#the second guy just doesn’t like what he read

[watchmegetobsessed]

BEHIND BARS

A/N: this fic is my coping mechanism with my own shit and im more than eager to read your thoughts, because it would help me knowing im not alone with these thoughts. so this one goes out to all the big girlies who struggle with loving themselves!

WORD COUNT: 9k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: You get stood up by your Tinder date, but at the same time you run into a man who works at the bar and seems to be into you. Or that's what you think when you read his message he wrote to your receipt, asking you to return to the bar the next day.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

You harbor the delusional thoughts of your date getting caught up in something… anything, just a tad more, just so that the heartache comes a few moments later. It stings, probably more than you’d ever admit to anyone, but you can’t help it. 

Sitting on the barstool in the dimly lit bar you glue your eyes onto your pornstar martini, the second you’ve had since arriving an hour and about five ‘Where are you?’ texts to Brannon before. All of them sit delivered but unread in your messages. You reach for the glass and finish the drink in two big gulps, the alcohol bringing an almost numbing sensation to your closed up throat, but it fades rather fast. 

What hurts the most is that this is not a first date. He met you just three days ago on the coffee date you two arranged once you were over just exchanging messages on that awful dating app you always swear to never download again but end up back on it at one point. It’s not like he would have walked in tonight and could have a shock about your looks, that you do in fact have quite some extra weight, your thighs are thick, curving into your ass that might look good on a better day, but only if it’s covered, because every time you look at it the only thing you see is the stubborn cellulite you can never get rid of. He saw that you’re miles away from having a flat stomach, you weren’t blessed to be the kind of big girl who has a slim waist and beautiful round waist. You often stop in front of the mirror to assess how big your arms look if you wear something sleeveless, how your collarbones only show if you put your hands to your hips and force your shoulders forward to bring them out. 

He saw all of these. Yet he suggested meeting again, pulling you into a ridiculous dream that he might be different and you could finally have the burning, passionate love you’ve always dreamed about.

Now it feels more like a nightmare. 

“Another one?” 

The bartender appears in front of you, one hand on the counter, the other one on his hip as he looks at you with a questioning look. You glance up at him, then at the empty glass and decide to just fuck it and get drunk before going home and raging your fridge for whatever comfort food you can find. 

“Sure. Bring a shot as well.”

“Vodka, tequila, rum or…?”

“Vodka sounds fantastic,” you breathe out as you square your shoulders and run a hand through your hair.

The guy nods and then disappears again. While he is making your drink you decide to have a trip to the bathroom. You wave at the bartender to let him know you’ll be back and when he nods you make your way to the back. 

You chose the bar for tonight, it’s a nice place, feels intimate and… hot, maybe that’s the word you used when you were here with your girlfriends a few weeks ago. It was the perfect spot for a girly night, but the vibe of the place definitely doesn’t limit it to a strictly feminine spot. There were plenty of men around even then and one mysterious man sent over a whole round of drinks, he remained unknown but he was probably enamored by one of your friends.

You were convinced Brannon would like this place and you could see the two of you curled up in a booth, finally overstepping the awkwardness of being around someone you met online. 

Once you’ve done your business you stop in front of the massive mirror next to the sink and have a moment to look at yourself in the overhead lights that bring out everything about your body that you usually fight hard not to think about. You hate it how one inconvenience can make you feel so… ashamed. Hopeless. Worthless. 

Truth is, you’re tired. You’ve had enough of these experiences, though it’s only your second time getting stood up, but it goes under the same cases of going completely unnoticed by men in a social setting, ending up instantly in the friendzone no matter what you do, getting the talk of ‘but I see you as a great friend, I hope we can stay friends’ whenever you dare to come clean about your feelings for someone. It sucks the life out of you and you’re not sure if you have any more left to keep trying. Because the chance of ending up alone anyway has been looming over your head for way too long to ignore it and if it ends up being your reality, you’d rather not waste any more time and energy on trying. 

When the tears start stinging your eyes you turn on your heels and head out, not wanting to have a full blown breakdown in the middle of a bar. Stepping out to the hallway you’re just about to march back to your previous spot to chug down your drinks shamelessly, but you weren’t expecting anyone to be right outside the door, so you collide into someone just as your heels hit the carpeted floor outside the restroom. 

It’s not at all the gracious kind of collision, where the man scoops you into his arms and holds you against his chest to stop you from falling. Out of reflex, your hands do find the guy’s chest, but you push yourself away from him fast and panicked, your back hitting the door that just closed behind you and you’d bet a good amount that your expression reeks of shock and the sadness from previously, which is not a gracious combination. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you exhale sharply as your eyes take in the man in front of you. 

Tall, well-built in a black, fitted suit with a black silky shirt underneath the jacket, the first few buttons are left undone, teasing a glimpse of tattoos and a thin necklace with pendants hidden from your vision. His brown hair is trimmed, but not enough to conceal how the strands curl and swirl. Pink lips curl into a smile and you can’t decide the color of his eyes because it’s too dark here, but they appear to be light, even despite how big his pupils are as he is staring back at you. He is holding up his hands in front of him, as if he is readying himself to catch you if you decide to fall anyway. 

“In a hurry?” he asks and his velvety british accent caresses your ears. You blink at him for a couple of moments dumbly before finding your voice to reply.

“No,” is all you say, to which his smile just widens and you catch his eyes dip down, running along your body before they return to your gaze. 

“Be careful then, Angel.”

“Sorry,” you breathe out, finding your balance again as you’re unable to look away from him. 

He is the kind of man that catches every female’s attention upon walking into a room, who could easily just cherry pick who he wants, because women line up in front of him just to earn a glance from him. He looks elegant and lively at the same time, but you instantly feel a sense of mystery and darkness linger around them even despite his warm smile. He is nothing like the men you ever dealt with and he is… way out of your league. 

Lifting your chin you spare him with one last look before walking away, fighting the urge to look back if he is still there or maybe you just imagined him. 

Your drinks are already waiting for you by your seat and you down the shot before you could climb back to your seat. Given the fact that you came with an empty stomach, the alcohol has started working its wonders on you. You feel a low buzz in your chest, a slight numbness in your head and you know the martini in front of you will be your last drink if you want to make it back to your place. 

Your thoughts are still circling around the man in the hallway when you spot him again from the corner of your eyes. Down at the end of the bar, he is talking to the bartender who’s been serving you. His jacket is gone, so you see the silky shirt hanging elegantly from his frame, the fabric shimmering in the light that comes from behind the bar, illuminating the wall of expensive bottles showcased. The sleeves are rolled up, revealing that his left arm is heavily tattooed, but the other one has something as well, but half of it is hidden underneath the shirt. 

He is helping the bartender unload some bottles into the fridge that’s underneath the counter as the talk. When they are down to the last one he stands up and runs a ring-clad hand through his hair and his eyes move up and catch your gaze before you could look away and pretend like you weren’t ogling him. Your cheeks burn up right away as you snap your eyes back at your drink in front of you. With silent prayers that he won’t come closer, you busy yourself with the only thing you can do: drinking. But just as you lift the glass to your lips you see a black form walk up to where you’re sitting and you can’t stop yourself from looking up at him. 

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks with a charming smile, his hands planted onto the counter in front of you, giving you the chance to see the veins running underneath his smooth skin and for a split second you can’t help but imagine what it might feel like to be held by those hands. 

“Um, no, I’m good. Thank you.”

“Good,” he repeats, but it drips with something else, something more, something… heavy. “Waiting for someone?”

His question came out of the blue, you weren’t expecting him to strike up a conversation and start it with that. Your muscles tense and suddenly, after being so drawn to keep looking at the man in front of you, it becomes your priority to avoid his gaze at all cost. 

“No,” you say shortly and take a sip, no, a gulp from your drink. 

What you don’t see is how his face darkens. The smile fades and his eyebrows draw together as he lets his hands fall from the counter and move to cross over his chest. 

You expect him to move away from the rather tensed and awkward scene, but he remains standing in the same spot until you notice him turn around, but just to grab two shot glasses, he fills them up with something that could easily be vodka again, but you wouldn’t know because you don’t see the glass he pours from. Then he turns around and places the shots onto the counter, pushing one a little closer to you. When you look up, you see his head a bit tilted, waiting with a questioning look and an unknown sparkle in his eyes that are green, now you’re sure. 

“Oh, I shouldn’t… Um…”

“Just this one. As an apology on behalf of the piece of shit who is too blind and idiotic to see what he missed out on.”

Your breath is caught in your throat as you stare back at him. For a second, you let yourself believe that there’s more behind his words, that there’s attraction, lust and desire. For you.

But then your usual mechanism kicks in and your mind is quick to turn it around and convince you it’s not at all like that. He just feels sorry for you, it’s only pity, because a man like him would never be interested in a woman like you. 

“Sure,” you whisper with a nod and take the shot. He takes his and holds up, waits for you to do the same. 

Then he gives you a nod with a charming, crooked smile and your eyes remain locked on each other as you both take the shots. It’s vodka and it burns, but you don’t even flinch as you put the glass back onto the counter and watch him snatch it away. He is just about to say something when the bartender calls out for him from the end of the bar, but because you weren’t listening, you miss what his name is. He looks back at you once more and then walks away. 

You don’t see him for the rest of the time you spend there. Finishing the drink you ask to close your tab and then you’re getting ready to leave when the bartender slips the receipt over to you. At first you don’t even pay any attention to it, but then you notice something is different about it. You grab it from the counter and then read the words scribbled onto it with a black marker.

Please come back tomorrow.

You feel like an idiot all day. Trying to keep yourself busy by cleaning and cooking, no matter what you do you always find yourself looking at that damn receipt, reading the words over and over again. Since you left the bar yesterday until this moment, you’ve thought of every possible scenario why he would ask you to return. Realistic ones, ridiculous versions, you thought of them all, but somehow you always ended up settling on the same one, even despite the fact your mind has been fighting hard not to let you believe he could want anything from you. 

It grinds your nerves all day until you decide to act on it. You put on a pair of jeans and a simple black shirt with your trusty sneakers, nothing extra, very far from looking fancy and then head back to the bar before you could talk yourself out of it. 

It’s the afternoon on a Sunday, it’s no surprise the place is deserted when you walk in, only a handful of people are lingering around here and there in contrast to the buzz it had yesterday. You try your best to settle the uneasy feeling in your gut as you walk up to the bar. There’s a woman standing behind this time who you didn’t see last night. She’s drying glasses with a cloth since there’s not much to do without anyone sitting on the stools. 

“Hi, what can I get you?” she asks with a bright smile as you walk up to her. 

“Um, I was wondering if the guy who worked last night was working today? Brown hair, tattoos… I don’t… know his name.”

It’s an understatement to say you feel awkward asking around about the guy even though he practically asked you to come back. At least he could have given you his name to avoid appearing like a stalker. 

The woman furrows her eyebrows as she purses her lips, tilting her head.

“I swear I’m not here to make a scene or anything,” you add with a nervous laugh. 

“Ah, I was just thinking. Because I know for a fact that Nico was working last night, but he for sure has no tattoos.”

You swear you saw the tattoos on his chest and arms, you did not just imagine those, but now you’re doubting yourself.

“He, uhh, he wore, like, a black suit and a black, silky shirt… Rings…” This is as far as you can go describing him without adding details you’d rather keep to yourself. Like how his hands looked delicate but rough at the same time, the way his lips curled when he smiled could push all the air out of your lungs and his smooth, velvety voice was like you were wrapped into a warm, soft blanket whenever he talked.

Luckily, you see her face light up at the last few details you just said.

“Oh! You must be…” She doesn’t finish it, just lets her smile stretch wide as she squares her shoulder. “Let me grab him for you,” she then winks and before you could get another word out, she disappears. 

Laying your hands flat on the bar top you start drumming nervously as you wait. A thought flashes through your mind that it was a mistake coming here, trying to convince you to just leave before it’s too late, but you fight it and shove it to the back of your head, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you pull your hands back and start rubbing your palms against your thighs. 

A few seconds later the woman appears from the back with the same wide smile and just when you start to think the man is not here, he follows her out, turning your sanity upside down with just a simple look. 

He is wearing a black t-shirt this time, short sleeved, putting his previously mentioned tattoos on perfect display. The shirt is tucked into a pair of gray dress pants that hug his waist so well, you’re drawn to stare at his body for a few moments as he moves closer behind the bar. 

The bartender woman passes you while the man stops in front of you, a cheeky, but genuine smile tugging on his lips as he leans onto the counter just like how he did yesterday, only this time you see his muscles flex from the movement thanks to the short sleeves. 

“What a pleasure to welcome you back.”

Your knees threaten to give up for a second from hearing his voice again, as if it’s proof that you didn’t just make him up last night, he is not just a mirage. 

Reaching into your purse you pull the receipt out and slide it over to him. 

“You invited me back.”

“I did,” he nods, not even glancing down at the piece of paper, like he doesn’t need to be reminded of what he did. “But I didn’t know you’d actually return.”

Unsure what to say, you allow yourself to assess him, take in his perfectly carved features, the unruly curls, the rings adorning his inviting hands. If you were on your own, just looking at a picture of him, you’d definitely tell yourself it’s too good to be true that a man like him would ever pay you any attention. But having him standing in front of you, feel his burning gaze on you, this magnetic pull that vibrates from him, you’re battling yourself harder than ever.

“I was curious,” you admit at last. 

“Then I’m happy to satisfy your curiosity. Why don’t we sit down?” he asks, gesturing towards one of the booths by the wall.

“Won’t you get into trouble?” you ask, but he just gives you a toothy smile as he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about that, Angel. Go ahead and sit, I’ll make us a drink.”

Once you’re turned away and walking towards a booth you let out a long, shaky breath. 

“Get a grip,” you tell yourself as you slide into the booth and try to get comfortable. It’s frustrating a man could have an effect this powerful on you after barely even talking to him. What kind of black magic is he practicing?

A few minutes later you see him walking over to you with two drinks in his hands. One is obviously a pornstar martini for you, the other one you don’t know. It’s in a simple, short glass, one big cube of ice, the drink itself is a nice amber color, you spot a curl of orange peel and some fresh rosemary in it. 

He slips into the booth with ease and moves closer to you than you expected as he places the drinks to the table. 

“Might be best if we started with our names,” he suggests. “I’m Harry.” 

His name rolls off his tongue so ravishingly, you have to stop yourself from repeating after him. He holds out a hand for you that you take. Your skin starts tingling the moment it meets with his warm touch.

“Y/N.”

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he nods, giving your hand a squeeze before letting it go. 

While you feel a bit awkward, trying to find a way to sit beside him, it appears he is quick to find his place, crossing one leg over the other, his arm closer to you is stretched over the back of the booth, his hand falling somewhere behind you, but it’s not touching you. His other hand is gently playing with his drink, twirling it between his fingers. 

“I know it’s probably not the best thing to start with, but I just have to ask. Last night, were you stood up?”

All your blood rushes to your head and your palms start sweating as you turn your head away embarrassed. You’ve been so caught up in him that you kind of forgot about what Brannon did. 

“Yes,” you whisper, hands dropping into your lap as you nervously fidget with your fingers.

The hand that’s been behind you moves to the side of your face, his knuckles gently brushing across your cheek, just enough to make you turn your head and look at him. 

“Don’t even think for a moment his behavior lessens your worth.”

“I’m not so sure if there’s any left of that to lessen.”

The words leave your mouth before you could even think them through, surprising you with their bluntness. You’re not one to share such personal thoughts with a stranger, not even your closest friends. 

Harry stares at you with an unreadable expression and you half expect him to just let it slip and not acknowledge what you said. But he sticks to that in a way you never experienced.

“I would give an arm to have the chance to show how much I see just after spending only minutes with you.”

You’re speechless and from the hidden smile you notice in the corners of his mouth you assume he finds it entertaining, witnessing the effect he has on you. He grabs his drink from the table and you watch him lazily take a sip before placing it back and leaning forward, getting closer to you, but still not quite crossing an invisible line between the two of you. 

“Y/N, I know this is very straight-forward and I’m aware that we are very much just strangers at this point, but I’m more than eager to change that.”

“Why?” you hear yourself asking in an airy, weak voice. “Because you’re sorry for me?”

Now it’s his turn to be taken aback. The way he frowns almost makes you want to apologize even for asking. 

“Sorry is the last thing I’m feeling right now. And it wasn’t what I felt when you bumped into me last night or when I wrote that message to your receipt. Or… when I sent over that round of drinks to you and your friends not long ago.”

“You what?”

“You were here, maybe a few weeks ago, with your friends, right?”

“I-I was, but…”

“The round of drinks. I sent it.”

“Why?” you ask again and notice the amusement in his look.

“The same reason I wanted you to return today. Because take my breath away and I never give up on the chance to get to know whoever has that effect on me.”

You stare back at him blankly, a million thoughts racing in your head while also not able to put together a coherent one. It is everything you ever wished to experience, but it also feels incredibly odd and… wrong. 

“What kind of twisted game is it you’re playing?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows slightly.

“None. Why are you questioning my intentions so passionately?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” you say with a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grab your drink and take two gulps, hoping the alcohol might help you untangle the mess in your head. 

“How is my interest in you ridiculous?”

“Because it is. You cannot sell me that you spotted me among my friends last time, that I was the one who caught your attention and that when you saw me last night again you just had to take your chance to lure me here again so you could talk to me. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

He stays silent and you don’t look at him for a bit, trying to calm your rocketing pulse. But his silence starts to drive you mad again, so you turn to face him and see that unreadable expression on his face again. 

“You’re invalidating my attraction just because you haven’t received it before.” 

It’s like he is reading you like you’re an open book, he looks at you and you can feel him raiding through your mind and you can do nothing against it. 

“It’s actually sad but also exciting to be the first one to give it to you.”

“But why me?” you keep pushing.

“Why do you like pornstar martini?” he asks with a cheeky smile and you decide to ignore how erotic that sounded from him. 

“What?”

“You choose it because you like it, yeah? Why?”

“Because… I don’t know, it tastes… good,” you answer, complete confusion taking over you. 

“See, that is why you. I don’t know it just yet, but I just know that…” He doesn’t finish, but you can hear the rest.

I just know you taste good.

The all too familiar pulse between your legs is making you cross your legs underneath the table, but Harry catches the movement and his grin grows wide, but he doesn’t comment on it, just takes a sip of his drink. 

