It sounded better in her head.

Harry's hands slowed, stilling before he looked over his shoulder at her. A sliver of his workspace was once again revealed at the small shifting. 

"What was that?" he pressed, his question seemingly heavy between the two of them. 

She said the wrong thing, didn't she? (Y/N) dropped her gaze from his, settling on the new bumblebee on his neck instead. 

"I ask if that was your... you know," she trailed off, hating the sound of her floundering almost more than just saying the word outright, "That's weed, right?" 

Feeling Harry's gaze trail over her, (Y/N) tried not to squirm. 

"It is, yeah," he muttered, "I didn't realize I left it out. 'M sorry."

Darting her eyes up to match his once more, she tipped her head to the side. "Why are you sorry?" 

Turning away from the dresser entirely, Harry faced her directly. He gave her a small shrug. "I don't like leaving it out when you're here. I meant to clean it up before y'came over, but I forgot." 

"You know I don't mind," she reminded him, "You don't have to be sorry." 

A gentle smile curled his lips, only a single dimple in his cheeks as he looked at her. 

"Thank you, love," he started, "Let me clean up, I'll wash m'hands again, and then I'll—" 

"What does it feel like?" 

(Y/N) could feel her skin simmering in embarrassment as her tumbling question fell from her mouth before she had a chance to police the words. Everything she had been too distracted to ask him came flooding back then, unable to be stopped now that she saw the opportunity. 

"Sorry," she peeped, realizing how abruptly she had cut him off.

He waved her off, "'S alright." He watched her with attentive eyes, catching each of her expressions and minute movements. "What does what feel like?" 

There was no going back now, she figured. 

"Being high," she peeped, "What does it feel like?" 

While he didn't seem to understand where her line of questioning was coming from, or understood her sudden curiosity in his private hobby, he didn't dissect any further. 

Harry rolled his neck, pursing his lips. "It's different for everyone," he started, much the same as Sarah had, "It depends on the kind you smoke, too." 

"But what does it feel like for you?" she rattled off, her words coming quick. Her hands were a busy bundle at her waistline, looking at him with curious eyes. 

A small tug on the corner of his lip had a lopsided smile sparking on his mouth. "It depends, like I said, on what kind, but I usually like it best when m'hands hurt. It helps numb it long enough for the cramping to go away," he mused, "But, other than that, it makes me tired—but not enough to sleep. I jus' want to do nothing but sit and eat. I also get very touchy; lots of cuddling with pillows and whining about not being with you." 

He had to have known that his last comment would get her lips splitting into a sheepish smile, (Y/N) dropping her head to fix her gaze at their feet. It was still a little wild to her that Harry thought about her as often as she did him, even when she wasn't right in front of him.

"You feel like that every time?" 

"Mostly, yeah," he shared, "Sometimes I feel like sketching, or I fall asleep right away. Back when Mitch and I would go out a lot, I used to be really hyper—doing stupid shit because I wasn't afraid of anything. I've definitely calmed down since then." 

"Oh," she sounded. (Y/N) couldn't imagine Harry being reckless, getting himself into trouble that way—but, this was the same man that apparently received his first tattoo at a mechanic's garage by a very amateur artist. He was capable of anything, she guessed. 

"Why do you want to know, love?" he asked, tipping his head with a spiral of his curl falling over his shoulder. 

She attempted to act as nonchalant as possible, giving a shrug of her shoulders despite her lips being rolled between her teeth. "I don't know," she answered, "I've just been thinking about it, I guess." 

"Yeah? Is that all y'wanted to know?" 

While there had to have been hundreds of questions that could come to mind, everything from what he and Sarah meant when they specified reactions were based on the strain or kind of weed that was being consumed, to what skunks vs. dank meant when it came to the herb, she didn't know where to start. Though there was one thing she was wanting to know, beyond just the details of what it would be like to see a clingy, lovey Harry. 

"What do you think I'd be like?" she asked, her words coming out in a rush before she could rethink them.

Harry's gaze was warm on her face as he examined her. Amusement sparked in his eyes. 

"I don't know, but I have a feeling you'd be a little bit like Mitch," he explained, "I think you'd be excited about everything. But, I'd hope you'd be a little like me just because I like the idea of you being clingy and warm, too." 

She liked that idea, too. It was easier this time to add herself to the picture of Harry, Mitch, and Sarah, superimposing herself at Harry's side with her own hearts in her eyes and her hands tangled with his. (They could sneak kisses, too, if she caught the bug of no fear like he used to have).

"Could—Can I—... I think I want to try, if that's alright," she stuttered, unable to find the right words before just letting something roll off her tongue. 

Harry's silence was heavy between them, the lilypad of his irises setting on her. "You want to try smoking?" 

Starting with a soft nod, she tried to find that reckless bubbling that had carried her this far. "I think so, yeah." A beat passed. "If that's alright." 

When he didn't immediately say anything, she chanced a peek up at him to find his eyes fixed on her, gentle and melting as he took her in. He opened his arms for her when he caught her eye, his features softened and warm. "C'mere." 

(Y/N) all but fell into his arms, his chest warm and solid under her cheek. She looped her arms around his middle, her eyes fluttering closed as she relaxed into him. He worked like a shot of lavender incense and chamomile tea for her, the perfect thing to settle her in moments like these. 

His hand spanned over the planes of her back, fingertips massaging the knots of muscle and ladder of her spine. He rubbed over her form in a soothing circuit between her shoulder blades, his opposing hand an anchoring weight on her waist. 

"Y'really want to try it out, love?" he prodded her gently, his voice rumbling under her cheek. 

"I think so," she mumbled, finding it easier to speak now that she was there to hold her instead of watch her.

"When did y'decide that?" 

"The other day, I think," she explained, "After we talked on the phone." 

He hummed, the sound reverberating in her ear. "What made y'think y'wanted to try something like this?" 

Harry always liked to talk her through things like this, she found. It made it easier for him to understand her thought process, he'd said, helping him be honest with her if he worried she was making a choice that might hurt her later. He never lacked patience when it came to guiding her through new experiences. 

"I don't know," she answered honestly, "I just want to know what it's really like. I've only seen a couple of movies and read a few books, but I want to know what it would feel like for me. I don't think it could be so bad if you like it." 

Nosing at her hair, she could feel the smile that had spread across his lips. "'M not always the smartest though, baby. You know that." 

She let out a small laugh at his griping. "I know, but I trust you. If you really don't think it would be good for me, I know you would tell me." 

A pause settled between them. 

"You don't feel like you have to, right? Jus' because 's something I do sometimes, I don't expect you to feel comfortable with it or want to do it with me." 

"I know," she responded, voice resolute, "I just want to try it at least once. If I don't like it or anything like that, I won't do it again." 

After a lingering moment, Harry drew her away from him, peering down at her with a soft gaze. "If you're sure, then we can try it whenever y'want. Jus' let me help you, and I'll be there." 

An impulsive flicker lit through her system. She was on a roll, why stop now? 

"Can we try it tonight?" 

Harry looked at her with widened eyes. "Tonight?" 

(Y/N) nodded her head. "I don't have class until the afternoon tomorrow," she started, a plan coming together, "Do you have to go in early tomorrow?"

His smile was lopsided as he shook his head, likely following where she was going with this. "No, I don't." 

"We could stay up, then," she rattled off, "I could try tonight, and if anything goes wrong we can sleep in a little in the morning." 

Amusement filtered through his gaze. "I didn't know we were having a sleepover," he teased her, dipping his head until his nose nudged against hers, "Y'want to stay the night with me, baby?" 

Her skin hummed as (Y/N) fought the urge to hide herself in his neck. (She acted as if he hadn't been fingers deep in her just a few hours prior, their mouths welded together and her legs around his waist)." 

"Harry," she whined, curling her fists in his t-shirt to keep from pulling away, "I'm trying to be serious." 

"I know," he crooned, tipping his chin to peck a soft kiss to her pouted lips, "And, 'm listening. We can try it out tonight, if y'really want to. But, I think we should eat first, yeah?" 

"Yeah," she repeated, giving a slight nod of her head, "I still need help with the website, though."

"Right," he murmured, pulling away, "Since I don't really need to clean up anymore, let me take a look." 

With that, (Y/N) handed him her phone, telling him about the confusion she felt with the links and the rerouting and all, but her mind was somewhere else. Flicking her gaze around his shoulder, she saw the mess he was leaving out for them to take care of later. The small green buds sparked that familiar kind of nervous excitement that she'd grown accustomed to when it came to new things Harry was planning on teaching her. 

She just hoped she didn't make a fool of herself.

—————

"What did you think, love? Good, right?" 

Taking their dirty utensils—including the pink chopsticks he gifted her for Valentines—Harry spoke over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen.

(Y/N) sat pliantly on the couch, tummy full of the variety of sushi rolls they sampled for the night, along with a new favorite miso soup that she was surely going to be craving as the week went on. "So good. I think my favorite is still the spicy salmon one with that seaweed salad on top." 

Harry laughed from where he stood, surely remembering the way she had practically taken that roll for herself, hoarding the pieces to allow only one bite for him. "I really liked that one, too. We'll have to go back again soon, yeah?" 

"Yes, please," she chirped, looking over the back of the couch as he made his return. 

While the food was a delicious distraction for the night, (Y/N) had still marinated in the idea of what would be coming once she finished and they were settling for the night. The mess he'd left on his dresser was waiting for them, loose papers and all. 

"Ready?" he asked, coming to stand at the end of the sofa.

Was she? She wasn't sure, honestly. But that uncertainty was outweighed by the curiosity and bubbly jitters she had since Harry had agreed to help her. 

Before she had a chance to answer and take his hand, Harry spoke up again, "Jus' to get ready for bed first, baby." 

"Oh," she sounded, nothing more intelligent coming to mind at the moment, "Um, yeah. Then we'll...?" 