“We took it very intensely quite suddenly. Let’s just talk and we can return to this matter a bit later,” he suggests then softly, losing that tiny cockiness from his voice for now. “What is there to know about you, Y/N?”

You need a bit of time to recover and actually start telling him about yourself. He asks you about your job, your family, your hobbies, what you like and what you hate, all while giving you his full, undivided attention. Even though he has made it clear he is interested in you, somehow you end up taking the situation with even more caution than usually, but slowly and almost unnoticed, it eases from your gut. 

“Now it’s your turn,” you say, once you’ve had enough of talking about yourself. Just as he is about to start talking, the bartender shows up at the table and you’re convinced she’ll ask him to go back to work. 

“Boss, the supplier was on the phone, they need confirmation until tomorrow morning.”

Boss? 

“Thanks Jenny,” Harry smiles up at her warmly. “I’ll take care of it.” The bartender, Jenny as you learned, nods and then disappears. When Harry looks back at you, it’s apparent he was expecting the questioning look from you. 

“Boss? Did I hear that right?”

“Absolutely did,” he chuckles. 

“So you’re…”

“I won this place. Along with another one downtown and two more over on the West coast.”

You click your tongue as you turn away to have a look around, though you’ve examined the place enough before. It’s not the kind that screams ‘this is my first business, it’s doing fairly well’, but rather one that screams wealth and business. The bar itself is definitely high end, but it’s also connected to the hotel above, so it drives in some great traffic from there as well and of course, it’s a five star hotel, so the guests are usually not the kind who shies away from paying for a nice drink. Adding just the thought of three more places similar to this to the picture is just plainly mind-blowing to you.

And yet, just minutes ago you were convinced he’s a bartender here. 

“You knew I thought you were staff when I asked if you’d get into trouble.” Harry nods. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because that would have immensely changed the dynamic.”

“No, I–”

“Yes,” he fights back with a meaningful look. “You had a hard time believing I could be interested in you when you thought I was a bartender here. Had you known I owned this place you would have never let go of the power imbalance that comes with the judgment of my position in my business.”

You want to protest, but you can’t. Because you know it well that he is actually right. 

To ease the sudden change in the mood, Harry starts talking about himself and the business as he can tell you’re curious how he ended up as the boss. He tells you how it all started in college, he and a few of his friends came up with the idea of opening a bar and once they graduated he and the one remaining friend who was still into the idea decided to act on it. Niall, the friend, earned a great amount of money from his trust fund after graduation, which they used to the last cent to open the place ten years ago. Feeling guilty that he couldn’t bring as much money into the business in the beginning, Harry tried to make up for it by working twice as hard. As time passed and they opened the second place three years later, Niall started to wander to different fields and only remained a silent partner in the business, letting Harry take over fully. The expansion on the West coast happened just two years ago, but they are already thinking about the next location.

“Are you still friends?” you ask him.

“With Niall? Yes, absolutely. He has his own company in IT security that he actually started from the money of this business. It’s more his world than this now, but we try to meet at least every month when we are in the same city. And I still need his signature on some stuff,” he adds with a chuckle. 

“That’s great it didn’t ruin your friendship. Working together can be risky.”

“I know. We had our ups and downs for sure, but nothing we couldn’t talk through.”

It was amazing to see him talk about it so profound and passionately. It makes him so… humane. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and when he pulls it out, he sighs quietly. He ignores the call, but when he looks at you again you know he has to go.

“Y/N, we need to revisit what we talked about earlier, because I have to go soon.”

Your cheeks heat up instantly as you roll your lips into your mouth. 

“What about it?”

“Most importantly we need to talk about when we can meet again.”

You look at him from the corner of your eyes and can’t hold back a smile when you see his cheeky grin as he sits turned towards you, his upper body angled to face you completely. 

“The most convenient would be tomorrow,” he adds shamelessly.

“So soon?”

“I wanted to say I would love to see you in about three hours when we close, but I didn’t want to come off as too eager.”

That makes you laugh and Harry gifts you with a proud, crooked smile.

“Are you sick of this place?”

“Why?”

“Because you could come here tomorrow and I could teach you how to make your drink,” he says, nodding towards your now empty glass. You actually love the idea of that, doing something new in a not so new setting. 

“I can be here by seven.”

“I’ll be waiting for you behind the bar.”

You have never been this eager to put down work at five finally. It doesn’t matter that you still have a few unanswered emails in your inbox, you decide they can wait until tomorrow. 

You haven’t stopped thinking about Harry since you left the bar yesterday. You can’t even remember the last time you were like this, probably in high school when you had a crush in junior year. It’s ridiculous, honestly, but it’s also quite exciting. 

You walk into the bar for the third time in the past three days. You would have guessed that a Monday evening would be just as eventful as Sunday, but apparently a lot of people like to go out for drinks on the first day of the week. It’s not like on Saturday, but about half of the tables are taken. Crossing the place you’re heading straight to the bar, searching for one particular tall figure, but you don’t see him. 

Nico, the bartender from Saturday, is on shift again, though as you reach the bar he doesn’t seem to recognize you. 

“Hi, what can I get you?”

You’re just about to ask him to tell Harry that you arrived when the familiar, velvety voice speaks up right behind you. 

“I have the lady covered, thanks Nico.”

Turning around you’re met with Harry’s warm but cheeky smile as he stands just a couple of feet away from you. Today he is wearing a pair of black dress pants with a black long sleeve, but the sleeves are rolled up above his elbows. There’s a light stubble darkening his jawline, he surely skipped shaving this morning, but you’re not mad about it, it adds a bit of roughness to him. 

“Welcome back, Y/N,” he nods at you.

“Hi,” is all you manage to push out of yourself. He is very much aware of your nervousness, but it just widens his smile. 

“Ready to master the pornstar martini?” he asks as he steps closer and places a hand to the small of your back to usher you behind the bar. 

“Absolutely.”

The two of you settle at the end of the bar so you’re not disturbing the actual service with your little scene. Harry hands you a black apron and he puts one on himself as well after helping you tie yours behind your back. Then the learning starts.

Harry is actually a great bartender himself. As he gathers everything you need for the drink, he tells you how he learned to bartend after opening the place. They had a few times when they fell short on staff and he needed to serve, so he figured it’s best if he just learns it fully rather than just clumsily mixing up the drinks whenever help is needed. 

“What’s your favorite to make?” you ask as you’re cutting the passion fruit in two on a cutting board and Harry examines your every move like a good mentor.

“I think it’s Rum Martinez.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s a Japanese cocktail, pretty smoky and kind of complicated to make. I’ve had it twice, it was always served with a cigar. I only made it once though, but it was fun.”

Harry truly meant it when he said you’d learn how to make your drink. He doesn’t touch anything in the mixing process, only instructs you, clear and patiently as you add the right amounts into the shaker. When you put the top of the shaker on however, he moves behind you and as his arms come round you to grab the shaker along with you, for a few seconds you definitely forget to breathe. 

This close you can smell his cologne, the warmth of his body is melting you against him and when you lean back just the slightest bit he pushes forward to tighten the physical connection between the two of you. 

“Alright. Now, this is how you shake it properly,” he murmurs, his face right next to yours as his hands cover yours on the shaker. 

You let him take the lead as he starts shaking, his warm palms holding your hand against the cool shaker, moving it up and down, left and right in a controlled, rhythmic way. He is giving it quite the force, you feel the ice inside tumble harshly as you keep shaking. 

“Okay, now take the cap off.”

He lets go of the shaker, but remains standing behind you as he instructs you. You do as he said and he reaches past you to bring the glass closer for you. 

“Carefully, but with confidence” he murmurs, one hand moving to cover yours when you start pouring, but too slowly, so he helps you to tilt the right amount. The beautiful yellow liqueur fills up the glass with a perfect layer of foam on top. 

“And finally, the passion fruit.”

He points at the fruit on the cutting board and you take one half, gently dropping it into the middle and watch as it stays afloat with pride. 

“There. You just made your first pornstar martini.”

Harry steps away from behind you and you almost protest, eager to feel his warmth behind you as he comes into your view again, watching you bring the drink to your lips. You take a sip and once you taste it, you can’t hold your smile back.

“It’s amazing.”

“All yours,” he dips his head a bit with a bright smile and you can’t look away from his sparkling eyes. 

The foam of the drink sticks to your upper lip so when you put the glass down you run your tongue over, licking it off and you catch him watching your mouth with obvious hunger, as if he is ready to have a taste from the cocktail, but only from your lips. 

The moment burns and you feel it deep in your chest. Almost unnoticed, you both inch closer and you feel an irresistible pull towards him. Your heart is drumming in your throat and the muscles in your torso tense even at just the thought of kissing him. 

But right when you are about to cross the line Nico’s curse pops your bubble and Harry’s head whips around in alert.

“Shit!” you see Nico jump back from the counter, one hand wrapped around the other, a cutting board with lemons and a knife left behind.

“What happened?” Harry asks, grabbing a rag as he steps closer to assess the situation.

“I wasn’t paying attention and cut my finger,” Nico hisses and you step closer just in time to see him showing the cut. It doesn’t look bad, but it’s bleeding quite heavily.

“Go and clean it out. I’ll cover the bar.”

Nico mumbles a quick thanks as he rushes back before he could bleed on anything behind the bar. Just as he exits, two women walk up to Harry, who switches into bartender mode pretty fast. He gives you a quick ‘I’m sorry’ glance as he takes their order and starts mixing up their drinks. You just give him a reassuring smile and focus on your drink, patiently waiting. 

At first you don’t even pay attention to the conversation the two women strike up with him. But as Harry starts serving a man who walked up to the bar after them you notice how they stayed there and it makes you wonder so you turn your attention to their sugar coated voices. 

“Oh, then we feel honored to be served by the big boss,” the blonde one chuckles, leaning forward just enough so that his shirt tugs down, teasing the view of her cleavage. 

“Just… helping in,” Harry gives a tight-lipped smile, barely even glancing at her as he makes the cocktail. 

“See, I told you it'll be worth coming here on a Monday,” the other one giggles as she gently sways to the soft music that’s playing through the speakers. 

It’s a sight that’s an easy trigger for you. They did nothing wrong other than flirting with a man they find attractive. And you know Harry barely even acknowledged their efforts, but still, it was enough to let that evil little voice out of its cage in the back of your mind. 

They are gorgeous and you’re nothing like them. They are thin and looking around you already see a dozen men looking at them. You can never be like them. 

Deep down you know these thoughts are worthless, but once they take over it’s hard to fight them, to see yourself in a better light. Not when you’ve struggled with this for so long and spent long years to convince yourself it’s all that matters. 

There’s nothing left of the free spirit you were just minutes ago. When this happens you simply close off and want to disappear as fast as possible. For a moment you think of just leaving while Harry is not paying attention, but you’d hate to walk out on him like that so you stay there, trying to take up as little space as physically possible as you finish your drink. 

Nico soon comes back, his left ring finger bandaged up, ready to get back to work, which means Harry is free from bar duty again. He doesn’t hesitate to walk away from the two women and return to you, but you’ve let your spiraling thoughts win by now.

He notices something is wrong the moment he sees you avoid looking into his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, dipping his head to try to get you to look at him. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but it’s a weak attempt to mask just how uncomfortable you’re feeling.

“Y/N, I know that’s not true. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you push, then take a deep breath to help you swallow the bitterness in your mouth. 

There’s a few seconds of pause when you’re convinced he’ll say to end the date and then you already see yourself never coming here to avoid ever running into him. The voice in the back of your mind is already working hard to convince you it’s for the best, that it would have never worked, you’re way too different and sooner or later he would see you the way you see yourself. 

But it never happens. Instead, he silently packs away everything you used for the cocktail and when he’s done, he gently takes your hand and starts to pull you towards the door that leads out to the hotel’s lobby. Confused, but curious, you follow him and don’t say a word until the two of you stop at the elevators.

“Harry, where are we going?”

“Up. To my suite.”

“You have a suite here?”

“I do. Comes with the perks of owning the bar that’s part of the hotel.” 

His hand is still holding yours, warm and gentle, but still confident, especially when he tightens his hold as the elevator arrives and he pulls you inside, pushing the button of the 18th floor. He doesn’t let go of you as the elevator starts moving, you just stand there next to each other without a word until it arrives and the doors slide open. 

Harry once again pulls you with him, striding down the carpeted hallway to the door with the number 1804 next to it. He fishes out a card from his pocket and taps it against the lock that clicks silently, letting him open the door and that’s when his hand falls from yours, letting you walk in first as he holds the door open for you. 

You haven’t been to a hotel this elegant, not as a guest at least. You’ve attended a few conferences but you could only see the lobby and the conference rooms during those, not the rooms or in this case, the suites. 

You walk into a spacious living room  with a minibar, dark purple couches facing the TV mounted onto the wall, the floor-to-ceiling windows giving an impeccable view of the city lights. There’s a door on the left and the right, one is probably leading to the bedroom, the other one must be the bathroom and though the doors are closed, you can imagine how good they must be designed.

The suite is definitely not untouched, you see signs of Harry here and there, the envelopes on the coffee table, the single used mug next to them, some sort of hoodie thrown over the back of one of the armchairs and a Macbook lying on the desk next to the TV. 

“It’s permanently reserved for me. I spend so much time at the bar, it’s easier if sometimes I don’t have to drive all the way home and can just stay here,” he explains as you walk further inside, stopping by the window to have a look at the view. 

Slowly, you turn around and look at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Why are we here?”

He is standing a few feet away, his hands hidden in his pockets, but his stance feels welcoming and open even despite your closed off behavior. 

“To be alone. I don’t want the circumstances to bother you. I know things can get overwhelming sometimes.”

You remain still, not sure what to say or do. It really has been overwhelming, but only because sometimes your own mind turns against you and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Harry pulls his hands out of his pockets and cautiously takes a few steps closer to you, but still leaves a bit of space between the two of you. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks so softly, it almost makes you want to cry, because he doesn’t feel real, nothing does when it’s about him. You’re so set on how unmatching you feel around him that it’s almost impossible to think otherwise now. 

“I don’t see it,” you reply in a whisper.

“See what?”

“I don’t see what you see in me. I only see my version of myself and it’s… not good.”

The tears are stinging your eyes. You have probably never said these words out loud, but somehow, you feel safe enough with Harry to bring this side of you out, though the fear that he might get fed up with it is still strong in the pit of your stomach. 

You have no idea what kind of reaction you were expecting from him, to be honest you couldn’t imagine a version where he stands his ground and doesn’t agree with all the awful things you harbor about yourself. 

But then he steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face in them as he angles your head so you’re looking up at him, holding you like that, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

“I want to show you. How I see you.”

His hands slide down to your neck, his thumbs are underneath your chin to keep you in place, his gaze dipping down to your lips a couple of times before settling on your eyes, waiting, silently asking for permission and though you don’t say a single word he understands you.

His first kiss is brief, but confident. His lips press against yours and they open slowly, just enough so that his tongue can tease you before he pulls back, though he doesn’t move far, his nose is still brushing against yours. Opening your eyes you find him looking at you, his otherwise light and bright eyes are now several shades darker, lust dripping from the curled up ends of his lashes as he waits for you to make up your mind whether you want to go further or not. Somehow, his black magic must have worked enough on you to mute that evil voice in the back of your head, the absence of it giving you the chance to give yourself into the moment. 

You push up against him this time eagerly, open mouth meeting his and he’s quick to react with just as much passion. 

One of his hands moves down to your waist and when his fingers dig into the soft flesh you can’t hold back a moan that’s immediately swallowed by him. You fist his shirt, desperately trying to pull closer even though he is entirely pressed up against you. 

Blindly he starts moving, pulling you with him, your kiss never breaking as you move around the couch. Then his lips leave yours and you’re forced to open your eyes just as he sits down on the couch, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs as he pulls you between his knees and he kisses your stomach through the fabric of your shirt. Out of reflex you try to pull away or avert him somewhere else, but his hands squeeze your thighs as his eyes snap up to meet your gaze.

“How I see you, remember? Let me show you,” he reminds you and though every inch of you is screaming to pull away, you stay.

Harry pushes your shirt up and unbuttons your pants before his hands grab you by the waist. He twists you around and pulls you down on him, so you end up lying half on top of him with your back pressed against his chest. 

“Harry,” you gasp when his right hand starts to slip into your pants and then under your underwear, but his other hand falls to your heaving chest as if he could calm your jumping pulse with just one touch.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, I don’t want to push anything on you.” His lips are by your ear that brushes against them when you nod and just let him do whatever he wants. 

When two of his fingers slip between your wet folds, your lips part with a sigh, your head rolling back to his shoulder just from his touch. He is gentle but determined, starts off by just moving those two fingers up and down, gently applying some pressure at the perfect spots before keep moving. Then they settle on your clit and start drawing circles in a slow pace, playing with the pressure once again, setting your nerves on fire. 

You keep moaning and gasping as you still lie on top of him, his other hand moves underneath your shirt, but it doesn’t go further up just yet, only remains flat on your skin. You can’t stop your body from falling into a rhythm, hips buckling, spine arching with certain movements, especially when he starts to gradually increase his pace. 

When a tiny shock rides through your body with a rougher movement one of your hands grabs onto his thigh by your side, fingers digging into his muscles, earning a deep grunt from him that rumbles right underneath you. 

Your other hand snaps to his wrist as you completely lose control over yourself and push his hand a bit further, showing him where and how you need him the most and he is quick to pick up on the clues and add to the sensation. 

“Y/N, Angel, let go for me,” he whispers into your ear and while his hand between your legs doesn’t stop for a moment, the other one finally inches up and cups your breast, kneading it sensually. 

“Harry, I–Ah!” You’ve lost your ability to voice a coherent thought. You have none, the feelings Harry is making you feel have taken over you entirely. 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs and when you turn your head he doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips in a deep kiss and while you’re eager to return it, you lose control over your movements when you feel your orgasm tipping you over the edge. It stretches and teases and then it washes over you like a tidal wave. 

Gasping for air, your back arches and your nails dig into his wrist and thigh, you hear him say something but his words are tuned out, you hear or see nothing, only feel.

But you feel everything. 

You have no idea how long it takes for you to calm down and come back to real life. When it happens you realize Harry’s hand has moved away from between your legs and both of them are placed on your stomach, his fingers gently brushing against your skin in a slow rhythm. 