He cracked a smile at her hesitancy to name the activity that she had brought up. "Yes, we'll do that afterwards. You'll probably feel more comfortable in some pajamas and your face clean." 

Though she felt a bit silly at the way she had built up a moment that hadn't quite arrived yet, she understood his logic. Besides, if she turned out to be like Sarah, she wouldn't beat herself up in the morning if she did all of her skincare now, and not when she was already inches from sleep.

Taking Harry's hand, she followed after him as he led her to his bedroom, a small duffle bag of hers that stayed here was already sitting by the bathroom door. A change of clothes, and minis of her most essential skincare needs were packed away inside, making it easy for her to spend the night impulsively when she wanted to. 

(Just then, the reminder that she wouldn't be confined to a single bag when they moved in together made her more giddy than before. Soon, she'd be sharing a whole closet with him, a bathroom, and a home. She couldn't wait).

(Y/N) went through the motions of getting unready with Harry standing behind her in the mirror. More often than not, as she brushed her teeth or patted a balm into her skin, her eyes wandered to his reflection. Once or twice, when she was caught, he gave her a sly smile with glimmering eyes. But, when he didn't catch her, his attention on his own task, she was left to allow her mind to gill with imagination. 

She was reminded as she ran her eyes along the cut of his jaw, the plants of his features, and the high points in-between, that he would be stepping behind the lavender veil with her. His previous conversation with her had only revolved around her and what she wanted out of this experience, straying her mind away from the fact that he was going to be a part of the package. 

What would he look like with smoke pluming from his mouth? Would his lilypad eyes go glazed and red? She wondered if his hands would feel any different gliding over her skin, if his lips would still feel as pillowy against hers. 

The thought had her cheeks warming, a sheepish smile forming around the toothbrush between her lips. 

Harry finished before her, stepping out of the bathroom to give her privacy to change into her pajamas. "I'll wait for you out here," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of her head. 

Closing the door behind himself, she was left alone with the chilled tile under her socked feet. Glancing at the mirror, (Y/N) found herself fresh-faced with wide eyes and a slight swell to her lips from the amount of times she rolled them between her teeth. Blinking, she wondered if she would look any different to Harry after she pulled the smoke into her lungs. 

It was with rushed hands that she dressed into her sleep clothes (really nothing more than a pair of tiny shorts she would inevitably kick off in the night, and a shirt she had stolen so long ago from Harry that it was hers now), almost slipping her top on backwards before she righted herself in the mirror. Stepping out of the washroom with her laundry being dropped atop her duffle for later, (Y/N) saw Harry once again at his dresser.

This time, he looked to her with an easy smile, his hands working over the surface before him.

"Better?" he smiled, lip ring bobbing. 

"Mhm," she hummed, moving towards him in slow strides, "What are you doing?" 

Turning back to face his hands, he told her, "Jus' getting our things ready. Do you want to watch?" 

A pinch creased her brows as she went towards him. Peering around his shoulder, she saw him working with one of the loose papers from before and a small pile of crushed up greenery. 

"What do you have to do?" (Y/N) only had a vague idea of what all went into preparing for a session like this. 

Smiling down at her, his ministrations slowed now that her attention was placed on his hands. He sidestepped just enough to allow her an unobstructed view of his work. "I figured we'd stick with a joint this first time, so I've got to roll one up for us to use." 

Looking at it now, while she didn't have much knowledge of any of this, she could see familiar pieces forming. The paper would be rolled and twisted with the bud inside, Harry flickering a lighter at the end like a cigarette when it was ready.

"How do you do that?" she muttered, stepping that much closer, feeling as if she were a child pressing their nose against the glass separating them from gallons of ice cream. 

A huffed laugh fell from his lips then. Lifting his arm up, he beckoned her to stand between his chest and the dresser. "C'mere." 

Slipping into the small space he freed for her, the heat of his chest could be felt against her back. Though she caught whiffs of it before, now the herby, earthy smell of the bud was right at her nose, wafting through the air and clinging to her skin. Right in front of her, Harry worked around her, his fingers deftly working through his supplies. 

"First," he started, "You've got to keep the paper flat out and put one of the filters at the end." She watched as he pulled a tiny white piece from the canister, setting it at the middle of one of the short ends of the paper. He kept it stable when he reached for the ground up weed that he had piled in the lid to the container, a small mound he pinched at before sprinkling the chunks in a line across the paper. "We've got to fill it up enough so there's not any air bubbles between," he explained as he worked, his arms hovering above her shoulders as he created their joint with the ease of experience. "This part’s always a little hard for me," he told her, to her surprise. 

"What do you mean?" He could have fooled her.

"'S hard to pack it in like this," he elaborated, his voice dull as he concentrated, "M'fingers are too big, so I've got to be extra careful that I don't mess it up." 

Honing her gaze in on his digits, she had to keep herself from tipping her head to the side and falling victim to the sight. She could see it then, she figured, watching as he tried to pat everything as tightly and precisely as possible. His fingers definitely were too big. 

"Oh," she sounded. 

A breathy laugh came from behind her, the exhale twisting through the hair on the top of her head. "Would y'do something for me, love?" he asked, finally packing enough in as tightly as he could before he started folding the ends of the thin paper. 

She gave a nod, now too transfixed on his hands to speak with an even tone. 

"Would you give this a lick for me?" he asked, "We've gotta seal it up before I can twist it all up." 

"Like, the paper?" she clarified, eyeing the open flap he was presenting to her with the joint grasped carefully between his fingers. 

Harry hummed a confirmation. "There's glue on this edge like an envelope. Gotta make it sticky, then I can close it up for us."

"Um, okay," she muttered, placing a steadying hand on his wrist as he brought the almost-joint to her lips. 

Parting her mouth, she swiped the tip of her tongue along the very edge of the paper. It didn't taste quite as artificially sweet as a regular envelope, but then again, everything was coated in that dusky scent that the herb folded inside held. 

"Thank you, baby," he told her, pulling the joint from her lips as he did the closing motion of sealing the edge to the roll. She watched as he did the final step, twisting down the free edge into a tight swirl before he presented it with the filtered end between his fingertips. "All done." 

In front of (Y/N) was the stereotypical joint that she had seen in the few films that showed as much. The paper was translucent in the way that she could clearly see it was filled from the inside with dark, green flakes. The filtered edge was tapered down into a small funnel, leaving the head of the roll trumpeting out, thick with the ground up weed. 

"That was fast," (Y/N) muttered, wanting to reach out and touch, but too scared. 

"I've gotten pretty good, I can't lie," he joked with her, pressing his lips to the back of her head. A paused settled again before he spoke to her, his head still dipped down as he murmured, "Y'still feeling alright, darling? Still want to, or do y'want to go to bed and watch a movie instead?" 

Examining the joint in front of her, the thick scent of the weed surrounding her with the heat of Harry's chest at her back, she nodded her head. "I still want to." 

Dropping an arm to wrap around her waist from behind, Harry hugged her to him for a moment. "Grab a jacket then, and we'll go out back for a second, yeah?" 

"Outside?" she asked, turning in his hold. 

"Don't want it stinking up the house, right?" He looked at her with a raised brow, already stepping towards the closet in search of his own coat. "We'll be fast, baby, 's alright." 

(Y/N) supposed he was onto something, realizing that she had never been struck by the heavy scent like she would figure if he had smoked in his bedroom. As long as no one complained, it wasn't a bad idea to head outback for a second. It would be nice to take in deep breaths in between the smoke too, she figured. 

With a set of slippers on her feet, and a thick hoodie on her body, she followed Harry out the back door, ending on the back patio. He sat on the stoop at her feet, patting the space next to him. 

"Warm enough?" he asked, moonlight waning above their heads. 

Snuggling closer to his side, she nodded her head. "I'm alright, thank you. Are you warm?" 

Despite the unzipped jacket on his form and the thin t-shirt underneath, Harry gave her a small smile. "'M good, baby." 

Flicking out a lighter and the joint from his pocket, he sparked the flame with a flick of his fingers. 

He ran the spark over the trumpeted tip of the joint, his face warming in the firelight glow. "We'll take it easy tonight, yeah?" he murmured, concentration on his hands, "I don't think it'll take much to get y'there, so we probably won't finish this but we'll save the rest for another time if you want." 

She watched as he rotated the edge of the joint over the flame, evenly burning the tip. "Are you not going to have any?" 

"I will," he assured her, "But, I want to make sure I can take care of you. I won't be having too much." 

Having a deja vu moment, (Y/N) was reminded of how it felt to be sitting in his lap as he fed her wine, keeping his own head clear while he let her run wild. 

With the end of the joint glowing a warm orange, Harry put the lighter away. He ashed the very tip away, revealing cool lavender smoke twisting through the air with a heady scent clinging to the particles. 

"Want the first go?" he asked, tipping the roll towards her in an offer. 

"No, no," she answered immediately, "You first." 

His smile was lopsided as he agreed, pulling the joint to his mouth. She watched as he tucked the filtered end between his lips, taking in a shallow inhale with the fiery end glowing to life. His chest expanded as he inhaled. He only pulled the roll away from his lips when his chest was puffed with smoke, a lingering second passing before he exhaled, plumes of dancing smoke drifting through the air. The heavy, thick aroma of the weed surrounded them. 

(Y/N) couldn't pull her eyes from him as the smoke seeped from between his lips, a thin, violet filter hazing his features. The moon above seemed to catch each particle, drowning the scene in cool toned shades, muted and closed. 

She waited for something to change in the way he looked, the way he acted. When the only thing he did was turn to her with a blink, once again offering the joint to her for a try, she wasn't sure what she had expected. 

"Do y'think y'can do that?" 

Her brows creased. "Do what?" 

Amusement molded his features as he tipped his chin towards his offering. "Taking a hit," he stated, "Inhaling, and everything." 