When you find your strength you wiggle around until you’re lying on your stomach, facing him. Even though you were the only one who benefited from the scene you just experienced, you see a deep satisfaction etched across his face as his lips break out into a smile. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you chuckle and pushing yourself up you stretch your neck until your lips meet his. This kiss is different, it’s gentle and slow, but just as meaningful as the ones before. 

“So,” he starts as he reaches up, running his fingers down the side of your face. “Did you see what I see?”

“I… felt it,” you say, part of you afraid of his reaction. But as you watch him, all you see is that same sweet, charming smile you’ve seen from him so many times before.

“That’s a start.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m more than happy to work on it until you really see it.”

Staring at him, you search for something. Anything that gives away the slightest sign that gives away that he is not being genuine, but you find none and it feels heavier than if you did. Completely touched by his words the tears start dwelling in your eyes. 

“Where have you been?” you ask in just a whisper.

“Well…” he breathes out, locking you in his arms. “Behind bars the past ten years,” he says and there’s a heartbeat of silence as you both realize what he just said and the duality of it. 

You both burst out in laughter at the same time.

“Not like that!” he shakes his head.

“I guess there are a lot I don’t know about you, that’s fair.”

“And do you want to know more?” He challenges you. Your laughter fades into just a soft smile.

“I do. Do you want to know more about me?”

“Everything. I want to know everything.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[firemenenthusiast]

"WAIT THIS IS- WAIT we should get farleigh to fuck reader thinking he’ll get anything he wants, the whole sexgod privilege just cuz youre the one who asked for it but when hes about to cum you go “oh no no”. but farleigh turns into goo under your orders so"

OK SO I HAVE AN IDEA!! their academic rivals and have a bet going on that he gets to fuck you if he got a higher score on a test or smth?!?!? IDK I JUST HAVE A THING FOR ENEMIES FUCKING 😞😞 SUE ME

the day hath come. thank you for your request anon ! <3

—“me or you”

academic rival! farleigh start! x fem!reader

summary: when farleigh decided that your rivalry isn’t fun enough for him, he proposes a deal

warnings: 18+, enemies to lovers, academic rivals, smut in the second half of it, sub!farleigh, porn with plot, unprotected p in v (wrap it guys), sub! farleigh, soft dom! reader, size kink, whiny whimpery farleigh, praise kink, cunnilingus, blow job, teabagging, creampie, plot twist and fluff at the end

a/n: sorry if i took too long, enjoy !

academic validation is everything to you. you believe you’re nothing if not an overachiever. but for farleigh, it’s just an excuse for him to be contemptous towards you. everyone else in the class is obviously displeased with your feud with him, but it’s mostly just farleigh spewing vulgar insults at you. that’s just how he presents himself. you could go and ask around the campus about him-

most would comment on his attitude that he thinks he could get away with- just because he’s smart. academically smart. no one knows how he does it. its not like he spends his afternoons in the library or catching up on his studies in his free time. hell, he does the exact opposite of those things. the term party animal is a downgrade for him. the owner of the nearest pub knows him. the most elite parties on campus are known to be thrown by him.

weirdly enough, when it comes to tests and exams, he excels them like nobody else. whatever he has to do for the class doesn’t faze him. you’re pretty confident that he doesn’t even study yet somehow, he’s at the top of his class. you on the other hand, put a lot of effort to achieve your exceptionally high scores. seeing farleigh being absent for most of his class pains you, it reminds you of how bad you have to struggle while he get to trash himself. enjoy the uni life. what irks you even more is the fact that everytime he scores higher than you, he’ll make sure to flaunt it all over your face. every single time. you roll your eyes when you spot the dark curly headed figure towering almost everyone across the hall, a couple books in his hand. how pretentious. it’s not like he even reads them.

flashing a quick smirk towards you, he swiftly skips to get in front to hold the lecture hall door open. he gave everyone else before you a small smile, trying to convince them of the pure intention of his nice little gesture. “goodluck guys” his head tilted upwards for a bit, nodding at each of the students. you cant help but crack a little smile watching the boy. as you were about to step into the hall, he swings the door closed behind him.

“what the fuck ?” you blurt out, head tilted trying to look at him. “goodluck” he grins, eyebrows raised with a smug look on his face. “for the test” he continues. “for what else dumbass?” insufferable, you think. he winces mockingly at your words

the test. the one that is particularly of the toughest subject out of your course. one that you had studied your ass off for. one that farleigh couldn’t give a single fuck about and still gonna ace it. gifted son of a bitch. and you’re gonna have to sit through him making fun of you for the 2 marks difference. it’s been like this for a couple semesters now. you struggling to keep your scores high, while farleigh tease you about it. just because you give him a challenge for the top position everytime there’s a test. the first semester of the course, he scored the best in the class for the first assessment. that gave him extra unneeded ego for the next couple weeks until you beat him in other tests after. he’d acknowledged you since. he loves a pretty face that challenges him.

“yes whatever farleigh now move” you try to pay no attention to him, reaching out to pull the door yourself. he quickly adjusts his stance against the door “okay! okay-”his arms reach out to his sides, protecting the entrance.

“-i have a proposition for you”

“i dont have time for this farleigh” you really dont, the tests starting anytime now.

“hear me out first”. one of his arm is held up to convince you. you sigh, the most uninterested expression staring back at him. “you know how you always excel these tests and i always do better than you-?”. “if youre keeping me here just to ridicule me save it for after the test” you begin to move before he continues

“—so you admit i always do better ? i mean, who’s keeping the score anyways” he chuckles. your patience is getting thin. before you could move again he steps closer, towering over you. hot breath fanning over your face as he grabs your arm.

“why dont we make it more fun ?” he begins, emphasizing the last part, almost whispering into your ear. “if you score better, you get all the bragging rights and mocking pass until the next test” you begin to soften your expression, intrigued. you look up at him, eyes searching into his. he stares into you before leaning down to continue

“—and if i score better, i get to fuck you”

you ball your palms into fists at his stupid idea before shoving him to the side and storming into the lecture hall. your jaws clenching with your lips pursed shut. he’s getting out of hand if he thinks you’re just another bet felix can set him up upon. you hear him follow you before he settles in a seat rows away from you. you glance at him to see he’s already looking at you, grinning.

as you’re finishing up the final answers and re-checking the paper you’re brought back to farleigh’s proposition earlier. somehow you’re fueled with a newfound confidence that you’re gonna beat him. the test wasn’t that bad, you studied and all and there wasn’t any questions that you didn’t answer confidently. suddenly those bragging rights sound tempting. usually when you score higher than him you’d just keep it to yourself cuz whenever you do try to belittle him how he does you, he’s quicker with sharp insults that leaves you dumbfounded. a classmate once tried standing up for you after one of his rude remarks and got a disgusted look from him in return. his exact words were “who are you again ?” so you decided long ago not to indulge in his childish behaviour. but you’re getting sick of him. at this point you’d do anything to shut the raging ego of his. even if it means risking yourself

the loud sound of papers rustling and the creaking of the hall’s seats marks the end of the test, everyone’s getting up and walking towards the exit. you found yourself pushed into a corner by the crowd that seems to be chasing a leaving train. there’s no opening for you to squeeze yourself in so you decide to wait until they’re all gone. suddenly the crowd stopped and you feel a hand pulling you forward, safely getting you out of the exit with his body close behind yours. he brings you further to the nearest turn, making sure you’re out of the crowd. you look up at him, knowing it was him. you shoot him a serious look before saying,

“deal”

“wait-“ he scoffs in disbelief “really ?” he has a whole confused, disbelief look on his face. “yeah, there’s no way you’re gonna score higher, you’ve been doing what, coke all week ?” you say. “true, but i’ll come by. i always do” he shrugs before saying, “no take backs” you give him a small smile before starting to walk away. “you should smile more baby !” you hear him say from afar. his usual smug look entering your mind

the rest of next week is filled with him trying to get you flustered and nervous waiting for the result. there’s no actual reason for you to be this nervous, he’s got no chance against you this time. every class with him feels a lot longer than usual as he teases you about the deal every chance he could. telling jokes that centers you being smarter than him to the whole class got you rethinking about your decision. while you’re confident, he seems to be composed. in the class of the subject you guys had the test for, there’s a time when the professor brought up that the paper will be returned next week and you cant help but glance at farleigh. he smiles before bringing up a peace sign to his mouth, his tongue darting forward between his fingers before moving it in a licking motion. he chuckles at your reaction as you roll your eyes

your professor offers a smile to your classmate reaching her hand out to take the paper from him. “good job, keep it up” he steps down from the last flight of stairs with his hands clasped together. “congratulations to all of you regardless of your scores, theres still time and room for improvement so keep your chin up” he positively encouraged before dismissing the class. you look down at the paper in your hands, a proud smile forcing itself onto your lips as you beam at the circled number in red at the top of it. a whopping 98 for the toughest subject you’ve ever took. satisfied is the least you’re feeling right now as the familiar busy sound of students getting ready to hit the exit floods your ears, you hear the professor calling a name. “farleigh ? please see me after class” your eyebrows furrowed seeing him mouth a “yea” while picking up his books. thats the most plain you’ve ever seen him. no smug look thrown towards you either.

from his expressions you could assume that maybe he’s dissatisfied with his score but just how bad can it be ? knowing him he could’ve taken the test drunk and still be able to score atleast an A. your eyes follow him walking towards the exit, his messenger hanging low against his hips. you were waiting for some officialization from him, saying that you won, and that you get to mock him all you want yet you’re left with nothing. i mean, you certainly won right ? he could only beat you if he scored 99 or a 100. maybe you’ll try him tomorrow.

rubbing your eyebrows, your eyes scan the lesson material that you had just printed out for today. words stacked above another forming a paragraph that you’re hoping to find the point of. sound of footsteps entering fills the class when you feel someone tapping at the back of your seat. you turn your head back and to the front again to see farleigh walking past slowly to say, “your clock starts now nerd, next tests on the second week next month” as he points his finger at you

“heard you got a new daddy farleigh, got him to up your score ?” you’re near yelling at him who’s getting away. he pays you no attention as he flips you off. a smile appears on your face. no nasty remarks in return. so it begins. for the rest of the class you get to shut his sarcastic jokes with your own. the class is suprised to say the least that farleigh is the receiving end now. something must’ve happened they think, and most have their money on that you guys fucked. you shrug at your efforts on utitilising the mockery pass. you’d manage to catch him after class just to offer him another teasing “you know i can tutor you if you want. a one on one so maybe you can retire from being a boytoy” you beam at him. he gives you an unamused look, lips shut to hold himself from shooting a response to the joke. “maybe you should” he says, raising both his arms to quickly drop them before turning his heels and walking away. you watch him strut down the hall with a grin plastered across your face. until something hits you that the grin slowly wears off. you feel empty that he’s not shooting sarcasms back at you. you get it that this will only last until the next test and it’s part of the deal but you cant help feeling like, ‘this is it ?’. suddenly a part of you think that it would be better if he responded back. you’re used to that. you want him to banter.

so when you end up standing infront of his door you have no one else to blame but yourself.

you had asked students around the dorm halls and they all pointed to this door. sighing, you try to justify yourself for whats about to happen. “what are you doing here ?” you lower the knuckles that were about to knock, heels automatically turning to the source of the voice. he quirks an eyebrow at seeing you infront of his dorm. unfamiliar with the image cuz he’s never seen you around the building. “what are YOU doing here” youre quick to answer before realising how stupid it is. “i kinda need to be here. i live in the room just behind you” you scoff at his answer. he squints his eyes before saying, “wow, youre determined”.

“what ?”

“you came all the way here to brag about the test ?—”

“no” you stop him before continuing, “its weird that you didnt return any of my insults today” you begin. he slows down his steps, pacing around before stopping infront of you. he examines the knitted material of your cardigan, his eyes trailing to find yours. “well for one, they’re mediocre at best-“ you scoff before lightly shoving him, “fuck you”. he shrugs, eyes wandering across the hall before continuing, “—and its part of the deal sweetheart” you look down at your shoes, nodding slightly. exactly, that was the deal, you admit to yourself, ignoring the pet name. you take a deep breath as he runs his hand across the back of his neck, carefully adjusting the stray curls at the side of his head. “well if you dont have anything else, im just gonna-“ his hand moves to the side of you to grab the doorknob.

you look up at him, searching into his eyes before he notices. “unless youre here for that tutoring-“ you grab at the fabric on his chest, pulling him against you before crashing your lips onto his dark red ones. kissing at his bottom lip, he returns the kiss deeper, nose bumping against each other. he pulls away slightly, puffing hot breath before pulling you closer by your lower back. his forehead rests against yours as his mouth chases your lips, returning a deeper and more eager kiss. his hands resting low at your hips as his impatient kiss pushes you back against the door. you pull away for a moment to catch your breath when a small whine escapes his lips, his eyes still closed. he’s leaning forward trying to catch your lips to which you lean into once more. his hand move from your waist to the doorknob, twisting it before catching you from falling backwards. next thing you know you’re placed on his strangely clear study with him leaving sloppy kisses down your stomach, moving towards your clothed pussy. your cardigan and shorts lying on the floor

he looks at you through his long lashes, his large hands sprawled over your hips, smoothing over the skin. “may i ?” you nearly moan at his low voice. you nod as he mouths at your clothed cunt, nose nudging against your clit, panties almost transluscent with your wetness. you let out a breathy moan as he peppers small kisses all over the thighs caging him, slowly biting at the skin. he trails kisses until he reaches where you want him the most before pushing your panties to the side. his breath hitched as he does so, timidly licking your wet folds to have a taste. you hear him moan, your hands running through his hair to pull back the parts covering his face so you can watch him sucking at your sex. his eyes shut close savouring your taste as you hear him mumble against your folds, sending shivers down your spine. “mhm- s’good…so pretty” his hands roam from the low of your back to your stomach before trailing down to rub your clit. he pulls away for a moment to run his thumb between your folds, eyes dark as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. his bottom lip between his teeth. he dives back in with half lidded eyes before laying his tongue flat against your folds. you let out a small moan as you pull at his hair, earning a groan from him. you could feel the knot in your lower stomach getting tighter.

you push him from your pussy before getting off of his study. he follows you, getting up from the floor, cock painfully hard in his sweats forming a tent with a dark patch at the top. you curse in your head seeing the view before pushing him down onto his bed. he scoots back to lean against the wall as you climb onto his lap, pulling your shirt off you. his eyes trail downwards to look at your hardened nipples, his eyes darkened with a full blown lust before reaching up to knead at them. he kisses your nipples before putting them in his hot mouth at which you arch your back slightly, your hands pushing him forwards from the back of his head. you start to grind at his hard clothed cock as you feel the wet patch you saw earlier. he moans loudly at you grinding down especially harder on the base of his cock, sitting on his balls. steadying yourself, you grab his shoulders as you lean in to nip at his earlobes. his hand moves to grab at your hips as you rub your wet panties against his bulge while kissing at his neck, slightly biting and sucking at the skin, leaving marks. he whimpers with a slight pout when you start to slow down

“please,,”

“please what farleigh ?”

“anything- fuck! please,, take it off”

you smile at his pleas, continuing to grind on his cock, the wet patch at his tip getting bigger, spreading to the base of his cock. you arch your back slightly while moving, placing your tits at his mouth which he latches on obediently. his cock twitches as he bucks his hips upwards from the pressure. he pulls away to rest his head on your chest, head tilted downwards to watch your pussy getting his sweats wetter before throwing his head back with a long moan. “feels- feel so good- wan’ you faster” he starts stuttering words between begging you to go faster and to go slower, confused to decide what he actually wants. “does this feel good farleigh ?” you grind faster as he nods rapidly in return “dont stop- fuck, please dont stop” you could feel his cock jumping slightly and twitching, threatening to spill his load in his pants before you do just what he tells you not to. “no- baby,,” he throws his head back, strained whimper escapes his lips in defeat as you giggle. his knee buckles up involuntarily. you get off his lap, removing his hands from your hips to settle on the floor, tits pressed against the edge of the bed.

you look up at him who has the back of his hand pressed against his forehead as you graze your fingers on the outline of his cock, now completely wet with his precum and your wetness. your touches making him buck his hips, his eyes shut close as he throws his head back. you pull at his waistband slowly, pressing it down so it grazes along his achingly hard cock, earning a wince from him. “slow- slower, please,,” his hand reach yours trying to get you to be careful. you nod at him giving him what he wants, not wanting him to cum just yet. as soon as the waistband’s off his thick hard cock springs upwards, slapping his lower stomach. he’s thick, and it curves slightly upwards. placing your hand at the base, you’re suprised to see the size of him. batting your lashes at him with his cock in your hand, he gives you a smug smile

“big?”

“—average” you respond, receiving a chuckle from him

he’s the biggest you’ve had.

you swipe your thumb across his tip, collecting the precum to spread on his cock. switching hands, you begin to pump his length, your fingers barely closing around his cock. you reach down your panties with your free hand to collect your wetness before using it as lube to stroke his cock. “fuck that’s so hot-” you hear him say before letting out a loud moan when you suddenly start sucking at his tip. maintaining eye contact through your lashes, you make sure to make him watch you lay your tongue flat at the base of his length, slowly dragging it upwards. you have both your hands and your mouth working on the aching tip, slobbering his cock with your wetness, saliva and precum. stroking his cock at a steady pace you adjust your position to arch downwards, your mouth leaning into the base of his cock to lick under his balls. “ah— fuck-! mhm“ his hand fisting the sheets under him, chest heaving breathlessly. he let out a whine when you put his balls into your mouth, the warmth sending him into pure bliss. sucking at the skin, you make sure to twist at his raging red tip as you do so. you pull off with a pop to collect saliva in your mouth before spitting on his balls. just as the spit starting to trickle down you catch it with your mouth to bring it to his length. he tries to contain his moan by pursing his lips yet a weak whimper leaves his lips. he shoots you a puppy look as you continue sucking him off. you can feel his already tight balls getting tighter as his cock jumps against his lower stomach. he’s painfully hard to the point that one more lick and he’ll be cumming.

so you stop working on his cock to get on your feet. his eyes filled with tears threatening to spill down his tinted cheeks. his pretty long lashes wet from the tears pooling in his eyes, making them glossy. he looks up at you, your knees pressing against his bed before you climb onto him, your hands reaching his face to cup his cheeks. the tears in his eyes that were threatening to fall trickles down as you wipe them with your thumb. “you wanna cum farleigh ?” you ask. “yes please” “you dont look it” he blinks to clear his eyes from tears, “i want to, please- let me cum please” his hands slowly creep up your body to pull you close in his embrace. his eyes pleads into yours before you pull his head towards you letting him rest on your breast. “okay” you promise. he takes the chance to mouth at your tits. throwing your head back, you feel him suck at one of your nipple and squeezing the other with his large hand making you moan. you pull at his hair to look at him, he offers you a soft smile. probably too delirious from the pleasure to even think.

you pull him off you to quickly get off the bed, taking off your wet panties before climbing back holding it. you lean down to kiss him, his head tilted upwards to return your kiss. his sucks at your tongue until he feels your lips being replaced by a wet fabric. he moans realising that you had stuffed his mouth with your panties, aiming the wet patch directly onto his tongue before kissing the top of his head. he always has his free hands to take out the panties if he wants to. he looks down at his hard weeping cock just inches away from your pussy. he buckles his hips forward in a pathetic attempt to rub his cock against your pussy. you giggle at his action before steadying your hands on hus shoulder, looking down as you lower yourself on his cock, rubbing the tip against your clit and the length between your folds. you hear him make some mumbled sound before you pull out the panties from his mouth. strings of saliva connected to the fabric as he puffs out, catching his breath.