"I-I think so," she answered, carefully pulling the roll from his fingers. She hesitated before taking it to her lips, nervous to replicate his actions while he watched. "Do you feel any different?" 

His smile was warm as he shook his head. "No—probably won't be too different tonight. I've built my tolerance pretty high, so I'll be fine." 

"Oh," she sounded, feeling the slightest bit disappointed knowing that she wouldn't get the full experience of seeing him for what he was under the influence. Maybe sometime she could convince him to let it go. Focusing back on the joint, she stared intensely at the thin ribbon of smoke falling from the tip. "How do I inhale?" 

"Jus' breathe in, baby," Harry laughed, throwing an arm across her shoulders. He tucked her against his side, warming her through her layers. "Only take a little bit at a time, though. And, if y'need to cough, jus' let it happen. You'll be alright." 

Though it was only a few tiny rules, it felt like so much to remember, to keep track of while she was trying something so foreign.

"Wh-What if I take too much?" she muttered, worrying now the longer that she let it keep burning. She hoped she wasn't wasting everything he'd done for her. 

Harry paused, rolling her question around his head before answering. "You'll be alright," he assured her, "Jus' don't want you to take too much, or anything, that's all." 

The idea of taking too much scared her more than the other rules. She didn't know what too much was; how would she know if there was too much in her lungs, how would she know if she needed to pull back? 

"Can you help me?" she murmured, worry lacing through her tone. 

"I can hold it for you if you want?" he offered, though his option didn't seem so concrete as she had hoped. 

"You can't do more?" 

A small silence sat between them when he didn't answer right away. She looked to him, finding him looking at the joint between her fingers with a contemplative crease between his brows. 

"I might have an idea that we can try," he started, flicking his gaze to match hers. "Y'trust me, right?" 

Her nod was immediate. 

A small smile folded his lips as he took the joint from her hand. He brought the roll to his lips, taking in another deep inhale with his eyes fluttering as his chest expanded. The cherry brightened as he pulled in the smoke. As soon as he pulled it away from his mouth, he spoke to her in a muddled voice, a small streak of smoke escaping through his nose. 

"C'mere." 

(Y/N)'s eyes rounded out in confusion. She was already right here, right?

The arm Harry had thrown across her shoulders slithered around her form until his palm came to a cradle on her cheek. He pressed forward then, his lips parting just enough for (Y/N) to get the hint. 

He wanted to kiss her.

Fluttering her eyelids to a close, she leaned forward in an attempt to meet him halfway. Harry, with his hand on her cheek, stopped her short, a small distance left between them. 

With her eyes opening to slits, she found him looking to her with his own gaze trained on her lips. His tender hand on her cheek shifted until his thumb was resting in the full of her bottom lip. Tugging just slightly, he parted her pout into a small gape. Harry ripped his head, leaning just that much closer with his pursed lips. 

(Y/N) held her breath, her own mouth parted open as she felt soft plumes of smoke fan over her lips. His lips just barely grazed her own, pressing against the soft pillows as the smoke ghosted over her tongue, heady and thick.

Pulling away just enough with smoke still twirling around his features, he told her, "Breathe in, baby." 

His voice was still heavy in his throat, emulating the way he spoke in the morning. The detail gave (Y/N) something to focus on as she instinctually closed her mouth as if biting down, the smoke now contained to a thin veil between them. He kept his hand steady on her cheek as she inhaled the way she saw him do, her chest bloating as she filled her lungs with the gifted smoke. 

While she didn't feel the burning in her chest that she thought would accompany the smoke, she instead felt a thick heat in the back of her throat. She tried to mimic what she had seen Harry do, keeping the smoke in her lungs for a moment before exhaling, but she couldn't keep up when she felt her eyes begin to water. 

Unable to handle it much longer, (Y/N) released her breath in clumsy pants, embarrassed to be reacting so intensely right in Harry's face. Though, all he did was stay steady in his spot by her, thumbing at her chin and coaxing her through it. 

Tipping her head down, she finally coughed into her sleeve, eyes watering as she went with his hand falling to the slope of her neck. 

"'S alright, baby, jus' let it out," he murmured, his voice a gentle soothe, "You'll feel better in a second, love." 

By the time she regained her breath, there was a slight glaze over the back of her throat—not quite a tingle, but not entirely normal. Harry tipped his head down by then, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth with his palm spanning the shelf of her collarbones. 

"Y'alright?" he murmured, ever patient when he pulled away to match her eyes. 

Nodding her head, (Y/N) swallowed around her odd throat. "Was that alright?" she croaked, wet bottom lashes grazing the height of her cheekbone.

A fond smile molded Harry's features into soft curves. "Y'did jus' fine, lovebug. So proud of you for not getting scared," he praised her, thumb running over her warm skin, "Feels a little weird doesn't it?" 

(Y/N) didn't have to think before she nodded her head, watching as he ashed the joint they had probably let burn for just a touch too long. "Really weird," she told him earnestly, "My throat feels funny, but that's all so far."  

"Yeah? Want to keep going?" His eyes skated over her features, taking in every reaction, every minute stretch of her muscles. 

While she was sure there was something that would hit soon, she still felt comfortable enough to take a little more from him. (Y/N) answered with a small nod. 

"Same way we did before?"

Remembering the feel of his lips glancing across hers, the faint brush of the tip of his nose over hers, she could feel her skin simmering. "Yeah," she answered, hoping he thought the breathy quality of her voice was a lingering side effect of her coughing. 

He didn't look entirely fooled when that sly smile touched his lips. "Alright," he said, bringing the joint back up to his lips, "We'll do a couple more, then I think you're done, baby. That alright?" 

"That's alright," she murmured, "Thank you." 

This time, watching him taking in the long drag, (Y/N) knew what to expect when he turned to her. She allowed him to hover close enough that he was almost kissing her as he blew out another plume of smoke for her to inhale. When she took her time filling her lungs with the smoke, Harry tipped his head and smeared his lips over her cheek, kissing down her neck. 

She had more confidence this go around, coaxing herself through as Harry held her. That thick feeling in the back of her throat intensified as she closed her eyes, her chest expanding under her borrowed hoodie. 

"Doing good, baby," he murmured into her ear, pulling away to match her gaze, "Go ahead and breathe out, love. I think you're good." 

Following his direction, the lavender smoke twirled between them. Sucking in clean air, she filtered out her lungs. This time around, opening up her eyes to look up at the moonlight and the stars blinking over the inky canvas, things felt different. There was a bit of lethargy to her movements, even in the darting of her gaze. Her limbs felt as if there was extra weight attached, something heavy that slowed her before she even had a chance to move.

It was an odd feeling, something that she'd never experienced before or had anything of comparison to, but it wasn't unpleasant. She'd even say she liked it so far.

Harry seemed to pick up on the fact that she was edging into new territory as he watched over her, eyes sparking from amusement. "One more?" 

"Yeah," she settled, her lips feeling looser the more she sunk into the moment, "One more." 

"Wanna try by yourself?" he asked, taking his own small puff from the joint before he was angling it towards her. 

"Not by myself, no," she argued, still scared to be in charge of her own dosing. 

"I can hold it for you if y'want—take it back when you've had enough," Harry offered, letting a cloud leave his lips as he spoke. 

"Okay," she nodded, taking on his offer. 

"Open," he instructed, setting the filter of the joint between her lips, "Then jus' suck in, okay? You'll be able to feel it in the back of your throat, so stop if you've had enough and I haven't taken it back yet." 

(Y/N) wrapped her lips around the filter, taking in Harry's directions with absent ears. She couldn't imagine he wouldn't be able to catch herself and her intake before he did. 

Emulating what she'd seen from him before, she sucked in, her cheeks hollowing just enough to show off the shape of her cheekbones. The back of her throat warmed, embers igniting in a low burn. This was more than what Harry had given her before, but she didn't mind. This would be just enough,she figured.

At the perfect moment, Harry pulled away prompting her to breathe out the final cloud of smoke. He asked the joint once more, a small pile of grey dust having collected at their feet. 

A few huffed coughs fell from (Y/N)'s lips, unused to the feeling of gathering the smoke directly from the source. Harry wrapped his arm around her, tucking her into his side as she eased through the final intake. 

"How do you feel?" he asked her, voice low under the moonlight. 

Looking around, (Y/N) tried to find the answer to the question. 

It was an odd feeling, she decided. She felt both light and heavy at the same time, her head in the clouds with her body entirely anchored to the ground. Prickles poked at her skin, her limbs their own entity as she brought her hands into a bundle in her lap. 

There was no other way to describe it other than the fact that she felt high. 

"Good," she answered simply, "Different." 

"You'll get used to it, my love," he murmured into her ear, pressing a soft kiss to the space just before. 

"Do you feel different?" she asked, her voice heavy in her dry throat. 

"A little," Harry explained, stubbing out the cherry of the joint, "But, I think 's time we get inside before either of us freezes, don't you think?" 

"Yeah, yes."

It was when Harry let out a small huffed laugh that (Y/N) couldn't contain her own laughter. A loud peal fell from her lips. She wasn't even sure why she was laughing. That only made her laugh harder.

—————

"That is so funny," (Y/N) giggled to herself, clenching her hands in the fabric of her top lest she forget they were there. "Harry, did you see that?! It was funny!" 

He was back in the kitchen, working over the stove with a pot of noodles boiling away and a cheesey sauce working on the other burner, leaving (Y/N) to watch this movie all on her own. 

"Which part, baby?" he asked, his rumbling voice sounding farther away than she remembered. 

(Y/N) blinked, watching the brightly colored animated characters go across the television screen. "The one that was just on! With the cat on the piano!" 

How could he not have been paying attention? (Y/N) had never seen something so entertaining before, if she was being honest. This had to be her new favorite movie—she just needed to remember what it was called. 

"Oh," he sounded, "I did see that, sorry, lovebug. It was very funny." 