“just fuck me,, cant anymore-“

“you cant ?” he shakes his head

“but i thought you’re the mighty farleigh start ?” you tease him. he swallows his saliva at your words.

“not with you, no- please, just make me cum baby” the tip of his nose dusted red, his lips swollen and redder than ever. his eyes glossy with some of the remaining tears at the corner of his eyes, searching into yours as he pleads

you finally give in, grabbing his cock to position it at your sex earning a loud guttural moan from him. you let out a high pitched whine from the stretch, the slide of his cock into your pussy easy thanks to all the wetness from before. you move back and forth, grinding your clit against his pelvis before starting to ride his cock. he bites his bottom lip watching you bounce on his length, fucking yourself. the pace of your hips steady with his hands grabbing at them to guide you. farleigh throws his head back from the pleasure, his mouth hanging agape. you feel the knot in your lower stomach getting tighter, feeling waves threatening to crash down. “you close ?” he asks as he feels your pussy clench around him making it harder for him to hold back. you nod at him, trying to focus on chasing your orgasm. you feel him suddenly buckle his hips into you before you let out a high pitched moan, screaming his name. he helps you ride out your high before you hear a string of curses falling from his lips, his thrust getting sloppy. “inside, farleigh”. he looks at you to make sure he heard you right as you nod at him. you let him move your hips as he wants, using you like a fleshlight before you hear him let out a loud moan. “ah-ahh—! fuck, fuck, fuck- fuuuck,,”. the curses falling from his lips gets dragged out as you feel warm ropes of thick cum shooting inside your pussy, hitting your cervix.

he struggles to catch his breath as he carefully gets you off his lap, placing your head on his pillow before joining you. sighing, his eyes blown wife while looking up at the ceiling. he props himself on his elbow to look at you, admiring your glow. you cant help but slowly let out a laugh at what the two of you just did. he shakes his head low, also laughing before leaning down to kiss you. the kiss is more passionate and sensual, unlike before. he crawls down to look at your pussy, his cum trickling down to his sheets before he wastes no time collecting and pushing them back into you. “all good” he informs before climbing back to lie beside you as you two finish catching your breaths.

you look around, scanning his room before turning your head to look at his bedside table. you notice a familiar paper, slightly crumpled. propping yourself on your elbow, you take a closer look at it. it’s the test that makes your deal, with a circled score in red at the top of it. a 62. you quickly turn to him, he’s already looking at you, a cig in his hand and a lighter in another, ready to light it. he looks at the paper in your hand and raises his eyebrow

“what ?”

“a 62, farleigh ? seriously ?”

“yeah i purposely put the wrong answers, atleast for some part of it”

he answers you, unbothered. he purses his lips around the cig, almost lighting it as he notices that you’re still waiting for some sort of explanation. he sighs before letting his head fall back onto the pillow

“i wanted you to win” he admits. your eyebrows furrowed, clearly confused

“so you can atleast see some good in me, when im not bullying you” to which you respond,

“you could’ve just stop insulting me like a normal person”

“but then everyone will realise that i was falling for you”

your face softens at his words. his eyes roam across the ceiling, trying to avoid your eyes before he continues, “—everyone knows i dont just ‘fall’ for people” you search his face for some sort of indicator that he’s trolling you but to no avail. you both sit in silence for a moment before you lean in to kiss him. his hands reach up to your face, pushing the hair covering the side of your face away. your hand reach up to cup his face, deepening the kiss. you pull away smiling at him to which he rolls his eyes playfully.“great now you have something to tease me about”. “i like you too farleigh” you quickly cut him. he cant help the smile creeping on his face. you both continue to sit in silence drinking in each others presence.

“study date ?” you suggest

“i dont study, sweetheart”

taglist: @june-ebgert @radioloom @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda @themoonchildwhofell @love-me-pls

[zvdvdlvr]

Where Were You? Where Were You?

🩻 - Synopsis. Aaron realizes how badly he messed up, but doesn’t know if he has the strength to mend the wounds he gave himself and you.

🩻 - Warnings. Angst. No happy ending. Self isolating!Aaron. Boo hoo we’re all pitiful clowns here. Part one HERE! NOT EDITED!

🩻 - Author’s note. Part one got so much love!!! Thank you all for reading and commenting. I hop you enjoy the second part, but I’m bringing in the big guns for part three! :)

You stayed to get your psych evaluation. It took two tries. The first time around took a toll on you: reliving everything that happened, talking about it in explicit detail, and acting like everything was fine. But you knew you failed before it even began.

You took it again a couple weeks after. Even though you were officially benched from any cases, you didn’t complain.

All the time the team spent away gave you the opportunity to job surf. In reality, quitting the BAU was much harder than you initially imagined. Of course you would still be able to see them and talk to the team, it just… wouldn’t be the same. You would miss J.J.’s round of ‘good mornings’ as she swept by you all, eyes locked on the coffee pot a few feet away. You would miss Derek perched on Emily’s desk, teasing you, Spencer, and Emily like he was getting paid for it. You would miss Spencer looking over at you every couple of minutes to see of you were paying attention or not; making faces at you or mouthing words if you weren’t. You would also miss Emily spinning stories about her past, telling you the good and the bad, letting you closer into her heart. You would obviously miss Penelope’s hugs whenever she could tell if something was off, trying to cheer you up. And Rossi. Rossi buying the coffee at expensive places after begging him too, Rossi giving you advice during a case, Rossi being the father of the team he was meant to be. But… most of all you would miss Aaron.

Aaron speeding to his desk in the morning, desperate for something to wake him up. Aaron walking into casual Friday in a pair of tight-fitting jeans you didn’t know he had. Aaron stepping out of a hotel room in a quarter-zip, unaware of you ogling him. Aaron letting Jack go straight to you whenever the little guy swung by. Aaron’s smell when he hugged you. Aaron. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron.

No. You physically shook your head. Get rid of him, you thought, he’s just going to make it harder for you to leave. The computer screen was giving you a headache now. You finally decided to get up and stretch your legs.

As you moseyed over to Penelope’s cave, you noticed the time: 11:49.

“Hey Pen,” you greeted. “You eat anything? I’ll go grab lunch for us,” you offered.

“Hey mamas!” Derek greeted. You saw his face of the screen, smiling.

“Hey, you. How’s the case?” You asked, immediately happy to talk to the man.

Derek shrugged and looked at someone behind the camera. “Reid! C’mere. It’s y/n/n.”

You heard a couple gasps over the quiet chatter in the precinct and suddenly Emily and Spencer’s face showed up on the screen.

“Hi y/n!” Spencer greeted excitedly. You came to stand behind Penelope, poking her in the cheek as you greeted the both of them.

“Hey Spence! Hey Em!” You were happy to see the pair. Though you had seen them only four days ago, you missed them. A pang of guilt stabbed at your heart: how were you supposed to quit your job if you couldn’t stand four days away from them?

“-ffee shop you’d love. I got that mocha stuff you normally get to try, and it was alright. I guess I see why you like ‘em,” Emily shrugged.

“I’ve been telling you! Anyway, how’s the case?” You asked.

“Close. I can feel it,” the black haired woman said plainly.

Spencer nodded and started talking about the case. The unsub’s main slaughter technique consisted of an electrical wire- of all things- and a Swiss army knife, a different knife each kill. You nodded along, listening to what your friend said. Eventually, you heard “Reid!” and Spencer said a quick goodbye and he was out of frame.

“That’s our cue, baby girl,” Derek said. “I’ll talk to you two ladies later.”

You heard Emily’s ‘bye!’ and the screen turned black.

“Sweetness, I would love some food,” Penelope groaned. “I’ll eat anything you get, but I need a pink lemonade! I need it, y/n, or I may perish.”

You laughed. “Yes ma’am.” With that, you poked her other cheek gently and left.

— 🔥

Aaron heard your conversation. He heard your sweet laugh, how easily you fell into conversation with Derek, Spencer, and Emily. He thought of the few months before you were taken. You were excited about a stray kitten you had found, claiming that the little creature followed you from your apartment to the bookstore you swung by regularly. You hadn’t even realized the calico until you sat down and felt his little paws tugging on your pants, tiny mews trying for your attention.

You were overjoyed to have been- in your words- ‘decided worthy enough for the system to choose you’. Penelope had been buzzing about it too, especially after showing her numerous different pictures of the little fella.

Spencer had asked what you did with him, knowing you didn’t have the time to take care lf a kitten when you were gone so much. You told the team that you had given it to a cousin’s daughter, who was immediately taken with the kitten.

The joy in your tone as you gushed about the kitten was palpable. Aaron loved- liked so many things about you, and how passionate you are was definitely one of those qualities. But he felt his own smile fade off of his face as his eyes fell back on crime scene photos: he had a job to do. And you were unimportant.

— 🔥

You picked up Chinese food, ordering inside the restaurant because the line wrapped around the whole building.

After ordering, you paid and gave the cashier a smile. You kept smiling until you turned away, still feeling her wandering gaze drag harshly down your cheek, eyebrows furrowing as she tore herself away from the scar as dipped below your shirt.

As you stood back and waited, you felt like everyone’s eyes were on you. What an idiot, you thought: a government agent who doesn’t even have the confidence to buy some food. Your jaw tightened and you kept your eyes down, waiting until your last name was called. You saw a little girl look at you as you walked out. She held her hand up to wave and you smiled at her, the chubby cheeks of her face lifting into a bright smile. You looked away when her mother pulled her forward, sharp eyes glaring at you.

The little girl’s toothy smile filled your head as you drove back to the office. The ice in Penelope’s pink lemonade clinked around in the plastic cup as you drove. You drove in silence, thinking of the mother pulling her daughter away. Were you… really that bad? Ugly? Your heart sank into your stomach: a feeling you were starting to get used to. You saw your vision blur, but refused to cry. Maybe that’s why Aaron doesn’t want to see your face anymore. Because you were a monster. MacMillian had done his job- successfully.

— 🔥

Aaron stared at the text on his phone.

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: u need to talk to y/n. ASAP. i  don’t think she’s okay and i think it has to do with the macmillian case

It had been three weeks since the case and you still hadn’t spoken to Aaron since before you were kidnapped. Well, you had talked to him, but it was stiff and professional. He looked over at Rossi who was speaking with a few officers. Aaron felt like an idiot.

He wanted bothing more than to drag you into his office and sit you down to talk. Talk about what happened, what he did, how you felt, how you’re feeling now. Aaron just wanted to help you heal but he knew he can’t. He can’t jeapordize your relationship or his job. Aaron felt a lump grow in his throat. He didn’t even know what he wanted anymore- other than you.

To Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: How is she? What happened?

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: she went to get food for us and came back all upset. i think the poor girl was about to cry :(

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: and i think there’s something else i need to tell you

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: but it has to be in person.

Aaron leaned back in his chair. “Damn it.”

— 🔥 

A day later the team came home. There was an arrest and the case was closed. There was a lighthearted conversation on the way home, Reid and Rossi playing a card game as Derek, Emily, and J.J. bickered over something (Aaron doesn’t know anything when they get together and scheme). But Hotch was looking out the window and thinking of Penelope’s texts. What had happened to make you shut down? What news did Penelope have for him? How were you doing mentally? How are you at home?

Hotch knew you had nightmares. Hell, everyone could tell. You had growing purple splotches under your eyes, a larger coffee cup every morning, and you zones out consistently during the day. You wore turtlenecks- that Hotch personally thought you looked amazing in- even in 85 degree weather. Not to mention how jumpy you are whenever someone touches you.

Reid had nudged you one day to get your attention; you were staring at nothing and it was time to leave. Derek watched you, a frown on his face after saying your name thrice. Spencer nudged your shoulder with a knuckle and you flew backwards, stumbling out of your chair, a hand coming to your cheek (where The Scar ran down your face). You played it off quickly after seeing Derek, Emily, Rossi, and even Hotch’s looks. But the fear in your eyes… Spencer knew you thought he would hurt you.

After landing, Hotch gave the team the day. As they all cheered and left to get their stuff, Hotch walked into the bullpen where he knew you were still working.

“Y/n.”

God, Aaron missed you. Missed seeing you, being in the same room as you- hell, breathing the same air as you.

You looked up from your computer, eyes falling on an exhausted looking SSA Aaron Hotchner. “Sir?”

“You may have the rest of the day off.” Aaron swallowed, holding your eye contact. Your eyes were one of his weaknesses. After a second of silence, you nodded.

“Thank you, sir.” 

Hotch turned on his heel and made his way to see Penelope. He felt his head spin: your blank stare and emotionless eyes felt like a knife to the gut. Aaron really fucked up, hadn’t he? Fucked up so bad you called him ‘sir’ and acted like you hadn’t bonded over your love for Phil Collins and old action movies. And how to looked away from him like you hadn’t slept in Aaron’s house clad in a pair of his sweatpants and an old sweatshirt, Jack lying on top of you after falling asleep to a cartoon. And especially the way your voice was monotone, completely different from the way you held up a quiet conversation after being sent home because you had a concussion.

“Garcia-“

Penelope stood up the second she heard Hotch’s voice. Tears welled in her eyes, shining brightly against the different colored lights in her cave. “Sir, it’s about y/n. I- I didn’t mean to snoop, but she’s just been so distant lately and ever since that case, she hasn’t gone out with me, Emily, J.J., or even Spencer! I’m really sorry-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Garcia. Slow down. What happened?” Aaron asked. He felt bile rise in his throat. He had a gut feeling that whatever the bubbly blonde woman had to say wouldn’t be good. He swallowed.

Penelope harshly wiped the tears off her face. She looked down and then back up, clearly distraught about the news. “Y/n applied to another job… and got accepted.”

🏷️: @zaddyhotch @jazzimac1967 @polireader @magical-spit @angelmather1 @pettydonuts @aremuslupinsimp

[girlokwhatever]

HEY! I saw ur writers block post & i’ve been WAITING for someone to do a kate martin x fem reader fic based off of Uh Oh by Tate McRae!

PLEASE MAKE MY DREAMS COME TRUE

i’m a genie in a bottle bby 😜

༝༚༘ ೀ⋆｡ ˚୧⋆｡🕯. -ʚɞ uh oh!,,

kate martin x fem!reader

you were swaying your body to the beat of whatever song they were playing at the club. you’d been dancing with his guy for a little while, your way of saying ‘thanks’ after he bought you a couple of drinks.

you could feel kate’s eyes watching your every move. your body grew hot under her gaze and it only encouraged you to keep going, knowing the affect it would have on her. you finally gave into her, allowing your eyes to wander and meet hers in an intense and highly intimate stare.

kate excuses herself, walking to the bathroom hoping knowing you’d follow. she knows you too well, probably from the numerous other nights you’ve been in this situation, because you do follow. forgetting about the guy, you push through sweaty bodies to get to her. before you step into the bathroom after her, you consider your actions.

fuck it.

you push through the door and she’s already waiting for you, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. the door locks behind you as you step closer to her, letting your attraction and lust for the woman in front of you control your actions. the feeling of her hands on you is too intoxicating; you can hardly remember the moments leading up to this.

“want you so bad,”

she’s whispering in your ear about how amazing you look, palming at your tits and tugging your shirt off. you can’t feel anything but her, just her.

her heavy breaths hitting your skin, her warm hands pulling your clothes off, her lips on yours, tongue on your body. your whole body was on fire, slowly slipping back into this cycle with her that you said you wouldn’t.

uh oh.

last night after leaving the club kate dropped you back off at your dorm. she tried telling herself that she wouldn’t give into you, but she did. and she knew she would again.

you woke up to a text from kate, deciding to ignore it and move on with your day. you definitely drank too much last night, feeling the effects of it on you as you walk to class.

kate texted you a few more times during class, even calling once. when she called you again after class your resistance was beginning to wane. every second you spent with kate was satisfactory for you, but you couldn’t let something that started out as a one-night stand take over your life.

you kept telling yourself it wouldn’t happen again.

a few days later kate showed up to your dorm, knocking until you answered.

“kate? what are you doing here?”

she doesn’t answer with words, surging forward to connect your lips with her own. it was needy and hot, everything moving so fast paced as she closes your door with her foot.

“jump.” and you do as she says, adding fuel to the fire that keeps your flame burning. you can’t focus on anything but her and how she tastes against your tongue. your head spins when she drops you down on your bed like she owns this space, and in a way she does.

“kate-” you’re trying to be reasonable, trying to keep the few day streak of not giving in alive.

“just let me have this please. let me have you.”

and you let her. you’re doing it again.

uh oh.

she left that night when you were sleeping, leaving a note thanking you for a ‘good time.’ after reading it through you made a promise to yourself that it was the last time.

when you saw her a few weeks later you knew you’d end up breaking your promise. she looked too good, hair in a bun and legs clad in cargos. she saw you too, instantly feeling drawn to your half of the floor. she didn’t hesitate to find you immediately, noting that the both of you were a little too drunk for your own good.

“wanna dance?”

you scoff at her and she’s playfully rolling her eyes, pulling you to the middle of the party dance floor anyway. you don’t resist, letting her hands guide you where she wants you like you do every time.

you’d been doing so good at avoiding her, but now that she’s here all your efforts slip away. even though all your hard work is in the drain, you make the realization that you don’t care much.