"Good," she responded absently, craning her neck to look over the back of the couch towards where he stood in the kitchen, "I'm so hungry, H." 

"I know," he laughed, looking at her with his skin seemingly glowing and the smile of a prince. "'M almost done, okay?" 

"How close is ‘almost’?" 

His smile only widened at her line of questioning. (Y/N) mimicked that look without a thought. 

"About five minutes. Can you wait that long?" 

"I'll try." She couldn't help the pout that took her features. She had told him she was hungry what felt like hours ago, and she still was waiting for food. He wouldn't even let her help either, but she could argue that she would have eaten already if he just let her follow him to the kitchen.

Raising his brows, Harry fixed his attention back on the television screen. "Oh, look. The little cat is back, baby." 

(Y/N)'s attention took a one-eighty as she did the same to face the TV once more. Harry was right, the kitten was back on screen. She didn't want to miss this. 

The high had hit her at full force only minutes after Harry had taken her inside, setting off a firing squad of so many different feelings (Y/N) had never experienced before. She had so much energy, but at the same time she wanted to sleep. She wanted to kiss and hold her boyfriend, but also had to make a point to remember where her limbs were. She wanted to eat and drink as much water as she could, but couldn't find the attention to do either of those things. In the back of her mind, she even debated on writing some for the course paper she needed to work on before the midterm exam next month—her mind swirling with ideas, but they were all out of order. 

How she decided on watching a movie instead of any of her other raucous ideas, she wasn't sure, but she was happy with the choice. This way, she was able to wrap up in the soft pink throw blanket that she left in his bedroom, sink into the new feeling, and make out with Harry when he was done cooking.

(It had really been Harry's prompting and prodding that led her to the conclusion that yes, she wanted to watch a movie and cuddle up with him while she ate, but he was happy with letting her assume it had been her own choice).

Time moved in mysterious ways since the high had hit, making it hard to decipher if it had been five hours or mere five minutes before Harry came to her with bowls of pasta and a buttery warm sauce poured over top. 

"That looks so good, H," she bubbled, overjoyed at the sight of food, "Thank you so much!" 

"You're welcome, baby," he smiled, "Do you need more water?" 

"No, just—Hold on." (Y/N) stumbled over her words, organizing her thoughts as steadily as she could and ultimately failing in favor of reaching towards Harry.

The second he settled into the cushion at her side, she had his jaw cradled in her palms, lips puckered and pressed against the corner of his mouth. A laugh bubbled through his lips, his smile felt under her kiss. 

"I missed," she laughed along with him, pulling away to watch his eyes light up and creases form around his smile, "Sorry." 

"'S alright," he beamed, cheeks still cradled in her palms, "Jus' slow down and try again." 

Though she didn't exactly have the wherewithal to follow his directions, she definitely tried her best. This time, she felt as if she went slower as she leaned in, pressing her lips to Harry's. He reciprocated her affection in soft kisses, (Y/N) melting the longer she reveled in his touch.

Her skin practically sang everywhere he touched her, taking her back to her wonderings of if there would be something extra to their affection while under the influence. That prickling that she had felt in her limbs just when the smoke started taking effect, now only occurred when he ran his fingertips over her skin or held her hand in his. The buzzing made her smile into the kiss, the pinpoint tickling under her skin.

"What's got you so smiley, hm?" Harry asked against her mouth, pulling away despite the tender hold she had on his cheeks. 

She beamed up at him with an easy grin, a rose colored glaze over her vision of him. "I just like touching you," she told him, "It tickles." 

He raised his brows in reaction, biting back a smile. "It tickles?" 

Watching the clear amusement on his face, (Y/N) couldn't help her own smile from turning into bubbling laughter. "Uh-huh," she barely answered, everything else dissolving around her laughter. 

"Now, why are you laughing?" 

Harry's investigation only proved to make the entire moment funnier to (Y/N) as she doubled over. Snuggling into his chest, she clung to him with her laughter muffled against his shoulder. "I don't know," she giggled, barely sure that the words even left her brain. 

"Oh, lovebug," he crooned, wrapping his arms around her, "What am I going to do with you?" 

A contented smile landed on (Y/N)'s features as she settled down. She burrowed against him, smushing her cheek on his shoulder and bundling her arms between their bodies. "Love me." 

The tip of Harry's nose skimmed the top of her head. "I already do that," he told her, words fanning across the strands of hair crowning her. 

"I love you too," (Y/N) answered simply. 

The cryptic sense of time she held struck once again when Harry drew away from her. Her body had relaxed into his as if she had napped on him for hours, but she could have been nestled in his arms for a max of three minutes for all she knew. 

"Are y'still hungry? Or do y'want me to save your noodles for later?" 

With that, (Y/N) swore her mind had been blown. "You brought me food, I totally forgot!" Twirling too fast for her brain to keep up, she was almost dizzy by the time she saw the bowl of pasta Harry had set in front of her, complete with salty cheese layered on top just like she asked. "That looks so good, H! Thank you." 

Harry gave her a small smile. "You're welcome, baby." 

A minute sense of deja vu niggled in the back of her head for just a second, but (Y/N) chose to ignore it in favor of twirling her fork through the spaghetti noodles.  

Had cheese always tasted this good? 

—————

"Harry, are you listening? This song is beautiful." 

"I know, love. 'S perfect, huh?" 

The drawl of Harry's response had (Y/N) peeking up at him. She found him lying with his eyes closed, mouth parted in a small gape, though his hand on her back never slowed the soothing circle he had curated.

"Are you tired?" (Y/N) whispered. 

A slight smile touched the corner of his mouth at her question. "A little. Are you?" 

(Y/N) paused, evaluating herself to give him an honest answer. "Yeah. A little." His heartbeat was set to a soothing pace under her ear, slowing into a steady rhythm as if urging him to sleep. "Are you almost asleep?" 

Though she could see his eyes were closed and his breathing was coming in soft puffs, Harry didn't slack on the duties he had taken on for the night. Since pulling her to bed and setting a playlist to softly sing through his bedroom, he had kept his cuddling hold on her firm and anchoring. He answered her every time she spoke to him and even crawled his way to the bedside table to skip the song whenever she started to whine over the melody. 

"A little," he smiled, his voice a deep rumble, "Are you?"

Another pause. "Maybe," (Y/N) answered honestly. She could fall asleep right now if she wanted, but she also wanted to keep listening to music. 

Harry hummed, his chest vibrating under her cheek. "Is there anything y'want before y'get sleepy? More water or a snack?" 

What did she need before she could peacefully fall asleep? 

Blinking her gaze up at him, she took in the tip of his nose, the curving pillow of his cupid's bow and the creamy texture of his skin. 

"A kiss? Please?" 

At that, Harry cracked his eyes open to peer down at her. "Y'haven't had enough of those yet?" 

"Never," she answered, completely honest. Harry still plucked a smile onto his lips at her response. 

"Can't blame you, darling—me neither." 

Shifting between the sheets, Harry used his free hand to cup (Y/N) cheek and tip her chin as he dipped down. He sealed his lips over hers in a loving kiss, nothing more than a soft pressing of their lips. She swore she could feel every ridge, every dip, every plane of his touch, catalogued to her memory though she hoped she would recall it in less fuzzy detail. 

"Love you," she murmured between breaths, immediately planting her lips across his once more. 

Harry smiled into the contact. He broke the rhythm of her kisses even further when he drew away, ignoring the way she chased after him with a craned neck and puckered lips.

"I love you too, lovebug." His eyes scanned over her features not for the first time that night, though something softened in his gaze. "You had a good time tonight?"

Walking through the lavender veiled events, everything was just a bit hazy and herbal, (Y/N)'s smile only grew. 

"Uh-huh," she beamed up at him, feeling herself settle into him that much more, "Thank you for showing me." 

Thumbing at the height of her cheekbone, Harry surged forward to press a delicate kiss to the bridge of her nose. "'M happy y'feel good, darling. That's all I want when we try new things." 

"I'm always happy when I'm with you." 

(Y/N) blinked as she saw his face light up with a bubbly smile, creases appearing by his eyes, dimples thumbed into his cheeks, and a slight flush over his nose. 

Had his smile always been that pretty?

—————

eeeek! so happy I could get a new aster blurb out for everyone this year! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and lmk if yu have any ideas for anything you'd like to see!

[bi-writes]

the knock at his door is a ferocious one. it rattles the hinges, shakes the doorway. it is not a kind knock. it is the knock of anger, of impending terror, of death at his door, but he knows that if he doesn't answer, he will be even more sorry. (ghoap x curvy!fem!reader, 18+, smidge of dark)

johnny isn't happy. he yanks the door open, glaring, knowing who is on the other side. his superior, his lieutenant, the fucking tart that started this whole thing in the first place, the bastard that stands a few inches too tall, is that what she sees in him, too tall, is that much bigger than me, the fucking--

"dinnae want t'talk to ye, ye fuckin'--"

"'f y'know wot's fuckin' good f'ya, you'll shut y'r fuckin' mouth," ghost snaps. his accent is thick and gravelly. he moves over the threshold, pushing johnny back, his eyes dulling over as he presses an accusing finger against johnny's chest. "y'r gonna pick up the bloody phone, 'n y'r gonna call 'er."

"she's a right--"

ghost hisses, a heady growl coming out roughly as he grips johnny around the throat and slams him against the nearest wall. the entirety of it shakes, and the pictures there nearly fall, and johnny chokes as he tries to scramble, but ghost is too strong, too rough, too overpowering. there is something behind his movements, some purpose, and it makes something acidic bubble in johnny's throat.