“just have fun.” and you do.

her hands find solace on your hips, pulling you against her as your body moves to the rhythm of the music. kate loves the way you feel against her, deep down knowing she doesn’t ever want to have to live without it.

both of your friends know of your infatuations for each other, noting every time both of you happened to disappear at the same time. that’s why when kate pulled you out of the back door of the bar they didn’t question where she’d gone.

“wanna go to my place?” she asks you, breathless from making out with you after pushing you against the brick wall of the building.

“i need to go back to my place kate..”

your hands hold the sides of her face and she knows you’re lying when you pull her back in for another kiss. you really can’t help yourself when it comes to her, allowing her to take you back to her dorm. you’d say yes to anything to asks you and you’re not sure if that’s the alcohol or just you. it doesn’t really matter to you.

you walk through her door, remembering this place from a few months ago. she’s behind you, trailing hands up your shirt as she kisses from behind your ear down to your shoulder. she wishes she could crawl under your skin, fearing that moments like these will never end her desire to have you.

before you know it, you’re naked on her couch. her tongue pushes in and out of your leaking cunt and you’re crying out her name, hoping no one can hear you. kate’s thumb circles your clit and you feel your whole body pulsate, jumbling your words while trying to tell her you’re ’gonna cum.’

she takes everything you give her, licking every inch of your skin until you’re raw. kate thinks to herself about how pretty you are spread open for her and it makes her want to ask you to stay.

she doesn’t say anything though, just pulling your clothes back on for you and laying your body on top of hers. you might leave when you come to your senses and she knows that. she knows you’ll both tell yourselves it won’t happen again, but it always does.

neither of you mind much.

uh oh.

⚘‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾⭒❃.✮:▹♥*♡∞:｡.｡

hey girly pops i’m kinda proud of this..

i hope whoever requested it really likes it!!! 😘

[ilypaigebuckets]

kate martin with a nerd gf hcs?

Kate x Nerdy Gf Hcs

figured out how to add pictures 🥳

- you wouldn’t classify yourself as a nerd, just someone who is really big on their education

- kate first met you in the library where she saw you studying

- she thought you were the prettiest girl in the entire world, so she wanted to shoot her shot (get it bc basketball)

- she asked to sit next to you “hey is this seat taken”

- you were kind of oblivious to her flirting at first “no? but there’s like dozens of other places to sit you don’t have to sit by me”

- everytime she goes to the library (which becomes more and more frequently thanks to you) she sits next to you

- she eventually gets the courage to ask you out and you guys go on a cute little coffee date

- after you’ve been dating for a while you start attending her basketball practices and just study there instead of the library

- she teases you that it’s because you miss her but you insist it’s because the gymnasium is closer to kate’s place than the library is

- oh yeah you definitely stay over at her place most nights

- she lets you study at her coffee table/on her couch

- she holds you while you study and makes sure you have everything you need

- you need water? she’s on it. head scratches to ‘help you concentrate’? her fingers are already making their way to your scalp.

- you definitely have deal with burnouts and kate helps you through them

- she starts putting time limits on your study time, so you have time to yourself for self care, your relationship, and just taking care of other things

- she helps you study and quizzes you with your flash cards

- “ok baby what is the polytomic ion for sulfate?” “S04 to the negative second power?” “LETS GO THATS MY SMART GIRL”

- will listen to you rant about your stressing assignments

- “kate it just doesn’t make sense at all. i don’t get why he would give us only a week to write that paper” and she just kisses your forehead and holds you tight like “shhh i know baby gorgeous but you’re my smart cookie”

- one time you missed her game due to a project deadline and her feelings were really hurt

- it caused a huge fight that ended with you both crying, you promising to prioritize her more just like she does you

- that fight really opened your eyes so now you try to cherish your time with kate more

not really but just in case nsfw 😢

- when she’s quizzing you and you get an answer right, she’ll try to reward you

- sometimes you don’t let her, insisting that you need more time to study and do assignments or catch up on reading

- other times you take it as a much needed break and just let her help you relax

that’s all 🤍 i hope you like this!!!

[steviewashere]

Balls in Laundry Baskets: An Apology

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Bitchy/Mean Steve Harrington, Mean Eddie Munson (Both Briefly and For Good Reason) Tags: Post Season 4, Post Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Steve Harrington & Lucas Sinclair Friendship, Eddie Munson Gets Put in His Place, Lucas Sinclair is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Protective Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Lucas Sinclair, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Means Well He's Just Defensive, Hurt People Hurt Others

This is chapter one, which also includes the first two pages that I already posted. Please keep your expectations low, as I'm still working on the second and final chapter.

Read on AO3

Read Chapter Two

🏀—————🏀 “So, you and Eddie, huh?”

Steve startles at the sound of a voice, deep and hushed, from where he’s been waiting in Hawkins High’s parking lot. Hellfire was supposed to be out by now—6:50pm if his watch is correct—it’s their first time back since March and it would be cordial. But it seems that only Lucas got that memo.

“Jesus Christ, Sinclair!” He yelps. Holds his right palm flat against his chest, trying his best to rescind the spike of panic that is crawling through him. “I thought I told you to quit doing that,” he harshly whispers, rubbing his palm against his shirt. The scratchy material of his polo a balm against his nerves.

“Sorry,” Lucas sheepishly murmurs. Speaking at a normal volume, he asks again, “So, you and Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes. “What about me and Eddie? Can’t I just hang out with the guy without being pestered?”

Lucas shrugs. “You can do whatever you want,” he states, but Steve can already tell there’s somehow more. “But I didn’t think you two would be…buddies. Considering how he feels about, y’know, sports and whatever.”

For a moment, Steve considers Lucas’s approach. His fidgeting hands and his slightly closed off eyes. The hunch to his shoulders and the general unease that accompanies talking about Eddie. Which, that’s particularly odd. Aren’t they buddies, Steve questions himself. Wrapped up in the Hellfire club, their mutual interest in Dungeons & Dragons, the ragtag group of nerds that they are—all of that is perfect for their oddball friendship, at least Steve thought so.

“What’s wrong with you and Eddie?” Steve asks, beating around the bush. He doesn’t do cryptic. And he especially doesn’t do it with somebody like Lucas, a kid already smarter than him by several margins.

There isn’t an answer right away. But Lucas’s shoulders drop. His eyes go from frustrated to…sad. “Remember my championship game?” He asks, though it seems a bit much of a topic change. What does this have to do with Eddie, Steve has to wonder.

“Well, yeah,” he answers instead, “I was there. Had a pathetic date with a girl I hardly enjoyed being around. Mocked Tammy Thompson with Robin. Watched you get that winning shot. It was a, genuinely, awesome championship game.” And that’s the truth. It’s the best one he’s ever witnessed. Which is saying something, considering he’d played several championship games. All of them, though, were major losses. He’ll take those to the grave with him, with how often his previous basketball teams teased him.

Lucas gives a harsh single nod, a small smile that whisks away as soon as it appears. “Right,” he mutters, “I remember.” He leans against the Beemer’s bumper, shoulder brushing with Steve’s. Looks forlorn towards the high school’s doors, where Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire bunch should be spilling out any moment now. Steve looks on with him. Listens as Lucas’s voice drops low, nearly angry, fully spiteful, “I begged Dustin and Mike to talk to Eddie about my game. To see if the Hellfire campaign—which would be happening the same night—could be moved. And I, look, I understand that D&D means a lot to all of them, it means something to me, too. But I was really hoping to see my friends there. If not my friends, then at least Erica.

“They didn’t move the campaign,” he states so bitter, Steve tastes the words on his own tongue, “apparently a game where you’re shooting ‘balls into laundry baskets’ is too…mainstream and norm-ie for Eddie. He refused to move his precious game. Then, get this, instead of getting some random kid to play, they egged Erica in.” Lucas drags his eyes away from the school, head turning slow to look at Steve. He follows suit, eyeing Lucas back. His stomach churns with the vitriol painting itself unsubtly across Lucas’s face. “Color me surprised, I guess, that he’s going out with a jock,” he states, voice carefully blank of anything.

Steve stares on at him. He didn’t know this was the case at all. Remembers getting the phone call about Dustin wanting him to play, but he figured that had something to do with him bugging Steve for the millionth time. Because that was something Dustin wanted. For Steve to play. And, granted, Steve refused because it was too nerdy—unimportant and embarrassing. Yet, now he’s looking into Lucas’s face. Where hurt etches itself like solid lines of chiseled marble. Being told, instead, that Eddie’s holding his own bias.

Maybe he hasn’t removed his biases towards high school nerds, not completely. But he’s coming undone from that mentality. Considering Nancy and Robin and Eddie—Dustin and Mike and Lucas—even Max, they’re all big nerds. They all have some sort of interest with Dungeons & Dragons or theater or video games and math. And he loves them all. Though, Steve’s never stopped to think about the opposite side of the coin. Tail-side, where balls in laundry baskets is considered taboo.

After a deep silence when Steve finally digests this information, his eyebrows furrow on their own accord. Mouth downturning into a harsh frown, one that he feels to the bottoms of his feet. He stops himself in time from balling his hands into fists, but the urge to do so snarls in him like a newly unmuzzled, wild dog. A dog, he thought, that he trained obedient away from his anger. But it seems like once the teeth are bared, they never truly hide away.

“That ass,” Steve snarks. “What—so I have to reconsider all my biases surrounding nerds, reconstruct how I view everybody around me, and realize how awesome it is. And—what—Eddie can just get away with that…bullshit? That’s…What the hell?” There’s a little bit more of a bite to his words than he had anticipated. But it really isn’t fair. The table turns and he’s better for it, sure, but Eddie just…That’s not fair. The dog growls louder, drool burbling in its chops, a bark forming in the back of its throat.

“That’s what I thought,” Lucas says, “and I know, I know, that Dustin and Mike tried everything in their power. And that Eddie was the one to, y’know, be the asshole. But I thought that maybe my friends would be on my side. That they’d skip the game, show Eddie up. Not get my little sister involved or have fun without me or…I don’t know.” And the way he says those last three words stings something acidic inside of Steve. Corrosion and battery acid hot and alive in his stomach. Anger reaching the surface of his skin, words crawling and resonating in his mouth. 

The doors to the school open distantly and Lucas suddenly perks back up, blossoming from where he was wilted against Steve’s car. “Doesn’t matter,” he chirps, though it’s all fake, “at least I can play with them now, which is awesome.”

But before he can stride away, to where his bike is parked and locked up, Steve snakes a hand onto Lucas’s wrist. They lock eyes again. “I’ll talk to him,” Steve swears, “he’ll apologize.”

“Steve, you don’t—“

“You used sports as a means to fit in, right? Granted, popularity’s not all that cool and you know that especially now. But it was a…a—“ He snaps his fingers, searching for the word. “—A cover, something to find security in. And you had that. And that’s what the D&D game is to Eddie. Sports is my D&D, too.” He loosens his grip on Lucas’s arm. Neither make any sort of move. “Just because you were trying to find your people doesn’t mean you can be…” He chooses his next words carefully. “Ostracized or outcast by those who you found safety with before. Especially when those guys orbit around each other for the same reason. I’ll talk to him,” he urges, “and he will apologize, or else.”

Lucas gives him a softened look. “Thanks, Steve,” he mutters, “I wasn’t looking to start anything, but I appreciate you having my back. It really means a lot.” And then he shuffles away, towards his bicycle, small chat starting up with Mike and Dustin.

When Steve turns back towards the school, Eddie is sauntering towards him. Eyes wide. Smile big and easy. Yet, his soft features are all too nauseating to Steve’s chest right now. His heart aches. If Eddie thinks of Lucas’s interests that way, what does he think of mine?

He tamps down his annoyance and anger. Because Eddie takes his hand and is looking at him as if the world belongs to the two of them. But that hurt on Lucas’s face is like a dagger impaled in his brain when Eddie greets nice and low, “Hi, baby. Been thinking about you the entire time I was in there.”

Steve smiles, though it may come off as more of a grimace with how Eddie falters. “Been thinking about you, too,” he echoes. Though, thinking positively isn’t what he’s been doing, as far as anybody’s concerned. Beat around the bush, he tells himself. He takes a steadying breath, posture straightening, demeanor changing. Says with a sour tone, “I, uh, I think we need to have a little talk in the car, if that’s okay? It’s not a breakup thing, but it might make you…somebody might get mad and I don’t want to cage you in at my house.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes. His eyes go distant very briefly. When he refocuses on Steve, something has hardened in his features. Steve’s throat goes tight. “It can’t wait until after our date night?” There’s a low amount of ire in his words already and Steve is momentarily caught in it. Until he lets his eyebrows scrunch down his face again, giving in to that tightness in his throat.

He sighs, annoyed already. “No, Eddie,” he bites without meaning to. “I need to talk to you now. I’m already upset about it and it’s not going to do me any good to just brush it off.” His hand releases from Eddie’s grip, falling heavy against his side. He turns towards his driver’s side door and stares back at where Eddie is rooted. “Come on,” he states lowly, “you were the one to tell me to talk about the shit that’s bothering me. Can’t ignore it just because it has to do with you.”

Bitchy is probably not the best approach to all of this, but Steve is already cornered out of options. He pulls his door open with more force than necessary. Slides into his seat, key into the ignition, and honks once at Eddie. Jarringly gestures at the passenger seat. Thankfully, there’s nobody else to witness the potential torrential fire that’s brewing in him. It’ll be just the two of them; though that realization stirs something sickly in Steve’s stomach.

Eddie gets in silently. Places his school bag in the footwell. And keeps his face pointed out the windshield. “What’s wrong?” He asks, though his voice is devoid and edging on irritated.

Steve rolls his eyes, though Eddie can’t see him. He sets his hands firmly on his steering wheel. Squeezes the leather for comfort, an instinct. And heaves a sigh, urging himself to be calmer about this. “I had a talk with Lucas,” he starts. “About, uh, about his championship game back in March.”

Next to him, Eddie immediately tenses.

He continues without acknowledgement. Keeps himself as leveled as possible. “He told me that you refused to move your game for his. That he was looking forward to having his friends, which I’m assuming includes you, watch him play. And I—I know how important that championship game was to him. Y’know, it’s one of the bigger—“

“Are you mad because I didn’t want to sit at some jock event?” Eddie interrupts, question clipped. Though there’s also mild amusement in his tone, as if Steve being upset is poposterous. He continues without any regard for Steve. “In a room full of, mind you, people who hate me?”

Steve tenses more than Eddie had. His shoulders hiking and his stomach knotting impossibly more. Finally lets the dog bark, gives in to whatever it wants. “You know what, Eddie?” He bitches back. “I am mad at you. In fact, I…I…I’m so fucking angry that you…you make this whole deal about ‘lost sheep’ and herding them in to play your game. You concern yourself with making a community for people who are lost to the crowd of cliques in that school. And it’s just—Lucas is one of those kids! He is, even if that means he wants to play basketball!”

The passenger seat squeaks. Clothes rustling as Eddie turns toward him. But Steve doesn’t rip his eyes from the windshield. If anything, he leans more towards the left, creating a deeper, larger space between them. His hands instinctively tighten on the steering wheel again.

“Yeah, I do pride myself on that,” Eddie spits. “I do. Which is why, honestly, it irks me that Lucas would pick a crowd full of assholes. A bunch of people who would never give him the time of day.”

Steve goes rigid at that. He was an asshole, too. He knows that. Eddie especially knows that. The Munson Doctrine wouldn’t exist without the inclusion of asshole jocks, Steve being near the top of the list. He tries to tell himself that Eddie doesn’t think of him that way, but it’s hard considering himself. Who he used to be. Instead, he takes another breath, this one longer and hopefully more steadying than the other ones have been.

“He went out for basketball for a sense of security,” Steve states slowly, verging on impatient. “To find somewhere to belong to. That’s all a freshman looks for—a group to be somebody with. And, you know, considering that he’s already sort of singled out for being one of a few black kids at the school…Belonging is kind of important to him.” He settles back into his seat, arms still stretched to their full length in front of him. His stomach is turning and his heart is racing. And why won’t Eddie just get this? “Even if the basketball team has a bunch of assholes, he still wanted to do it. He was celebrated for his skills, who he is—even if it was for a moment. Playing was, and probably still is, important to him. And you—“ Steve finally turns his head towards Eddie. Knows his eyes are shooting daggers, can see where they lodge themselves between Eddie’s ribs. He raises a finger and accuses, “—you made his game feel unimportant. None of his best friends came because they were toopreoccupied with your game.” His face grows unusually hot as his voice drags passionately. The words just tumbling, splattering between them. But he carries on like a fire fed, “They even got his little sister to play yourgame. And, you know what really hurt to hear? Lucas wanted at least Erica to watch. And she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there because of your game, Eddie. How do you think that looks to him?”

Eddie has the audacity to look cowed, appalled. His mouth agape and his eyes as two large craters on his face. And for the first time, probably ever, he is stunned into silence.

Steve looks away. Bitter. All that festers in him now is hurt, ache, sadness. He chews on his lip, inhales softly through his nose, and opens his mouth with a silent word. Finally, he murmurs, “When I came to the high school as a freshman, I did the exact same thing as Lucas did. I joined the basketball team. Not because I was good. Or because my dad forced me to, like everybody seems to think. It’s because I wanted to fit in.”

His eyes are stinging. Cheeks flushing even more with overwhelming, consuming emotion. Continues, “And, though I let the feeling eat away at me, it felt good to be protected by a camaraderie like that. Outside of the nerdy friend group I had in middle school, going into high school. It felt good. And—It’s not the same as why Lucas joined, I know that, but I can understand.

“On top of that, I never had friends or family members show up for me at my games. So, for me to know the hurt Lucas feels, that would be an understatement. What’s important to note, though, is that he had people in his life to be there for him and they didn’t show. They didn’t.”

The fight is draining out of him, but he has to solidify his point. Has to finish this or else. Thinks briefly that maybe he should quit while he’s ahead, but he can’t make himself do that. The ferocity engulfing him from the inside out all too much to ignore. He’s been beaten down before for Lucas, literally—oh so literally—but he’d do it again and again and again for that kid to find his footing. Including this…spat? One sided argument? This argument with his boyfriend. 

“Even I was there,” he says, hollowly, “cheering him on. It just would’ve been nice, for him, to have more than just some washed up, ex-jock, nobody be there. Right? I’m sure you get where I’m coming from. You can understand what I’m saying.” He glances forlorn out his window. Can’t even muster the courage to look over at Eddie. He’s basically drained himself. Being vulnerable isn’t his forte, but he can be for the people around him. Even if it’s at the expense of his own well being. “Well, I thought you’d understand. Wanting to have a community, people to lean on, to make something of yourself. No matter the means. I just didn’t think you’d be part of the reason that Lucas feels so…so singular.”

He takes a deep breath, ignoring how nasally it is to his ears. And mutters, a final thing, “I didn’t think you viewed something that Lucas and I are into as so…nothing. I try my best to be better about what you like, but it seems that you don’t make that same effort. That’s not fair, Eddie. You should know that.”

Without much else to say and with Eddie’s eerie silence, he starts the car. Puts it into drive. And peels away into the silence of the long and stretching road.

Briefly, he thinks about turning on the radio or cranking down the window, but the air is too thick to move through. Even the slight turns of his steering wheel is enough to make him feel sick. He’s sick with how disgustingly to-the-point he had to be. Though, there’s no other way that Eddie would’ve listened. Not with how defensive he immediately got.

The original date night plan had been to go to his house, but he finds himself pulling into Forest Hills’ driveway. Past the dimly lit trailers and the striking quietness of Max’s home. He parks in the vacant spot next to Eddie’s van. Which, the van is broken down right now—the main reason Steve is even driving Eddie around. But, now what? Is Eddie mad at how mad Steve was? Is he going to realize that he doesn’t like Steve because of his interests, who he is? Is this it?

A gentle anxious thrum runs through Steve like the very blood he needs to exist.

He silences the car. And just sits with his hands in his lap. Looking blankly at Eddie’s front door.

“Your stop,” Steve murmurs.

Eddie takes a deep breath and sighs heavily through his nose. But he doesn’t make a move to open his door. To step out. To walk away from…all that Steve is and has been.

Steve turns to him, gestures loosely at the Munson’s. “Your stop,” he reiterates.

“I—“ Eddie musters, voice croaking and rough. “I didn’t realize that…I didn’t know Lucas was mad about that. I didn’t think it…mattered.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Steve bitterly states, “It’s not like you actually cared.”

“But I do,” Eddie insists, “I care so much about Lucas. And I care so much about you. I swear!” He finally moves, tossing himself in the seat to face Steve, flailing. His face a mournful thing, downturned and sad. Skin pale and his hands desperate and his voice urgent. “There’s no excuse, I know. But I just…The reason I look at jocks so awfully is because they’ve always turned on me, you know? They always downplay my interests and mock me and tease me for what I like. Which is why I have to show myself as the bigger guy, that I can take it. I just didn’t realize that I was doing it, too.”

Slowly, Steve crosses his arms over his chest. Fingers tightening over his biceps. “Real life and your friends are more important than biases, Eddie.”

“I see that now.”

“And I think that you…you love me? And that you like Lucas. But it’s just hard to feel that, for either of us, when you adamantly refuse to involve yourself in our interests. Even if it means attending some jock event. Even if it means sitting in a room full of people that hate you. Which, by the way, that isn’t true because Lucas and I both like you—I love you, even.” He faces Eddie again. His face a sure thing of great ache, based on Eddie’s own crestfallen eyes. “Maybe just…give us space for a couple days? Think about this. Apologize once you’ve given it some thought. I understand where the whole hating jocks thing comes from, but just think about how that hurts, too.”

Eddie takes a gasping breath. “But I’m sorry now, Stevie,” he swears, “I am. I’m so sorry.”

There’s part of those words that soothe Steve like aloe to a sunburn, but he can’t accept them. Knows that the sure sting of the burn will still be there if he lets Eddie do this now. So he collects himself, mulls the words, and defends himself—for once. “I’ll accept that when it doesn’t feel like you’re saying it just to make me feel better. I want you to mean it. And I want you to apologize to Lucas first.”

He watches Eddie nod fervently, sharply. His hands twisting together in his lap and his eyes wetting, shoved harshly to the side. “Yeah, okay,” his voice trembles, “okay, I’ll fix this.”

Carefully, Steve takes Eddie’s hands. Tugs them until Eddie looks at him. Involuntarily, he makes a soft, sympathetic noise. It’s clear in the wetness of Eddie’s eyes that he’s determined to change this, to make this better. It’s clear that he didn’t mean to hurt this severely. He presses deep into the back of Eddie’s hands, tethering himself down to the earth, away from the cloud of anger that threatens to swallow him whole. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, “listen to me, baby. I know that you’re sorry. I know, okay? But Lucas won’t know that, he’ll probably think you’re saying it to get on his good side. And…maybe you are, a bit, but it’ll be better if you really mean it. Trust me.” He swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s knuckles, massages them to ease the tension. “I still love you. I’m still learning, too, to love your interests with my full heart. And I know that it’s hard to let go of stupid biases, but you’ll be better for it. You will, Eds, and you’ll find you actually feel good.” Steve runs his hands up Eddie’s arms, to his shoulders, the sides of his neck.

Gently, he cups Eddie’s face between his hands. Presses his thumbs underneath Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie softens, loosening. Breathes slowly onto Steve’s wrists. “I’ll make this right, Steve,” he promises quietly, “I want to love both of you guys right.”

“I believe you,” he whispers in turn, “you’re a good guy, Eddie. You’ve got a good soul and a good heart. But you just need to relearn some things, baby.” He leans in, softly pecks the soft tissue of Eddie’s facial scar, and pulls away. Reaches up and runs a hand through the wiry ends of Eddie’s curls. Finds that he does mean the softness in his words, even with the bitter edge in his chest. He murmurs, “Let’s cool off tonight, because I know we’re both upset. And we’ll reconvene in a couple days, after my shift. I’ll help you come up with a good apology, promise.”

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, sniffling.

“I love you,” he feels the need to remind.

“I love you, too, Stevie. And I mean that. I really do.”

🏀—————🏀

Taglist (Open For Chapter Two): @wonderland-girl143-blog @tinyplanet95 @sharingisntkaren @ghostquer @practicallybegging @croatoan-like-its-hot @reinedslys-central

[cinnamonest]

OMG I MISSED YOUR WRITINGS ON SCARAMOUCHE SO MUCH!!

Please I need the version with camgirl reader x incel Scaramouche 🛐

And I hope you are well !!! <3

The way I was gonna make this a fairly simple post and then I got carried away and now it's 9k words WHOOPS

Anyway YES anon, I am on the slut girl x virgin boy agenda... although since I already have a camgirl, this time I went with like an onlyf*ns/e-girl darling + college AU >:3

//noncon, cyberstalking, blackmail, harassment, misogyny, sadism, nipple/ass stuff, revenge porn/leaking, darling is portrayed as being feminine + implied to have a bf

---

You tell yourself it's just to get you through college.

That's how you convinced yourself to start the account — regular camming requires a schedule and streaming and all that, which you'd rather not do, whereas the other outlets let you sell subscriptions for photos and videos, and there was a decent market out there, so you took your best shot, did some work to advertise yourself on mainstream social sites, and hey, it worked. You soon find yourself with a steady stream of income, and all you have to do is masturbate on camera and take a few posed photos of your body.

A few years of some extra income, and then you'll be done, get a better job, and you can delete the account and scrub the internet clean of any trace of the matter. Maybe some guy out there will keep some of the photos, but it can't be that bad.

This way, you can focus on your academics, which a regular part-time job would be too time-consuming for. You don’t have to worry about scheduling classes around a work schedule, either, which allows you to be more choosy on your class schedule, ensuring you get the later classes and don’t have to wake up early each day.

Except one, where you had no choice but to take the early class, as the other sections filled up fast. It’s one of those required tech-involved ones, you just picked from the list at random — one of those big classes with hundreds of people in a huge auditorium, any degree of personalism drowned by the sheer number of people. It’s a male-dominated subject field, and the body of attending students when you walk in clearly reflects that, so you just sit down in the very back at the first unclaimed seat you can find, pausing to say good morning to the boy next to you, who only briefly looks your way in acknowledgement.

The professor goes over the generic first-day material — that yes, you need the expensive textbook, that yes, he will check attendance, and no, he will not give you extra credit at the last minute at the end of the semester, so on and so on… and—

—you’ll be working with the person next to you for the rest of the semester.

Even-numbered seats, the person to your immediate left, odd-numbered seats, to your immediate right. You turn and smile at the guy you’re thus assigned to, the same one you spoke to a few moments ago — once again, he just glances over at you and nods with some vague acknowledgement and then resumes doing what he’s been doing since the professor started, which is scrolling on his phone beneath the desk, only half-paying attention. That does not bode well for your predictions of how equally-yoked you’ll be in your work ethic… but no big deal.

It's one of those classes with a midterm and final project that you work on throughout the semester, rather than tests… which, hey, that could be fun, you tell yourself. You think you can get along. He doesn’t seem to care about what's going on around him much, which is not exactly good, but isn’t bad.

That dopey, happy demeanor… so obnoxious… ugh, you’ve got a notebook (an aesthetic, pretty one at that), and you're pulling it out on the first day of class? For what?

Except you aren’t reading him all that well at all. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes shift over to you and your activities throughout the class. And the reality is he very much does care.

That is, from the very second he lays eyes on you, you irritate him.

Then you write the class and your name at the top of the page all cutesy and artsy-looking, and then— God, now you're pulling out the multiple colors of highlighters and pens. Is that— is that one of those sparkly gel pens? Oh, it is. You’re making a little header with today’s date for your notes with it. Just kill him now. This is practically psychological torture.

Thus, while from your perspective, it feels like he barely pays you a second thought, in reality the rest of the period for him is spent just stewing in a stream of bitter, jaded thoughts.

Look at you with your… girl clothes and girl pens and girl notebook… you probably think you're so cute, spending money on dumb stuff like that… and smiling like an idiot. What are you so happy for. Why are you even taking this class when you'll just be bad at it. Why are you dressed like you put effort into it. Just pick up one of the sweatshirts laying on your bedroom floor like a reasonable person. And why do you smell so nice too.

He mulls over the negativity for the remainder of the class period, totally zoned out until people start packing up, which is the cue to leave.

Except you stop him before he can make a quick exit, holding out your phone, open to a new entry in your contacts.

Ah, since we'll need to work on the project, I can text you…

Right. That. Ugh.

The awkward discomfort of standing there and entering a name and number while you stand there with that dumb little nervous smile is only made more upsetting by the bitter realization that this will mark the first time he's ever had his number in a girl's phone before. Great, now he's going to be depressed for the rest of the day, and it's your fault.

You say thanks and smile again and your hands brush against his when you take your phone back and it makes him physically flinch in recoil — and you definitely noticed it, you mumble a little ah, sorry as if you're trying to make it even more awkward, now he's got to live with the humiliation of that too, and it's still your fault. Clearly, you are going to be nothing but a source of frustration.

And even once he's moped all the way back to the the comfort of his nice, dark apartment, he still can't escape your torment — no sooner does he flop down into bed than his phone goes off…

>Hi! Just wanted to make sure you can save my number too!

You add the little smiling emoji. It makes his eye twitch.

Trying to act all nice and sweet as if you're not only being pleasant because you're forced to work together. He knows full well you'd be all bitchy and demanding and hypersensitive in any other context, and probably all snobbish too, probably would barely pay him any mind.

Even if you are genuinely sweet, that in and of itself is still basically torturing him. Because what’s the point in you being sweet if you’re not going to give him anything more than that? With that in mind, even your niceness is just a cruel tease.

And why would you even be so happy to begin with? Doesn't being a girl suck? If he was something so weak and inferior and unintelligent, he'd be even more miserable about life, and that's really saying something. Maybe it's one of those things where you're so dumb that you lack self-awareness, so you can live a life of ignorant bliss... at the same time, the notion that you’re unaware of how inferior you are is equally frustrating. You should know, that knowledge should weigh on your mind all the time.

The frustration makes his chest feel tight, makes him grind his teeth… naturally, he has to get it out somehow, and there's a very convenient means to do so.

The imageboards he frequents almost always have a “leaked images” thread up and running, communities where they post e-girls’ nudes and revenge porn. The wrongness of it, of course, is the appeal.

Besides, they all deserve it. Some are images originally sent to boyfriends, posted as an act of revenge after cheating or dumping the guy (so it's deserved, really), others are leaked videos and photos from various pay-to-view networks and websites (also deserved, for being a whore), and finally some are just creepshots in public places (deserved once more, for dressing that way).

And the endless amount of the content and surprisingly good tagging system means that one can find any sort of content, and for the leaked porn accounts, it includes the girl's username and links to more of her, so you can see more of the same girl.

Like with this one, that just so happens to catch his eye. There's a whole page where some guy has paid for every single photo this girl has made, and put it out there for everyone to see for free. It's solo stuff, too, which is preferred — seeing couples making videos together, thereby watching the girl love on some guy, is depressing — and getting off to it is much more satisfying than any of the other girls on this thread, considering she looks like you.

…A lot, actually.

He's already memorized your annoying, pretty little face. The title of the video has the words “college girl” in it, too. Adds to the immersion, can feel like it’s really you, degrading yourself like that… of course, when it’s over, he has to deal with the reality that it isn’t, but the momentary pretending is cathartic.

And sure enough, as the first week passes, you quickly prove just as irritating as he initially suspected. You smile at him and talk to him every class, for some unknown, malicious ulterior motive. Are you trying to be belittling? Or are you trying to make him like you so that he'll do favors for you? Or is it for your own amusement?

Either way, the obvious deceit of it all is sickening. It's a commonly known female behavior. You try to come across as so sweet when in reality it's all an act, and you have some horrible reason for it. He just doesn't know what the reason is in your case yet. It would be better to be a bad person outright — the slimy underhanded fakeness of it all is what makes that type of evil so contemptible.

You, though, you’re just a bit puzzled. Normally, being nice to people works well… but this guy keeps sort of glaring at you… maybe that’s just how his face naturally is? But then, he also doesn’t talk very nice either. Not particularly mean, per se, but you can sort of sense an irritation, like you’ve done something wrong… you try to make the best of it, tell yourself you’re just imagining it. Besides, if he really didn’t like you, he wouldn’t respond when you talk to him, or would sit elsewhere, right? It’s not like you have to maintain the same seats all semester, as long as you work on the required material outside of class. So, you tell yourself, he must just be one of those people that naturally has that demeanor.

You’re not nearly as aware of it, but he makes his own observations of you too. You don’t check your phone nearly as much as he does, but every now and then, you look at something or another, and he always makes sure to subtly turn his eyes to see… it’s usually something stupid, like texts from friends, or worse, what appears to be a boyfriend, some male name you text often.

The first time you’re forced to meet outside of class, at the library per your suggestion — a very awkward interaction, but you seem to be fairly unbothered — you take a moment to check it when it vibrates. You’re sitting at an angle that makes it difficult for him to see without moving in a way that would catch your attention, but by pretending to take a swig of whatever can of liquid caffeine he has today (you had the audacity to comment how unhealthy it is), that he can tilt his head enough just to barely make out your screen without being noticed.

Your phone is open to an email.

The words flash across the screen for just a split second before you turn the screen off, but that one second is enough to make out the top of the screen. Enough time for the ‘hello, (username),’ preface to the email right beneath a very familiar blue logo to register with his brain.

He nearly chokes.

It takes every ounce of willpower to even try to hide the natural reaction — his eyes widen, he goes tense, he has to turn his torso away and pretend to fish something out of his cluttered bottomless void of a backpack whilst trying to refrain from coughing.

But then again, you put the phone away so quickly once you saw what it was… and the video from the other day…?

No. That can't be right.

There's no way. There's no way, there's no way, there's no way.

He can’t get back to his own place fast enough. Dropping the keys trying to unlock the door out of excitement, immediately whipping out his own phone, and he’s on the bookmarks tab before he can even sit down. Back to the leaks site, scrolling down to the tags where they put the girl’s username.

You’re wholly unbothered, going right back to talking to him in that overly-sweet tone, so nice, so frustrating, so torturous. You’re saying something. He has to get you to repeat yourself… no, it was just some pointless question about the homework.

To hell with that, that’s not even remotely important anymore… but he can’t voice that thought out loud, so he’s forced to tolerate the torment of waiting out the rest of your meeting until you finally say you’ll have to keep working later.

The usernames match. The one in your email was the exact same as the one now on the screen.

…

It's one of those moments where what's in front of him is so surreal, he's left so stunned, that he just sits there for a second, completely still, blinking and taking it in. Something that's too perfect to be real. This can't be actually happening, he's mistaken.

And thus he's just left perfectly still, a stupor of disbelief, sitting there in the darkness of the room with only the harsh light of phone screen shining up on his face as it slowly sinks in. It takes a minute — this is just the sort of thing that doesn't happen, it's far too perfect, he has to convince himself it isn't a dream.

And once it registers as reality, it feels exhilarating.

For one, it proves every suspicion right. He really did have a valid reason to be distrusting of your innocent girl act. To think, this whole time you were trying to fool him into believing you were good.

But all along, you were whoring out online, and basically, the fact that you're not upfront about that to someone you barely know is the same as outright lying about it.

Up until this point, life has just been so boring, so disappointing, just going through day to day… even college was just a thing to do because it's what everyone else does. But now? Now he has something exciting. A sudden sense of something meaningful, even if only as an outlet for pure, unadulterated malice.

As for you, well, you get a… well, a follower, but certainly not a fan.

The boy is a world-class hater. It's not passive hating, it's active hating. There is actual effort being put in here, and a lot of it at that.

In terms of the content itself, it's nothing you haven't seen before — some guy leaving comments and DMs calling you a whore and a slut and every nasty name one can conjure, saying you've ruined any hopes of a relationship by doing this, why would anyone ever date you when they can see you naked for a few bucks, telling you to get a real job, blah blah… fairly generic. A lot of the verbiage is certainly non-original, and more or less recycled, specific choices of words and phrases and lingo you know you’ve seen before in those pockets of the internet where certain types of men congregate.

But the sheer dedication to it is what catches you off guard. You're pretty sure this guy is more dedicated to harassing you than you are to the job itself. There's messages from all hours of the day, and you're certain after a short time that he makes multiple accounts for the sole purpose of harassing you. Not to mention he follows or adds you on everything — all the socials you've linked (you keep several associated to your account to lure in horny guys from mainstream sites), adds you on discord and any other messaging app you have (and you have no way of knowing which users are legitimate or if it's him, so you have to add them back and wait to find out each time). One of which you didn't even have listed on your page, so you realize he would have had to go through various apps and search the multiple variations of your username you use until finding you.