"don't you fuckin' dare finish that sentence," ghost snarls. "don't care wot it is y'think y'feel, do y'really wanna have tha' on your conscious, y'fuckin' bastard, yeah? want her t'know tha' is the last thing y'called her?"

johnny sputters. he's gasping for air, but it's hard, and his eyes water. even though johnny hates him, even though he loathes the man he used to admire, he knows ghost is right. his lip trembles. it wouldn't be right to say it, it wouldn't be right to call you anything other than what you are, and that is beautiful, bonnie, the stars in the sky and the water in the soil and the dream he always has but cannot remember but one he knows is all he wants and more.

"ye took 'er from me," johnny gasps. "took her from me, and she's all i've ever wanted..."

"took nothin' from ya. now call 'er," ghost growls. "pick up the phone, and y'call her. she's hysterical. 'n i won't 'av it."

"ye won't 'av it? fuck off with ye!"

ghost tilts his head to the side, using his forearm now and pinning johnny to the wall. they meet eyes, and even though johnny pulls a brave face, he is staring at a man who clawed his way out of his grave. a man that endured days of torture and inexplicable horror, that knew the taste of his own blood from another's. johnny is strong-willed, but this is a battle he will not win.

"won't tell ya again," ghost mutters. "i mean tha'."

johnny's tired. he loathes. he hates. he feels sick. he wants to claw and kill and blow something up, but then ghost is letting him go, he's taking in full breaths, and there's a voice in his ear suddenly, an unfamiliar sound of a beautiful voice that he knows. she's crying.

"johnny? j-johnny, i-is that you?"

"mmmph," he coughs. "mmm..."

even riddled with sadness, you sound as pretty as always.

"johnny, i'm sorry," you whimper. he can picture your face, probably a gorgeous pout, tears gathering along your cheeks that normally are from the brunt of his cock, but now they're the proper response from your panic. "johnny, i'm...i'm so sorry--"

"'s..." he hums. "'s a'right, lovey. shhh. quiet."

"johnny, please--please come home, i-i...i can't stand this, i don't want to...i-i--"

"told ye to quiet," he murmurs. "quiet."

and you do, but he knows there's tears, he knows you're probably still there on the other side, your cries muffled into your hand. you probably still look so beautiful, probably sitting there in one of his jackets and nothing else, perched on the bed he shares with you and looking like an entire meal.

"ye lied to me, bonnie," johnny tuts, and ghost steps closer, into his space. watch it, his eyes say, and johnny glares. "why did ye lie?"

you whine, "i didn't know what to say...i...i just thought--"

"ye thought what?" johnny prods. "ye thought i would nae find out about it all? what did ye think, what the bloody fuckin' hell did ye--"

ghost walks forward, enough that johnny is pressed flat against the wall. ghost leans down, tilting his head, close enough that he feels the warmth of johnny's breath as they stare down each other.

"say y'love 'er, johnny," ghost mumbles in his ear. he comes closer, one thick thigh fitting between johnny's legs. "say it."

johnny swallows. "i love ye, bonnie."

a quiet whine, and then your soft voice, "i-i love you so much, johnny--"

"say y'want her, johnny," ghost encourages him, in that low voice that is starting to make johnny's head a little lighter.

"i miss ye," johnny whispers. "sorry for not having me head on right, love..." he hisses when ghost pinches him. "ahh--i want ye. want yer bonnie face...yer bonnie cunt...got to know it. got to know how much i want ye."

ghost shuts his eyes when he hears your breaths. desperate, a little emotional, that beautiful lilt that drew him in the first time.

"tell 'er ye want to eat 'er, johnny," ghost hums. "tell 'er she tastes like sweets." ghost comes closer, his pelvis against johnny's, and there is no space between them. johnny's blue eyes are bright, pupils dilated, and when ghost opens his eyes, they stare at each other, some kind of understanding that they have never had before.

they've been to the same place. they've seen the same eden. the love of the same woman, the taste of the same forbidden fruit, the kind of thing that men like them dream of having but give up for the sake of their sanity--

"want to eat ye, love..." johnny sighs, and his eyes flutter when ghost reaches up and smooths a gloved hand along his throat. his adam's apple bobs, he is so alive, and ghost tuts lowly as he speaks. "taste so good...think about it all the time...about getting under yer skirt," he sighs deeply when ghost's hand moves lower, against his chest, "cum so nice, bonnie, when ye sit on m'face..."

"j-johnny--" ghost grits his teeth when he hears you. pretty baby girl, probably squeezing your thick thighs together, maybe leaning over to show off your soft hips to no one in particular, tits pressed together because your hand is drifting low and circling against you because he knows you probably aren't wearing any fucking knickers, "anything for you, baby...you know i would, you know i'd do anything..."

"i know, my pretty," johnny coos. "will ye wait for me? will ye wait before ye get ahead of yerself, love? ye will, yer a good girl..."

"y-yes--" you whine. "y-yes, i'll wait for you...please come back...please--"

"should i bring back yer keeper?" johnny asks. blue eyes on dark ones, the look of a thousand words, the look of newness, of acceptance, of the power of two being so much greater than one.

two gloved fingers make their way down his throat. petting johnny's pink tongue, stuffing him full, reminding him of his place, where he truly is, where he belongs and where he is always meant to be. he relaxes his throat, and ghost snarls, satisfied, when johnny takes the girth of it easily. he touches the back of johnny's throat, and ghost's eyes flash when he hears your sweet voice on the other end.

"simon...i know you're there. be nice. or we won't get to play."

[i23kazu]

JUST GO TO SLEEP ALREADY!

characters. neuvillette & wriothesley x gn!reader genre. romantic fluff. an. preparing for my new school term............ thoughts n prayers peace n love | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

neuvillette, who watches you almost work yourself to the brink of tears because of your exams...

he doesn't... exactly know how to react. should he leave you alone? should he ask you to go to bed? was this even normal, in the first place?

after watching the circles under your eyes get more and more defined, he makes up his mind.

"my dear, please, for your own health's sake... go to sleep. i promise that things will be better for you when you wake up refreshed."

but this won't do! your paper needs to be turned in tomorrow night, and you've barely written the first 1000 words. it's not alright.

you want to cry.

neuvillette notices it, though. he sits down next to you, not saying a word.

"i'm stressed, neuvillette." you mumble, looking down at your laptop.

"i know that. but i can assure you that you're not going to get anything done when you're in such a state. i hate to see your sunshine get dulled, my dove – i promise, that when we wake up, i'll work with you." he smiles so sweetly, you want to burst into tears right then and there.

okay, maybe you did burst into tears right then and there.

he gathers you in his arms, wiping your tears away with his thumb. his voice is sweet and compassionate, his words contrasting his being – "i don't know what to say." turns into something that was exactly what you needed.

for a person who doesn't understand the complexity of human emotions and how they work ... neuvillette cares for you in a way that's wonderful.

"alright, alright, i'll go to bed. you promise you'll work with me tomorrow?" you sleepily whine, rubbing the remnants of your tears away from your eyes and closing your laptop.

"i promise, my dear."

wriothesley, who stares at you staring at your laptop. he's convinced that you haven't moved from that position in... maybe an hour?

were you even alive at this point?

no

"can you please just stop working and get to bed already?" wriothesley sighs.

"but i can't! it's due tomorrow. and i'm literally, like, about halfway through." you rub your eyes.

wriothesley wants to roll his eyes goodnaturedly at you. but he doesn't. he loves you too much for that, especially when you're too exhausted to comprehend anything else.

"alright, fine. but i'll stay here with you. would you like tea?" he runs his fingers through his hair, getting up from his position.

wriothesley doesn't wait for you to say anything – he knows what you want. he breaks out the selection of teas he kept in his office, going through each one to see which had caffeine and which doesn't.

he eventually returns to your working area, a pot of tea in one hand and two cups precariously stacked on top of one another. it's steaming hot, and he sets it down gently.

it's quiet and peaceful. there's nothing but the low hum of wriothesley humming a calming tune, and the sound of you typing away.

the tea doesn't seem to be working, though? your eyes grow heavier and your head seems to find its place on his shoulder. you swear, there's a soft hint of a smile on wriothesley's face.

his smile seems almost like a smirk.

and then it clicks.

"you planned this all along." you pout, rubbing your eyes tiredly. the tea that was chosen wasn't caffeinated, and his sweet humming... it was the perfect mix to lull you to sleep.

"of course i did. go to sleep, (y/n)." he chuckles, saving your essay and closing your laptop for you.

okay, maybe sleep did sound good ... especially if he carried you back to bed later.

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[gubsbuubs]

I hate it when you're right

(18+)

Pairing: Jake Peralta x Female!Reader

Warnings: Friends to lovers; LOTS of teasing, slow burn?, Smut; Creampie; Dirty talk.

Request:Could you do a Jake Peralta x Reader work partners to hookup? Like they’ve been work partners forever, until one night way too late at the bar they hook up? And realize “oh fuck maybe i do like him like that?”

A/N: Hi, my loves! I´m not dead I swear. Here's the first Peralta smut, hope everyone enjoys. 🍒

English is not my first language - My requests are open!

"How much longer is this going to take?" Peralta's agitated voice echoed through the dark alley as he paced back and forth, his restless energy practically bouncing off the walls.

I understood his frustration; we'd been waiting for what felt like hours, when in reality, it had only been about forty minutes. Compared to the nearby street, this alley was dark and dank; graffiti adorned the walls, and the air smelled faintly of waste. At the end of it stood an abandoned store, rumored to be a hotspot for illegal drug deals. After receiving a tip earlier this nigth, we had been staking out the area in hopes of catching distributors. Slowly, I watched as Peralta's impatience grew, and I couldn't help but wonder if our tip had just been a false lead.

Amidst the distant sounds of traffic and the faint hum of the city, Jake's distressed movements seemed amplified; every passing car and footstep only seemed to fuel his uneasiness. Honestly, I couldn't blame him; this place gave off major creepy vibes, but we had a job to do, and that meant keeping our cool and waiting for the right person to arrive.