Telling him to fuck off accomplishes nothing, in fact he seems to derive great satisfaction from making you upset about it. Tells you that you should be glad — you wanted male attention, right? You wouldn't be posting yourself getting off and flashing your tits on camera for the world to see if you didn't, slut. He adds that insult to just about everything he says to you.

Blocking him only leads to him making new accounts (and then mocking you for trying to block him). You even reached out to a customer support team on one of your social media apps and got him permanently IP banned, which he then immediately circumvented in less than a few hours, making sure to inform you that changing one's IP is so easy and you're so dumb for thinking that would do anything.

But why you, specifically? Why decide to torment you out of every other girl doing this stuff? You don't know. You never asked for this. You never did anything wrong to anyone. You even scrolled back on your social accounts to see if you ever said anything someone could take offensively or had a negative interaction with someone, but found nothing. There's nothing to explain why this one man in particular has decided to come after you specifically, nothing you can think of at least. It feels like the universe just hates you.

It's actually kinda sad. You almost feel bad for this guy, who apparently has so much time to spare and nothing better to do than harass the same girl on the internet day in and day out. You did once shoot back a reply of don’t you have anything better to do?, which actually did make him stop… for about ten hours or so, then it was right back to it.

It's deserved, though, he thinks. E-girls are reprehensible. Taking advantage of guys’ loneliness for money.

Infuriating that you advertise something that he— well, that most guys want so bad, but don't actually give the real thing, only a simulation of it. Make them drool over you, while you hide behind the safety of the screen, far away from what those guys would do to you if they could get their hands on you.

And you know that too, don't you? You know how defenseless you are, know how much danger you'd be in if you teased without putting out like that to a guy in real life, and you do it anyway knowing you're untouchable, you must be so smug about it. Infuriating.

He's not like those simps of yours though, he finds you too morally reprehensible to be drawn to the curves of your body and the parts of you that you post and the sounds you make and how easy it is to imagine the softness of your skin and the way you feel and your warmth and the way you look directly into the camera as you moan and it feels like eye contact—

Anyway, he has standards. And self-respect.

Besides, he knows from stalking your social accounts — including your real ones with your real identity attached, separate from the others — that you have something like a boyfriend. Some guy who shows up in your pictures a lot. What a pathetic idiot. Who lets their girlfriend do this sort of thing? Even disregarding that, does this guy not know you’re meeting with him for your project too? He would never allow you to do something like that, were it him in that position. You must go after spineless guys who will let you walk all over them or something, and would only even accept boyfriends that allow you to do what you do.

That’s why, see, he would never accept something like that. Sure, there would be positives, like getting to see that sweet annoying smile and hear your happy obnoxious precious voice each and every day, and getting to touch you and be around you all the time, and you probably do really nice things for the person you’re with too, and he could always just force you to delete the accounts and never post yourself online again— but, whatever.

Point is, he’s better than stooping so low. He’ll keep living a respectable life, just like he does now — so he thinks as the phone alarm goes off, one of many set reminders to go send you more messages.

It's an awkward relationship, but you're pretty sure he doesn't hate you or anything, which is good. He's hard to read — he seems perpetually either bored or irritated, always slouched over, always maintaining that ‘I really wish I weren't here right now’ tone of voice, lots of heavy sighs or tsks scattered into his speech. Even when you agree to meet at the library to work on the homework and midterm project, he quickly establishes a pattern of being at least ten to fifteen minutes late (without any acknowledgement or apology at that), and frankly, you do the vast majority of the actual work, he just slaps his name on the corner next to yours once it's done.

The torment detracts from your sleep. You're late to your class more than once, trying to sneak in unnoticed by the professor and mumbling apologies to the students you have to slip by to get to your seat. Your partner doesn't seem to care much, at least — he just lazily glances over at you with a flat expression, then goes back to scrolling (he doesn't need to take notes, you'll just send him yours anyway).

He does step in to help when it's too difficult, you can't solve the problem yourself… which is how you realize that, in spite of being remarkably low-effort, he actually does understand the material, much better than you do at that. It's a bit embarrassing, since he makes it out to be so simple, but at least it somewhat compensates for all the work you do.

He's not particularly mean about it, he's just… not nice. The tone and choice of words tends to be not-so-subtly making you out to be dumb for not getting it, or that it's easy, or otherwise belittling.

…You really don't get that one? It's the exact same thing as the last one.

You give a sheepish smile and rub the back of your head.

Aha… sorry…

But it gets done, and that's what matters. You just walk away from each meeting feeling like an idiot, which isn't exactly a great feeling.

But even though you initially felt like the guy didn’t care for you, you quickly notice that he’s started to walk all the way back to your place after your meetings while you talk. You supposed he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t at least somewhat enjoy your company.

And you do try to make conversation. You ask about what other classes he takes…only to learn that he doesn't go to any other classes, since this is the only one where attending is required. He did the math, and he just has to do good on the finals for the other classes to pass, no need to show up for the tests and quizzes and lectures and stuff… and he did research into the professors to find ones where past students confirm they recycle the exact same tests and the past ones are posted online, and he's already got a good cheating method that's only been caught once in all the years he's used it… so there's no point in showing up, he says.

It's a very different mentality than yours, but you try to smile and refrain from saying anything negative. And you try interests and social life as topics, but quickly glean from what little he says that the guy has none of the latter and more or less just a phone and gaming addiction for the former.

Which you have no trouble believing, because good God, does the boy have a totally fried attention span. Even in your meetings, you swear he can't go five minutes without staring at his phone.

Oh, you like that too…?

That does end up helping you find a means to try and get closer. You manage to find one opening, something flash across the screen for some upcoming game. One you've been looking forward to as well.

Huh? You can’t like that thing. He likes that thing. It's not for females. It’s for people with good taste… it’s good… you can’t… someone like you would never be able to properly appreciate it… and now you’re just babbling away with that dumb smile while he’s going through a psychological crisis and rethinking every choice in life because of you. Does this put you two on the same intellectual level...? No, of course not, he has to quickly shake off any such doubts.

You were hoping to get a positive reaction, but you get silent bewilderment in his expression at first, for just a second.

Still, you’re supposed to be boring and a normie… you can’t just suddenly shatter the image of you he’s already constructed… and from the way you're talking about it, you know too much to just be pretending to like something for attention (which is the obvious automatic assumption for when females like media that's actually good and worth consuming).

Devastating. Now he has to consider the possibility that you do have interests and a personality besides being deceitfully sweet and whoring online.

But from your perspective, he just crosses his arms and shrugs.

Kind of, I guess.

And God, then you smile at him again. Every time you do that, it gives him some godawful tight-chested feeling, like you’re trying to kill him with psychic damage.

What gives you the right to be so happy right now anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in constant distress, now? Is he not doing good enough of a job at tormenting you? You seemed upset, but clearly not upset enough, if you’re still emotionally stable enough to be nice to him. He has to break you, make you too distraught to even go on.

Online, you’re so mean, you never have anything nice to say, even though he’s not that mean to you — well, he could be worse, at least, which is basically the same thing.

Actually, he decides, how you behave in real life will be a good standard of how good he’s doing at making your life miserable. Once it starts to noticeably affect you even in real life, that means it’s sufficient.

But you prove resilient. Each day, you seem to get up, summon some resolve to still enjoy your life, and are still pleasant and friendly… or maybe you’re just really good at acting. Yes, obviously that’s it, since your whole sweetness thing is just an act in the first place.

On your end, the harassment gets worse. It comes in all hours of the day — does this guy not sleep? It’s almost hard to believe someone hates you this much, or even has the energy to keep this up… you start trying to just ignore it.

You tried threatening to report the guy for harassment, but he points out that he hasn’t threatened you with any real harm, and only targeted your public accounts, so no laws broken… and he’s already prepared by taking measures to— well, you don’t understand the spew of lingo that follows, but you gather that the jist is that it would be very difficult to trace him.

So you start to ignore it. You try your best to just not let it get to you, let the comments and messages go without acknowledgement or response. It’s actually somewhat relieving, if you just pretend it doesn’t exist. At first, when you start ignoring him, the messages get more frequent.

But then, it goes quiet for a day. Just around twenty-four hours, you don't get messages, nor comments.

It should make you feel relieved, you think, but it doesn't. Quite the opposite — you feel uneasy. Like something will happen.

He's getting bored, you see. You don't react as strongly anymore as you used to. You used to get so upset at all the messages he sent, and it was so fun to watch how you'd get all defensive and angry in your replies.

Then your replies got shorter, and now— what gives your the right to ignore him? It infuriates him. Dumb whore, treating him like you think you're so much better… or, the gut-wrenching thought passes through his mind, maybe you're busy, you’re probably visiting the guys you sleep around with, since someone like you could never be loyal to that boyfriend he's certain you have.

The only option is to progress things further. He has to think about that. He didn't really have a plan on where to go from here, but now he's started to think about the bigger picture, what he wants in the long term… and that's not going to go over well for you.

It takes some work and digging on his end, but it's worth it.

It's around three in the morning when your phone goes off. It just barely manages to wake you up. You think to yourself that you should remember to turn off the notifications for messaging apps… but for now, you sit up, groggily unlocking your phone. Seeing who the message is from, though, snaps you into full alertness.

A message that makes you go stiff, staring at your phone wide-eyed and slack-jawed, a cold knot of dread forming in your gut that quickly turns to an electrifying surge of pure panic as you read.

The name of your academic institution. The names, emails and phone numbers of your immediate family members. Your full, real name — and your address, down to the unit number.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. The glaring light hurts your tired eyes, but you can't look away.

You know he's just waiting on a response. Probably knows you're panicking, but knows you have no choice but to comply — and you're forced to give him the satisfaction of seeing you type back.

>What do you want from me?

It's only a few seconds before you get a reply.

>From now on, do what I want

>Or I ruin your life.

You hesitate a while before responding. Poor you, you must be so scared now that you're finally getting what you deserve. And even then, you just send back a ‘fine,’ even though it took you so long to respond. You were probably trying to think of how to respond, probably typed out longer potential replies, but decided on that to seem tough or something. That's actually almost endearing.

And oh, it's so, so satisfying to finally see you crumble, even if just a bit, the next day. For you to come shuffling into class for once with a downtrodden, nervous expression, making your way over to your spot without the usual greeting.

…Except that's also irritating. What makes you think you can just not say hello, now that you've established a routine of doing so every day of this class? For all you know, he's just the person you know in real life, so you're basically willingly choosing to potentially disappoint him. Not that you are disappointing him, but like, if he actually cared about your dumb little daily greeting, then he would be. He even gives you several extra seconds, and you still don't do it.

You're still fidgeting nervously, lost in thought when the mumbling directed at you pulls you out of your thoughts.

…Something wrong with you?

You seem to realize your sullen energy and attempt to fix it with a twitching, obviously forced smile.

O-oh, no, I'm just tired, haha… good morning!

He doesn't say anything back, just turns back to phone-scrolling as usual. You realize your melancholy must be showing on your face.

You're being overdramatic, too, he thinks. He didn't even give you any demands yet, since he decided it would be more fun to make you wait in suspense for a few hours or so. Seeing you squirm is funny, but really, you're acting like it's so much worse than it is. What a weakling, so sensitive.

It's just gonna be stuff you're used to anyway…

Which is somewhat true. You're used to the demand for private, custom content.

Men pay you sometimes incredible amounts of money for the stuff. Usually, the customization is about personalization — sometimes it's kind of sad, wanting you to say their name or that you love them while you look at the camera, and sometimes it's just more niche fetish stuff, like pictures of your feet or wearing a weird costume.

But everything this mystery man wants is different — the personalization has to do with the fact that it's painful, humiliating, or both. Moreover, he's never content with the first try.

Stuffing your holes with toys and sitting down on them so they go all the way in, specifically, ‘as many as you can fit’ — but even after the painful effort of getting one in each hole—

>That's not enough.

You can fit at least one more somewhere. And you're intentionally using the smaller toys, aren't you? You won't be able to do that next time, so don't try that again.

Then there's the command to get those clamps on your nipples you used in a video of yours a long time ago, the ones connected to each other by a chain, and to tighten them then pull hard enough for them to come off. You have to take a few deep breaths to summon the ability to do it, and even then, it takes a few tugs to get them to come off. By the time they do, your nipples are swollen and red and your eyes are watery from the sting, but nonetheless, a message comes through within a minute of sending the video.

>You didn't tighten them all the way first.

>Do it over.

Or the one to deep throat that one huge toy you have, the one you used in this one video a long time ago — which you now regret ever posting, since there's a reason that you never used that monstrosity again, much less in your throat. At first you're not even sure you can fit it into your mouth, but you force it somehow.

On and on the demands come. He's not paying for any of it, of course, but the premise is the same.

Still, it's not enough. Come on, you didn't even get it very far in, you have to at least get half down your throat. And you didn't hold the phone close enough, can't hear your gagging choking sounds.

>Do it again.

The timing is often terrible, shortly before or after your classes, or odd hours of the night, forcing you to stop whatever you're doing to meet the demand. Thankfully, though, at least you've never gotten a message from him during your meetups with your class partner — you're certain your distress would show on your face, and it would be hard to come up with an excuse for it.

It becomes such routine, and all happens so quickly, it feels surreal, like you're just forced to accept it and go with it. There’s no time to really process it, as you have to get back to doing your school work and going to class and trying to keep up with your regular video content, it's all so overwhelming, yet so simple, you just have to do what you have to do.

One moment you're slapping yourself in the face while you bounce up and down on a toy so long that it bruises your insides for some jerk that's blackmailing you, and running to class the next, desperately trying to rub at the marks on your face to make them go away.

You're worried that the stress is beginning to show. Your most recent quiz scores are lower than usual, you're getting less sleep. Your insides are always sore. You're paranoid and uneasy, and you know it has to be somewhat evident.

Some of the individual demands have lasting consequences, too. Once you were commanded to choke yourself with a belt on camera, specifically until it left bruises… which you begged and protested against because you had one of your class partner meet-ups scheduled for later the same day, but your tormentor said he didn't care and insisted, so you did it, forcing yourself to go through it… and sending an additional picture at the end just to show the purplish marks in detail, up close.

It wasn't the end of the world for your meeting though — the weather wasn't right for it, but you found something that covered your neck up, at least, so the bruises didn't show. That much, at least, allows you to be at ease… although your classmate seems to be in a particularly bad mood that day.

On another occasion, you find yourself laying on your side, gasping and wincing trying to force one of the larger toys you have into your ass, all the way to the base as instructed, toes curling as you pump it back and forth, in and out… only to be told you weren't supposed to touch yourself while you did it, so, predictably, you have to do it again, the ring of muscle clenching down as it's stretched — and, of course, the act leaves a remnant sensation lasting the rest of the day. You have to rush it too, or you'll be late, due to the horrible timing of the command.

You manage to get to class, but when you move to sit, an ache of pain runs up your spine from your poor abused hole, and you wince, face grimacing at the pain.

It doesn't go unnoticed. The guy next to you, ever observant to everything except the professor, casts a lazy glance over to you, looks you up and down before asking what’s the matter, albeit in a half-caring, bored tone of voice…

You give the oh, nothing, I'm fine! response, stammer out something about hurting your leg yesterday, and he merely gives you an 'ah' of acknowledgement before turning his gaze back down… he rests his chin against his hand so that his mouth is covered up, but you swear, you can detect a slight grin from the shape of his eyes. You suppose it checks out that he'd find your clumsiness amusing, even if it's a lie.

On and on it goes. All the time. Day in, day out. It starts off as once per day, but then your tormentor starts piling smaller requests on top of those. Even beyond the daily video, you get increasingly frequent messages at all times of the day — to take a picture of your tits or ass, or a short video of you fingering yourself, or some sort of angle or pose of your body, writing something on your skin, so on and so on.

He doesn't accept any delays, either. You only get a few minutes to fulfill a demand before getting an impatient follow-up asking what the hold up is. Sleep isn't an excuse either, so you're told, so you have to start turning your phone on loud at night to wake you if need be.

You sense a growing impatience. The frequency increases still, as does the intensity of the content you're forced to make. It's as if it's building up to something — surely it has to reach a limit, or he has to get bored, or he'll ditch you and find a new outlet for his sadistic thrills, you hope. You just hope it ends in a way that's positive for you… but you're afraid of the opposite. What if even after all this, he just ruins your life anyway? It's a very real possibility, one you begin considering increasingly as you think over the whole situation.

The increasing severity and number of demands makes you feel like he's getting more upset, as if you're doing something that makes him mad, even though you have no idea what that could be.

You are right, though.

He's also noticed how much more frequently he gets the urge to demand something from you. How much more the itch has grown, the compulsive need to see you hurting and degrading yourself more and more. You've long since passed the point where he has more videos and photos of you all to himself than those available online — he's been counting — but it's still not enough.

And with the realizations that he's engaging with you more, he realizes that he's also thinking about you more.

No, “more” isn't quite accurate. All the time. Constantly. You never leave his head, everything else feels like a distraction.

And that's only more infuriating. He's very self-aware, realizes it's getting worse, realizes you essentially occupy his thoughts every waking second.

Even then, the distractions aren't working. At one point he realized he literally cannot stop himself from messaging you, it's a compulsion, a need, and the realization of his own lack of self-control regarding it is maddening. He actively tried, told himself to wait until the next day, but just couldn't. Even if he plays games or watches whatever brain-rotting media he tries to consume, his thoughts keep drifting to you. Hell, ever since latching onto you, he’s stopped harassing other random women online in general, and that was pretty much one of his biggest hobbies in the past.

What gives you the right? To get inside his head like that? Make him constantly distracted and wondering about what you're doing, forcing him to keep tabs on you? What makes you think you can just come into his life and control him like this, and think you'll get away with it? You've more or less taken advantage of an innocent person who did nothing wrong to you. Used your body to exploit his weaknesses and manipulate him into doing all this.

You don't get to do that. You have to be held accountable.

You're constantly making him worry about you, what you're doing, who you're talking to, and not knowing is a maddening feeling. It feels like nausea, a sick feeling that completely consumes the mind, rendering it incapable of doing or focusing on anything else, only cycling the same obsessive rage and worry and paranoia until it becomes unbearable.