"Hey, take a breather," I suggested, attempting to soothe his nervous demeanor. "You're coming off a bit suspicious."

He halted in his tracks, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that. I just can't stand waiting, you know?"

"I understand, but we really need to keep it together," I stressed, aiming to ease his tension. "Can you just stand there and act normal?"

"I'm tryiiiiiiing," his voice tinged with a hint of whining as he continued pacing.

"Well, try harder," I urged, "You look like a total cop right now."

His pacing halted abruptly, and he turned to me with wide eyes, a look of realization dawning on his face. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," he muttered frantically. "We look like cops, and we´re getting shot in the face."

"Relax, Peralta," I chuckled, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

"Y/n" He sighed deeply, standing in front of me with his hands in his pockets,"I don't want to get shot; my face is my prized possession." His brow furrowed as he confessed dramatically.

I tilted my head, "Come on, Peralta," I quipped, a playful grin tugging at the corners of my lips. "If you get shot, I think your face would be the least of our concerns. I mean, you'd be dead!"

"Man, I should've prepared a character for a cover-up," Jake exclaimed, shaking his head ruefully. "We can't just stand here looking like this... like cops."

"Well, it's a little late for that now,"

He let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms in frustration. "Let me think of something," he declared, his hand moving to his chin and rubbing it thoughtfully as he pondered our predicament.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly as I glanced around at the dimly lit street nearby, feeling the tension slowly dissipate as Jake's panicked expression softened into one of contemplation.

But then, with a sudden clarity, Jake snapped his fingers, "I've got it!" he exclaimed.

His words were accompanied by his familiar, stupid, and playful smirk. It was a look that spelled trouble, and to be honest, although I knew nothing good would come out of his mouth, I couldn't help but feel intrigued.

"Spill it, Peralta," I said, my hands tucked into my jean pockets, adopting a casual stance as I awaited his response. With Jake, you never quite knew what you were going to get, but you could always count on it being entertaining, if nothing else.

"You see, Y/n," he approached slowly, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as his left hand found its place against the wall behind me, anchoring me as he leaned in. "I was thinking..." he trailed off, his tone dripping with exaggerated suspense.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes playfully at his teasing manner. "Oh, here we go again," I retorted gently, halting his advances with a hand on his chest. "Another one of Jake's brilliant ideas, right?"

"Come on, Y/N, don't be like that," he said, his tone a mix of amusement and pleading. "You know you love my brilliant ideas."

"Oh, absolutely," I replied with a touch of sarcasm. "They're right up there with 'let's infiltrate this wedding' and 'let's dress up as clowns for the undercover operation.'"

"Hey, those are classic moments in my detective history," he protested, a grin spreading across his face. "One day they'll make a movie about me."

I couldn't resist lightly patting his chest. "Sure, buddy, for sure."

As Jake leaned in closer, I couldn't deny the surge of warmth that spread through me. Despite my attempts to conceal it, his proximity was starting to affect me.

Jake and I had a playful dynamic, often flirting with each other, and he wasn't shy about expressing his interest; he even told me countless times how I was "missing out" on a chance to be with him.

And don´t get me wrong, while I did find him undeniably attractive, I was hesitant to entertain the idea of taking things beyond friendship. Our coworker-turned-friend relationship was something I cherished, and I didn't want to risk complicating it with romantic entanglements.

So, no, nothing ever happened apart from the casual, harmless flirting. Our banter kept things light and enjoyable, never crossing the line into anything more serious. Despite the occasional temptation, we both understood the importance of maintaining boundaries in our friendship.

"Seriously, hear me out on this one," he continued, "What if we… I don't know… pretend to make out? It's the perfect cover-up!" His suggestion hung in the air, and for a moment, there was silence as we both processed the absurdity of his idea. His head fell to the side, awaiting my response with a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

"You wish, Peralta." I laughed and shook my head. "I mean, I know you'd do anything to steal a kiss from me, but making out in a dark alley? That's a bit too romantic even for you, don't you think?"

"Hey, it was worth a shot, right?" As he moved to step away from the wall, I caught movement at the beginning of the street behind him. Acting quickly, I grabbed him by the tie, the one he always refused to wear, and shot him a warning look. Understanding my silent cue, he lowered his head to mine, trying to appear inconspicuous as he whispered in my ear. "Is it them?"

"Maybe," I quietly answered, my heart pounding as I realized we were being watched. The figures stood at the beginning of the street, whispering to each other; they wore on to us for sure.

"Oh my god, they know, don't they?" he whispered, his voice tinged with worry. "What do we do, Y/L/N? I don't want to get shot in the face," he pleaded, his panic palpable.

Fuck I hate when he's right...

"Screw it," I whispered, my voice filled with determination. Pulling him closer, I crashed my lips into his. He immediately reacted, his arms encircling my waist as he pinned me against the wall. His lips were softer than I imagined, but his hands were rough as they traveled up my sides to rest on the back of my neck, pulling me even closer. Although the kiss was a desperate attempt to obfuscate the approaching perps, it was evident that Jake was definitely enjoying it more than it was intended. I couldn't help but give in to the moment as our kiss intensified as his tongue traced over my lower lip, kindly begging for more.

The footsteps grew louder, signaling the approach of whoever was out there. Without a second thought, his hand found its place on the back of my thigh, pulling me in closer. With my leg lifted around him, our bodies pressed together, and his fingers lightly held me in place.

Abruptly, the footsteps ceased and a voice cut through the moment. "Hey, what are you guys doing here?" one of the men asked, his tone cautious.

Jake broke the kiss. "Do you mind?" He retorted sharply, giving the guy a pointed look, before catching my lips again. I eagerly responded, letting my hands tangle up in his hair as he leaned closer to me.

The two guys just chuckled and exchanged knowing glances before sauntering off to the end of the alley. It worked; the stupid plan actually worked.

I waited until the footsteps were barely audible before breaking the kiss. I raised my head to get a better look, and Jake let his lips travel, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses down my chin and into my neck. I bit my lip as I suppressed a moan I knew I was holding, glancing to see the two figures waiting by the door. "Jake, they're just standing there." I breathed out.

"Keep your eyes on them," he ordered, as he pressed himself against me.

I fought to keep my focus, torn between the intoxicating sensation of Jake's lips on me and the need to maintain our cover. Despite the overwhelming desire to lose myself in the moment, I stole quick glances towards where the perps stood, ensuring we weren't drawing any unwanted attention.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and a new figure emerged, a brown bag in hand, joining the other two with a casual greeting. My heart pounded in my chest; it was going down, and we were going to get these guys. "Jake... Jake," I whispered urgently, breaking our embrace. His eyes met mine, and he immediately understood. Without hesitation, we sprang into action, charging towards the unsuspecting trio.

"NYPD!" Jake's voice boomed, cutting through the tense silence with commanding authority as he brandished his gun. I followed suit, drawing my own weapon, the weight of it familiar and reassuring in my hand. The perps froze, their faces registering shock as they realized they had been caught red-handed.

—xx—

It had been a few days since that night in the alley. With the intel we extracted from the three guys Jake and I caught, we successfully dismantled one of the biggest drug operations in Brooklyn. And to top it off, we managed to nab the ringleader himself. It was a major win for the team and definitely a cause for celebration. So naturally, we found ourselves at Shaw's, ready to toast to our victory.

"To the Nine-Nine," Captain Holt's voice resounded with strength as he lifted his glass high in the center of our circle. "To the Nine-Nine," we all echoed, raising ours in unison. With cheers and the clinking of half-empty glasses, we celebrated our hard work.

"Now disperse," he announced, his tone carrying a hint of warmth. "I want you all to have fun tonight; you deserve it." and with a wave of his hand, he indicated for us to move from our celebratory circle, encouraging us to enjoy the rest of the evening.

With that, I abruptly turned to face the bar, my attention drawn to the array of bottles lining the shelves. Caught off guard by a sudden collision, I stumbled backward, my balance momentarily disrupted. As I blinked in surprise, I found myself locking eyes with Jake, his hands reaching out to steady me by the waist. A rush of warmth flooded through me at the contact, and for a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still as our gazes lingered.

"Whoa, sorry about that," I mumbled, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as embarrassment washed over me.

His expression turned sheepish as he offered a tentative smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine warmth. After a brief moment of silence, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey, no worries," he said lightly, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. Raising a hand, he scratched the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture. "Guess I should've watched where I was going, huh?"

Our eyes remained locked, neither of us willing to be the first to look or moove away. "Well, at least we're not in an alley this time," I blurted out, trying to break the awkwardness with a touch of humor. He chuckled softly, the tension between us easing slightly as we both shared a small laugh.

"Dark alley or not, this was a great case," he said, his tone softening as he spoke. "I loved working with you, and I think we did a great job." His sincerity warmed my heart, and his light squeeze on my side felt like a silent reassurance.

Taking a step back, I broke away from his hold, trying to compose myself. My heart raced with the sudden rush of emotions. "Well... um..." I stammered nervously, my mind scrambling for something coherent to say. "I think we should celebrate. I'll be with Rosa at the bar," I continued, my voice wavering slightly as I awkwardly backed away from where we stood. "I'll see you around, Peralta."

As I approached the bar, Rosa's amused expression was already evident. Her playful tone cut through the air as I settled onto the bar stool beside her.

"What the hell was that?" she quipped.

I offered a weak shrug, attempting to play it cool. "What was what?" my voice slightly shaking as I avoided her knowing gaze.

"Oh, come on," she teased, gesturing toward the table behind her where Peralta and Charles were now seated. "That little dance back there, the eyefucking," she continued.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, no eyes were fucking back there!" I held my finger up in protest, trying to suppress a nervous laugh.

She sighed and took a sip of her drink, her gaze thoughtful. "Man, what the hell happened on the stakeout? You guys have been so weird…the glances, the lingering touches..."

"Hey, we have been doing none of that," I lied, attempting to deflect Rosa's probing with a forced casualness. Deep down, I knew she wasn't the only one who noticed. Despite being preoccupied with the bust operation for the past few days, I couldn't ignore the subtle shifts in Jake's behavior around me. He looked at me more often than usual, sat closer, and his touches lingered longer. I understood it all too well. I wasn't oblivious. We shared a kiss, and it wasn't just any kiss. There was something there—something I couldn't shake off.

"Bullshit," she retorted, "I mean, I understand tuning Boyle out when he talks, but Jake is literally not listening to a single word."

I glanced from my drink to the booth where Jake sat, slumped against the leather cushions with his legs spread out. He appeared relaxed, toying with his whisley glass that sat on his thigh. His gaze was already on me, peeking through his lowered eyebrows.

Our eyes met, and in that moment, I found myself unable to look away from him, captivated by the intensity of his gaze. What the hell was this man doing to me? It was as if every fiber of my being was drawn to him, despite my best efforts to resist.

"See, you're doing it again!" Rosa exclaimed loudly, her voice cutting through the chatter of the bar.

I immediately shook my head, laughing nervously. "Oh my god! Doing what, Diaz?" I turned toward the bar, signaling for another round of drinks, hoping to distract both of us from the uncomfortable topic.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she leaned in closer. "The. Eye. Fucking," she punctuated each word.

"Rosa! No!" I exclaimed, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "No eyefucking going on," I added quickly, hoping to put an end to the teasing before it went any further.

"I know you kissed him," she said casually, her tone soft but firm, leaving no room for denial.

"What? No, that's not true!" My voice probably went up an octave, betraying my attempt at denial.

Rosa didn't waver, analyzing my reaction with a knowing look that seemed to cut straight through me.

"Fuck," I shook my head, looking to the side in resignation. "Okay, fine, I did, but it was only for the mission," I admitted reluctantly.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Sure, sure, just for the mission."

"Oh, shut up," I lightly smacked her arm, playfully annoyed. "Who told you anyway?"

"Let's just say I have my sources,", a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Diaz!" I threatened, pointing my finger at her. "Spill it now or else!" My tone was half-joking, but there was a hint of determination in my eyes.

"Okay, okay," she conceded, raising her hands in defense. "It was Boyle."

"Boyle knows?" My eyes widened with shock. If Boyle knew, then everyone knew.

"Yeah, apparently Jake was glowing," she confirmed, "All smiles, couldn't stop grinning like a kid in a candy store." She took another sip of her drink, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "So Boyle insisted, and eventually, he spilled the beans."

"Man, that's so embarrassing," I groaned, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks as I buried my face in my hands.

"Why?" Rosa regarded me with a serious expression.

"Well, because, you know... it's Jake," I mumbled, struggling to find the right words. "I don't want to... to..."

She held knowing look in her eyes, like she could read my thoughts, "To what?"

"Well, you know... be with him... I don't want that," Despite my attempt at denial, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I wasn't convincing anyone, not even myself, that I didn't want Jake.

"Man, it's obvious you guys want to be with each other; just go for it," she said with a shrug, her tone matter-of-fact. "I mean, he's still eyefucking you across the room," she added, gesturing once again in Jake's direction, her point crystal clear.

"He is, isn't he?" I lightly smacked my forehead, as if to hide my face, letting out a chuckle. I felt a sense of relief wash over me; deep down, I knew she had a point.

Glancing over to Jake, it seemed like he hadn't moved an inch since I last looked at him.

"He's not the most subtle," she said, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I pondered for a moment as I swirled my drink. Well, if Jake was willing to put himself out there to show his interest so openly, then maybe I should do the same. Maybe it was time to stop dancing around each other and just go for it.

"I have to fuck him, don't I?" I quipped with a smile, my voice low and filled with a hint of mischief.

Rosa burst into laughter at my bold declaration, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Well, you don't have to, you know?" she replied between giggles, shaking her head at my blunt honesty.

I finished my drink and set the glass down with a determined nod. "I think I do," I admitted, my voice firm and resolute.

Rosa grinned approvingly. "That's my girl," she said with a proud nod.

"See you tomorrow, Diaz!" I said, giving her shoulder a friendly pat as I left the stool and made my way towards his table.

As I approached, Jake supported a knowing smile, his gaze unwavering from mine, completely focused on me, completely tuning out the random story Boyle was spewing about.

"Hey guys," I announced as I reached the table, "I'm not feeling really well," I admitted, but my tone lacked any hint of tiredness or distress making Jake's eyebrows perk up at my unconvincing excuse. "So I'll just head home, I think I can still catch the last train." It was a statement crafted with a specific purpose in mind—a subtle cue for Jake to follow me. So, I waited for the response I knew was coming, and Jake didn't disappoint.

Quickly drowning his drink, he stood up from his seat. 'No, no, train, come on!' His fingers motioned in an approaching gesture. 'I'll take you home.'"

"Oh…But!" Boyle exclaimed, "But you said you'd take me home…"

We stood in silence for a moment and watched as Boyle's expression shifted from confusion to realization in an instant. Standing up from his seat, he enveloped Jake in a bear hug, practically lifting him off the ground in his excitement. "You know what? It´s a great night! I guess I'll take a stroll along the river," he exclaimed cheerfully, patting Jake on the back before waving us goodbye.

The car ride had been silent so far, the only sounds filling the air were the gentle hum of the engine and the soft background music playing from the radio. Despite the lack of conversation, I couldn't shake the feeling of Jake's eyes on me, his scrutiny palpable, and I was keenly aware of the warmth creeping up my neck. Glancing over, I found Jake stealing glances in my direction, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Eyes on the road, Detective," I said, my finger lightly pushing his chin in the direction of the road, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

His grin widened, but he quickly turned his attention back to the task at hand, his fingers tapping lightly on the weel. "So, you weren't feeling well, huh?" Jake quipped, "Must be that sudden wave of 'I-can't-resist-Jake syndrome,' huh?"

Raising an eyebrow, I turned in my seat to face him slightly. "Oh, you think you're so funny, don't you?"

"It's a burden, really," he added with an exaggerated sigh. "Having to be this funny all the time,"

"Sometimes I wonder if you're compensating for something with all that humor."

"Oh, please, like you're not secretly enjoying every moment of it." He let his head fall back sligthy as he let out a troathy chuckle. "I couldn't help but notice how your eyes kept wandering over to me tonight. Got a little crush, Y/n?"

"Please, Peralta, don't flatter yourself. I was just admiring the artwork on the walls" I remarked with a sly smile as I leaned closer, my arm resting behind his seat and my breath brushing against his cheek. "You, on the other hand, were really pushing it out there. I mean, could you have been more obvious?"

"Oh, come on," he glanced over at me. "You can't fool me with that excuse. I know you were totally checking me out."

"Maybe…" I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper, a playful glint in my eyes.

"Of course you were," he replied, his hand moving from the steering wheel to rest lightly on my thigh. "And can you blame yourself? Of course not. I mean, look at me."

"Please, Peralta, you're not that irresistible." I scoffed while looking down at his hand, trying to maintain my composure despite the growing warmth between my legs.

"Oh, I beg to differ," he murmured as his fingers now traced gentle circles on my thigh, "Admit it, Y/N. You've been dying for me to touch you like this."

My breath caught in my throat, and I simply let out a chuckle as I slumped back against my seat. "You're trouble, you know that?" I shook my head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in my tone, as I let my gaze drift out the window.The familiar facade of my building stood tall against the city skyline as the car gently came to a stop.

"Yeah, guilty as charged," he murmured as we stepped out onto the sidewalk.

With a coy smile, I glanced back over my shoulder. "You know that if you're guilty of something, you shouldn't be confessing your crimes to a cop."

"Well, lucky for me, Detective, you've been off the clock for..." He glanced at his watch as he trailed closely behind me, "...3 hours and 38 minutes now.

"I might be off the clock, but I can still cuff you, Peralta," I said, tapping the handcuffs at my waist.

As I turned the key and my fingers fumbled with the locks I heard him inching closer. I could feel the warmth of his body as he pressed against my back, with gentle precision, he lowered his head, and I felt his breath grazing the nape of my neck.

"Me, in cuffs, at your mercy?" His lips brushed against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "Oh, but wouldn't that be the highlight of your night?" His voice was low and filled with playful suggestion.

With a soft laugh, I finally managed to open the door, turning to face him, my heart pounding with anticipation. "Are you projecting, Peralta?" I countered as I met his gaze, slowly backing away, inviting him in as he approached me at the entryway.

He quickly stepped in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The room felt suddenly smaller, warmer, with just the two of us. As he reached me, he circled his arms around my waist, pulling me closer "Mehh, maybe just a little,". His fingers deftly undid the zipper of my leather jacket, and his eyes didn't tear away from my chest.

"Like what you see, Peralta?" I quipped, letting my hands meet his own on his chest.

"Yeah," he chuckled as he leaned in to press a kiss on my collarbone. "You changed your curtains, didn't you?" He added playfully, his breath warm against my skin.

"Oh yeah?" I slowly started undoing the buttons on his shirt. "I can't believe you´d noticed that."

As we reached the sofa, his hands guided my jacket off, the leather slipping down my arms with a subtle force. Our eyes remained locked as the leather pooled at my feet.

I gestured with a tilt of my head for him to take a seat, and with grin he complied, his fingers skillfully undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt. I couldn't help but admire the way his muscles flexed under the fabric as he discarded it to the side. Then he eased onto the sofa, spreading his legs and letting his arms rest casually on the back of it, lightly tilting his head back.

As I removed my pants, he drew in a deep breath, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on me. Straddling him, I rested my hands on his shoulders, sensing his firm grip on the back of my thighs for stability. With my knees on either side of him, I gradually eased myself onto his lap, the heat of his chest pressing against mine, still covered by the random top I threw on this morning.

"No perps today?" he joked, his hands settling on my ass while his nose lightly brushed against my chest, inhaling my scent. "I kind of enjoyed the audience."

I shook my head as I leaned down to grab his chin, urging him to meet my gaze. "Just you and me, Jake," I murmured against his lips. "What do you think?"

"Well, Y/n," he whispered, "I think you should really kiss me."

"Yeah, I should," I nodded, but just as our lips were about to meet, I pulled back slightly. "Or maybe I'll just leave you hanging," I teased as I leaned back, keeping him at arm's length.

Jake's eyes widened in surprise. "You're playing dirty now, huh?" His hands cupped my flesh forcefully as he pulled me forward, spreading my cheeks slightly and pressing me against him. The sudden movement elicited a gasp from my lips, feeling the subtle grind of his crotch against mine. A soft moan escaped me as I surrendered to the satisfying friction rocking my hips against his bulge.

"Maybe," I teased once again, leaning in close before pulling back again. I intensified the grind of my hips as his hands moved to my shoulders, sliding the straps of my top down, the fabric gathering around my stomach, exposing more of my skin to his hungry gaze.

"You're killing me here," he protested as his fingers traced the delicate lacy edges of my bra.

"Oh, but where's the fun in making it easy for you?"

As his head fell back against the sofa, a deep exhale escaped him, a mix of frustration and pleasure. Seizing the opportunity, I pressed my lips against his neck, relishing the shudder that ran through him, accompanied by a low sigh of pleasure. My hand lightly closed against his throat, keeping him in place as I continued to kiss upward, tracing the line of his jaw with eager lips.

"You're driving me insane," he growled, his voice thick with need. Grabbing me by the nape of my neck, he pulled me into a kiss.

As our bodies pressed together, he skillfully unclasped my bra, freeing my breasts to his eager touch. His mouth descended upon my right nipple, and as he sucked and nibbled, I couldn't help but grind against him with more force.

I tugged on the hairs at the back of his head, urging him closer, craving more of his touch. His fingers trailed down my abdomen, teasing the hem of my panties before boldly slipping beneath them.

I gasped as his cold fingers met my warm skin. "Fuck, Jake," I breathed out, my voice trembling with desire.

"Oh, my name sounds so good when you say it like that," he confessed, his fingers moving slowly against my clit. My head rested on his shoulder, and his fingers continued to explore my soaked folds, "Yeah, just like that, doing so well," he praised as he lightly brushed my entrance, slowly dipping his middle finger inside of me.

With a desperate urgency, I moved my hands to his sides, tugging at the belt loops of his jeans. "Off, off," I managed to say.

He nudged his hips forward, lowering his jeans and boxers just enough for his cock to spring out. I immediately took him in my hand, stroking him lightly as a pornographic moan escaped his lips.

His hand then moved my panties to the side, allowing me to guide him against my clit before lining him with my entrance. Slowly, I lowered myself on to him, feeling every inch of him stretching me as he filled me completely.

His right hand met the back of my neck once again, pulling me into a kiss, as his left cupped my ass with force, aiding me with the up and down movement of my hips.

God, you feel incredible," he groaned against my lips, his voice husky with desire.

With a breathless laugh, I whispered back, "You're not so bad yourself."

A playful chuckle escaped him "Always got something to say, don't you?" He teased, his hips rising to meet mine with eager intensity.

My head fell back, overcome with pleasure, as the familiar coil of ecstasy began to build in the depths of my stomach. "Fuck, don´t stop.". His movements remained steady, his hand reaching out to play with my clit, intensifying the pleasure coursing through my body. "God, Jake... it's... it's too much," I gasped, desperation evident in my voice as my hands clung to his shoulders and arms for support.

"Oh, I can't fucking last with you sounding like that," he admitted, letting his forehead rest against mine.

"Then don't," I whispered, my voice barely audible amidst the sounds of our heavy breathing and the pounding of flesh. His pace quickened, pushing me closer as I arched my back. "I´m cumming.. Oh.. Fuck"

A moan escaped his lips as he watched me with intensity, his eyes tracing every contortion of my face as pleasure surged through me. I felt the wave of bliss crash over me, my body trembling with the force of my release.

In that moment, I could tell he couldn't hold back any longer. "Do it," I urged, locking my gaze with his and giving him a reassuring look.

"You sure?" His eyes searched mine, seeking reassurance.

I nI nodded eagerly, feeling my body tremble as I sensed him pulsating inside of me. The sensation of him nearing his climax, his moans reverberating through the room, was intoxicating and overwhelming in the most delicious way imaginable. As he released into me, I let out a satisfied sigh, capturing his lips once again.

We remained intertwined, his arms wrapped around me protectively, as his cock still throbbed gently inside me. His fingers traced soothing patterns on the small of my back, and I nestled closer to him as his lips found their way to my forehead, planting a tender kiss.

"You know? I hate when you´re right," I whispered, my voice soft against his skin.

"About what in particular?" He chuckled.

I smiled against his neck, feeling a warmth spread through me. "About... this," I confessed, lifting my head slightly to meet his gaze. "That I'd been missing out."

"Well, lucky for you, Y/n, we still have plenty of time to catch up,"

--XX--

Tagg: Hi my loves, I took the liberty to tagg everyone who liked my post about writing smut for peralta - Hope you enjoy <3

@haikyuuhoee @1dilflover @Airu_wu @gingersnap126126 @Gingersnap @her5 @bellaabee @bestnottoask @Taylorswiftsboatinglicense @tortelliniturtle7 @sabage101 @izzyyyyy777 @dilflover-3 @yomamacrusty @Outsiderslover @vintagevickyy @spencerreidmyst3ry @ikea2-0 @jj170623 @icybluefox @sxphiarz @syrk @raven-kroe @longlostishmael22 @joonbum @angrygirlloudvoice-blog @mandarinmoons @apple-dilf-shake @readingblogsstuff @m1keyj @luciferdelivery @hunter-ameliaredstone @laciruelaa @iloveslashers @bellaaggg @reiderrambles @strapsforyoonie @spencerreidmyst3ry

[norrisleclercf1]

OKAY BUT LISTEN A REQUEST IDEA!

Mafia! Jenson x wife where both take Logan under their wing. And when the wife reader gets hurt both Logan and Jenson grow overprotective because that's their wife and "mother".

A/N: Logie is Jenson's baby don't get me started

"Logan, would you like breakfast?" Knocking on the door you hear movement and it's thrown open the young American was exhausted and had a huge bandage on his side from last nights run.

"Do I have to eat?" He grumbles, and you sigh reaching out and smoothing his hair down. "You do darling, that way you can take your antibiotics," Logan sighs and shuffles back into his room and grabs a shirt, sliding it on carefully.

"Is he angry?" Logan asks, knowing the only reason he got injured was because he had messed up. "No baby, he's annoyed, but not at you. You're a rookie, the others should've looked after you a bit better, that's all." You comfort him and stay behind just a little in case he wobbles back and falls.

"Morning," Logan flinches hearing the anger in Jenson's tone, your eyes cast over and glare, your husband catching your glare and puts the newspaper down and clears his throat. "Are you okay buddy?" Logan sighs sitting down, his stitches itched, burned, and he wanted to cry. He let Jenson down.

"My stitches itch," He grumbles, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "It's your body healing itself, normal for wounds to itch." You explain licking your hand and fixing Logan's hair which has him grumbling but says nothing. Jenson snatches Logan's plate and the boy goes to argue but stops when he sees Jenson was plating food for him.

"Maybe you should move in here with us, hmm?" You ask, sitting down next to Jenson. "I had his stuff packed and already placed on our floor, it's being unpacked as we speak." Logan blushes and nods, knowing there was no point in arguing. "Thank you," You smile and pass Logan his meds which he happily takes.

Year later

"Boysssss! I'm going to the farmer market, do you want anything?" You yell, loud enough for them to hear you from the kitchen. You hear steps and then running down the stairs. "Think you could get me oranges?" You smile as Logan comes into view.

He's taken up training and eating better, having grown taller and wider as he worked on his muscles to become better and stronger for the team. "Of course, darling, does your dad want anything?" Logan had taken to calling you and Jenson, mom and dad about 5 months ago. "No, he says just the usual." You nod and walk past, Logan leaning over as you kiss his cheek.

"Alright, be back," "In an hour, we know. Just be careful Mom." Logan smiles and runs back up the stairs to join Jenson in watching some race. Shaking your head you head out and make the walk to the market.

Jenson hated when you walked, considering who he was, and how people knew your face, and knew they could go after you to get to him. Smiling at some of the locals you head to some of your favorite stands. "Good morning Mrs. Button, hows that sweet boy of yours?" A sweet older lady named Mrs. Watts, loved Logan as he'd come out here and help you and sometimes stick around and help her with her stand.

"Oh he's good, you know always a gentleman." You smile and picking up some fresh oranges, turning you don't see them coming until some teens run into you, which has you falling and hitting your head.

-----------------

"Where's my mom?" You sigh as does the ER doctor bandaging up your wrist. "Logan!" You call gently, not wanting to raise your voice, since you have a pretty good concussion. "Mom!" Logan sighs, and pushes the doctor gently and hugs you, taking a deep breath. Jenson skids in and stops seeing you and moves gathering both you and Logan into his arms.

"What the hell happened, who did this to you?" Jenson asks, you giggle seeing as he was ready to start a war. "it was just those stupid kids, they didn't see me and ran into me on their skateboards. Fell and hit my head, sprained my wrist." You explain and Jenson sighs but you can still see he was antsy.

"She really is okay, Mr. Button. You and your son don't have to worry," The doctor tries to explain but Logan refuses to move from your side, lying his head on your shoulder. "Should've gone with you today," Logan whispers and you smile, kissing the crown of his hair. "I'm okay, really you two." Jenson sighs and moves again, hugging you both.