But there's a way to get rid of that, and give you what you deserve, and get what you owe him all at the same time.

He waits, only another week or so — a frustrating week, but spent planning ahead and gathering necessary stuff — but finally, given the timing, you send a text he was hoping you'd send asking about meeting up again, to finish up the project as the end of the semester approaches.

You're a bit caught off-guard by the message, not to mention how quickly he replies.

>Come over here.

You hesitate, re-reading to try and ensure that you're understanding correctly, and finally ask for clarification that he means to his place.

He says yes. Something about how he's supposed to have something delivered that he'll have to sign, and so he has to be at the apartment when that happens, so, y'know, best for you to come over.

Which is nice.

It's just… odd.

Inviting you over, even if for a required activity, feels very out of line with the person you've come to know, however surface-level said knowing may be. Then again, maybe this is the guy's way of trying to be nice. Everyone expresses appreciation differently.

You're still thinking on it when he adds another text saying that his roommate will be there, preemptively apologizes for any disturbance that will cause… well, you figure if someone else is there, it can’t be anything sinister. That helps you make up your mind, so you agree. At this point, you know each other well enough to warrant trust.

…It’s still pretty awkward, though. The apartment is about like a picture you would expect to see uploaded to the internet as a joke about male living spaces. Borderline barren, barring the computer and the bare minimum furniture and appliances needed to survive, plus some clothes and empty cans and such strewn in various places across the floor, all dark lighting and void of color.

That being said, you quickly realize the apartment is only a studio, and there’s only one bed. The roommate doesn't exist.

And something just feels wrong, in a way you can’t articulate. Like your instincts are urging you to leave. You feel uneasy. Goosebumps spread across your skin. Are you just being paranoid…?

There is something else, though, that immediately catches your attention. You notice that the wall isn’t exposed, rather, most of the room is covered with a layer of some sort of paneling, lining the wall almost as thoroughly as wallpaper. You inquire what it is.

Soundproofing.

An unpleasant answer, but he wouldn’t be so upfront about it unless it was for harmless reasons. You refrain from inquiring about the other odd things you start to notice — locks on some cabinets despite seemingly living alone, a roll of tape sitting on the desk with no discernable purpose.

As awkward as the tension is, you really have no option but to sit on the bed, as its the only surface other than the floor. You try not to contemplate how often the average college-aged boy washes bedsheets.

It occurs to you, though, that right now would be the worst possible timing for a message from your unknown harasser, and you certainly can’t take any photos or videos here… thus, just as you sit down and begin to work, you pick up your phone from where you set yours next to his, and type out a quick message, basically pleading with the unknown man to leave you along for the next few hours, because, as you explain, you literally can’t do anything for the time being.

You read it over, and hit send.

And before you can even put the phone back down, there's a vibration a mere arms-length away from you, as the other phone in the room lights up.

And there, in the notification that pops up on the screen, are the very words you just sent.

…

…

There's a few seconds where nothing happens.

Both your heads naturally turn to the sound the moment it happens, but after that, it's just… still. You’re frozen still, he’s frozen still. Both your eyes go wide, and the quiet seconds pass, processing the information before you.

And then, he sighs, body relaxing, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, muttering as if met with some major inconvenience.

God, why do you have to make this more difficult.

Besides, he already turned the lock that locks you in from the inside, even though you probably weren’t aware of what it was, so you’re already trapped anyway. And you squeal, of course, predictably, but that’s what the soundproof panels are for.

He's not particularly worried like he would have been any other time — this was the plan now anyway, but you're throwing things off schedule. Yet another transgression to hold you accountable for.

You do try to run. You at least deserve that much credit. He was so close to considering you a genuine marvel of human evolution, with how nonfunctional your survival instincts seemed to be.

But you’re sitting with your legs folded, so, you don’t have the time required to stand any chance of hopping up and running. The moment your legs start to move to stand, he’s already got you by the arm.

You even seemed to process everything a bit quicker than he would have thought. Maybe you’re not that stupid after all, just… a little less.

You still are incredibly stupid though. He’s almost surprised you agreed to come. So naive, so dumb, so trusting.

And so loud. Squealing like a little animal caught by a predator — which, well, isn’t too far off, but it still hurts his ears.

Shut up, shut up, shut up…

You can hear the growling voice in your ear, even now that he has your face pressed into the mattress, arm latched around your waist. You’re squirming so hard too, but even fighting with all the strength you can summon, it feels like trying to push back a brick wall. He seems to notice as much as you do.

…Is that actually the best you can do?

Not the first time he’s said those words to you — though before, it was over text, mocking you into filling all those perverse desires. It feels far more biting now.

And it’s so, so, so satisfying to see you realize just how dumb you are, as you put everything together. To watch you slowly grasp everything, realize just how badly you’ve fucked up. He even flips you onto your back just to see your face go through all the stages of emotion. It’s hilarious, and adorable too. The confusion and betrayal and panic and anger.

Oh, you get so mad. It’s actually the best part. You’re practically snarling now, reaching up to try and claw at him, kicking, baring your teeth. Any traces of the sweet demeanor you once held is long gone as you lash out… and then, a purely and entirely euphoric transition to fear.

Aw. Poor thing. After you struggle so much, your breathing gets faster, the fury dissipates as your eyes well with tears. The demands to let you go turn to miserable little pleas.

Maybe you can go back and forth. Maybe if he taunts you again you’ll get angry once more, and then if he slaps you you’ll get meek and fearful again? That would be nice, to have reliable ways to switch your emotions around, as if controlling them with a button. There will be plenty of time to find out later.

But now he gets the opportunity to finally tell you how long you made him wait for this. Mocks you for how naive you were. Brings up specifics from all those videos you sent him. Did you think it would just be left at that? Did you really not realize it wouldn’t be enough? No, of course you didn’t, and that’s why you ended up coming here like the dumb little slut you are.

And look, you even wore something so easy to flip up, practically easy access. You just have no shame at all, do you. See, it goes in perfectly because you’ve been using those toys for those videos, and… ah, so that’s— that’s what it feels like… holy shit… this is what you basically robbed him of all this time? Now you’ll really have to suffer to make up for it…

Well, you wouldn’t get it. It’s about what you did subconsciously, mind games and all that. His torment was intentional on your end, and that’s what matters. Now you'll get to spend a very very long time atoning for it. You should be happy. You won't even have to worry about making money anymore.

This wouldn’t be happening to you if you didn’t do what you did to him, you know. It’s your fault. He tells you so. And when you look up at him, eyes welled with tears, stammering out a question of what he means—

What did I ever d-do to you…?

—he realizes that it’s… difficult to give that question a concrete answer.

What did you do, really...?

The only problem that remains is how you rushed things. He was at least going to wait until you finished the project, but now it’s incomplete… do professors grant extensions if your partner goes missing…?

[coloursflyaway]

I Will Hold Your Hands To Stop Them From Shaking

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 9.000

Read on AO3

“You don’t have to know how to dance”, Charles says, and he is so close that Edwin can make out the shadows each eyelash paints onto his face. If he had a breath still, the sight would take it. “I never learnt it either. Just move with the music, and I promise that if I spin you ‘round, I won’t drop you.” _____ It doesn't take Charles forever to figure out the rest.

Watching Charles move is easy. Maybe it’s the easiest thing in Edwin’s life right now; it’s definitely something that he hasn’t only started recently, but something that he has always done. Even before he knew what it meant. Because it is so easy.

Everything about Charles seems to be in motion, like motion is what he is deep inside, bright and fluid and everywhere at once, because no place can hold him. None deserves to hold him, not for long. Crystal once told him that Charles used his brightness, his smiles and his constant movement, to cover up all the pain in his past, but Edwin secretly disagrees: there is some of that, he can see that now, but that’s not where it comes from. Where it comes from, that magnetism that ensures that everyone they have ever met grows to love him, is just Charles. Just who he is inside, and who he always would have been, had they not tried to beat it out of him when he was still alive.

And love him, they do. Crystal most certainly does, Jenny almost smiled at him two days ago, and even their new minder – who Charles insists on calling Charlie – seems to struggle to push down a growing affection towards him. She will lose, Edwin knows it for certain. It’s beautiful to see, because that is just what Charles deserves, and it’s… it’s difficult at the same time. Or rather, it was a little easier when there was only Edwin who loved him.

Because love him, he does. Looking back, it’s almost impossible to believe that it has taken him thirty years to realise it, that it took a crow-turned-boy to make him see, a cat king who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, but oh, he loves him.

Loves him to a point where he almost feels like he has a heart again, because he thinks he can feel it beating, just like he thinks he can feel it stop when Charles touches him, smiles at him, gets out that new cricket bat they got and twirls it just to show off. Loves him so much that he feels like it’s not only the reason why he was put on this Earth, but why he died, why he crawled out of hell and why he was permitted to stay here after all. And looking back at it, it was all worth it for a single moment of watching Charles sing a Joan Jett song to himself, spinning in between his steps when he thinks he’s alone.

“I’m voting for the bloke who got mysteriously shanked at the Troxy”, Charles casts in his lot, twirling a pen he is not writing with between his fingers. He’s positively glowing in the warm, late afternoon sunlight. “You just want to go to a concert venue”, Crystal interjects, raising a perfect eyebrow, before chucking a piece of nectarine at him. Charles catches it effortlessly, of course he does, and tosses it right back. They look positively domestic, sitting on opposite sites of the couch they got for their human co-detective, playing with fruit. Edwin aches.

“So what? Nothin’ wrong with having a bit of fun on the job, is there?”, Charles is grinning, looks over at Edwin, who tries not to notice that the brightness of his smile doesn’t waver for a second. “C’mon, mate, back me up here!” “I’m afraid that merely getting stabbed doesn’t sound like something that would necessitate a supernatural investigation”, Edwin answers, and even then, the light doesn’t dim in Charles’ eyes. “I’m sure the normal, living police is more than enough for that.”

“You guys are no fun”, Charles whines and catches another piece of fruit from mid air. “Also, I’ll have you know that the Troxy’s a nice place, people don’t just get stabbed in there.” “Well, apparently they do now.”

“Can you please wipe that smug smirk off your face”, Crystal hisses just after the bouncer waves her through the doors of the Troxy. Edwin, who can only see the back of Charles’ head, still knows that he absolutely doesn’t. “What, I’m only happy to go and see a gig with my mates!”, he shoots back, and Edwin watches the little skip in his step, like he is dancing to a beat that hasn’t started playing yet. “And do a bit of work on the side, of course.”

It’s difficult to regret the decision to take this case, because Charles is glowing, has been since Crystal purchased the ticket to the concert this afternoon. Edwin does not know the act that will be performing and he doubts Charles does either, but that doesn’t seem to matter for a second.

The other two bicker for a few more moments while Edwin tunes out of the conversation to check their surroundings – they are here on a case after all – until Charles spins around on his heels, looking at Edwin expectantly. “Well, have you ever? Was that even a thing in your time?” “Excuse me?” “Been at a gig, mate!” Charles spreads his arms like he is trying to show Edwin all the wonders of the world, his smile so wide it seems to split his face apart. Edwin’s metaphorical heart gives out for a second.

“I haven’t had the, uh, pleasure, yet”, Edwin answers, even while he tries to avoid touching anything in his near vicinity. It’s sticky, just looking at it. “I wish I could tell you that I know you’re gonna love it, but I guess we’ll have to see about that”, Charles tells him, half laughing, and Edwin finds himself smiling, too.

He knows he’ll end up loving it, even if not because of the reason Charles is thinking of.

“Just let us enjoy, like, three songs”, Charles all but begs when the show finally starts. “I swear, after that I will be good and I won’t complain at all when we go work. Just three.” Crystal is holding onto the drink she bought earlier, but she doesn’t say anything, just turns to look at Edwin. Who is powerless to do anything but nod. “Aces! Thanks, Edwin.”

And Charles slings an arm around his shoulders for a second, pulls him into an almost hug, before he turns back to the stage, leaving a cloak of warmth across Edwin’s upper back. Music starts playing, but he doesn’t really notice it, and why should he? Charles is cheering and clapping and moving with the rhythm, and even if Edwin cannot see his face, he can see the joy in him so clearly that it is burnt into the inside of his eyelids every time he blinks.

Charles is the sun, he’s radiance personified, he’s-

He turns around to face Edwin, the music temporarily stopped as the singer says some words into the microphone, and he extends a hand, palm facing upwards. “Do you wanna dance? Shouldn’t leave your first concert without having danced at least once.” Charles is smiling, but it’s different now, encouraging somehow.

It works, because Edwin’s body is moving before he knows it, hand reaching out to take Charles’ like it is nothing when it’s everything instead, when it’s like he can feel the weight of Charles’ fingers in his. “I’m not a prolific dancer, I’ll have you know”, he mutters when Charles pulls him closer, even though chances are that Charles figured that out himself quite easily. “Don’t have to be”, comes the answer, and Charles is so close now that Edwin can make out the shadows each eyelash paints onto his face. If Edwin had a breath still, the sight would take it. “I never learnt it either. Just move with the music, and I promise that if I spin you ‘round, I won’t drop you.”

Another smile, one that Edwin reciprocates, and then the band starts again and Edwin is still not listening to the music. Instead, he is trying to follow Charles when he starts swaying to it, distributing his non-existent weight from one foot to another. It seems to be working because Charles laughs, head thrown back and happiness painted in broad strokes across his entire being, and puts a hand on Edwin’s side, like he is trying to guide him. Like Edwin wouldn’t follow anywhere he is going anyway.

“You’re getting it!”, Charles shouts at him over the music, too loud and yet not loud enough, and then Charles is lifting their joined hands for everyone and no one to see, the hand on Edwin’s hip giving him a little push and Charles is spinning him. Doesn’t drop him, just like he promised. It’s silly and a little immature and it makes Charles laugh and Edwin follow suit; it’s wonderful and thrilling, and then Charles glances behind Edwin’s shoulder at Crystal.

Who he would rather be dancing with, of course. But who has been to concerts before, and who might garner attention they do not need when being spun by an invisible hand.

Charles’ eyes dart back to his, and his smile is the same, and Edwin thinks, thank you, thank you for this, and means it.

They don’t find much, but for once, that doesn’t matter too much to Edwin, because Charles keeps glowing for days afterwards. There’s an extra spring in his step that carries him all the way up to the victim’s flat, where Crystal finds the clue that leads them to their rather unsatisfying explanation to their mystery: the brother of a mistreated ex-girlfriend, who saw an opportunity for anonymous revenge. It’s worth it, all of it, every time.

“But if you haven’t tried it, how do you know it doesn’t work?”, Charles asks, partly incredulous, partly amused. “You might be able to eat! Do you know how much I miss eating? What I would give for, let’s say, a day where I could eat again?” Charlie, since she hasn’t settled on another name yet, scoffs, and primly sits down on the sofa. “As I have explained, I have no interest in trying any kind of sustenance that is offered here on the mortal plane. The thought disgusts me.”

Charles groans and flings himself back onto the armchair – they keep getting more and more furniture, it seems – so that his head is hanging off it, upside down, looking at Edwin. “Edwin, I’m right, yeah? You know that I’m right.”

“He’s right”, Edwin tells Charlie, and even upside down, Charles’ smile lights up the entire room.

It’s late at night, around four a.m., Crystal is asleep and Charlie hasn’t shown her face in the office in the last few days, so it’s just them. Nights like this are Edwin’s favourite – he has never spoken it aloud, but he suspects Charles knows anyway, might even feel the same occasionally – and they have become… not rare, but less frequent than they used to be, because Crystal has no established sleeping schedule and Charlie drops in whenever she feels like it anyway. But, oh, Edwin has missed them.

They do not have an active case right now, will probably pick a new one come the morning, so it really is just them. Charles is trying to balance a ball on his cricket bat, spread out on the couch he seems to enjoy much more than he wants to admit, Edwin has just picked out a new book after finishing his last one, and there is space left between Charles’ feet and the armrest on the sofa. It’s not a choice Edwin makes, sitting down next to him. Where else would he go?

There is enough room for both of them, and yet Charles lifts his legs when Edwin approaches, even though it means dropping the ball right into the hollow between his neck and chest. And he lets Edwin settle there, caught between the cushions and Charles’ feet, as if it is the easiest thing in the world. And really, it is.

Without thinking, Edwin rests one hand on Charles’ ankle, fingers circling his leg, while he picks up the new book, a novel this time. Charles does the same with his ball, throwing and catching it when it comes back down a few times, before putting it back on the cricket bat. It’s familiar, it’s new; it’s how Edwin wants to spend eternity.

“Watcha reading?”, Charles asks eventually, after the ball has dropped another three times, and while being interested in Edwin’s reading isn’t that uncommon for Charles, it startles Edwin slightly. He glances over at Charles, who looks like he has been watching Edwin for some time, and shows him the cover. “East of Eden”, he tells him for good measure, “a novel, for once.” “Even though you don’t have a friend to talk about them with anymore?”

Charles seems genuinely curious, and while Edwin does occasionally finds himself missing Monty and their conversations, it still seems like an odd thing to ask. “Of course I have someone to talk to about them. I have you, don’t I?” Although it takes a moment, it makes Charles smile; he looks almost a little wistful and Edwin isn’t sure if he likes that expression on his handsome face.

“Well, yeah. But it’s not like I can talk back about them, innit?” Charles tosses the ball again, catches it effortlessly, and maybe Edwin has to stop with the novels after all, because for a second he thinks, just like he has caught me every time I needed catching. “I could read it to you, if you wanted me to?”

He doesn’t expect much – Charles doesn’t enjoy books like Edwin does – but Charles nods immediately, tosses the ball again, catches it, and looks at Edwin with a smile that fits his face much better. “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot, actually.”

“I am telling you, this is something the police will be able to solve on their own, and if it isn’t, they should most likely lose their jobs, because they are incredibly incompetent”, Charles repeats for what feels like the sixth time, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He just so stops himself from rolling his eyes. Crystal has become a somewhat valued member of the detective agency, however, sometimes, it is like she simply doesn’t want to understand what he is telling her.

“They have been trying to solve it! For two weeks!” Crystal looks as exasperated as Edwin feels, which, at least, is some comfort. Maybe the frustration will make her more likely to give up her ludicrous idea of helping with a perfectly run-of-the-mill hit and run. “Charles! Back me up on this!”

For a second, Charles just looks between them, obviously amused, then he throws an arm around Edwin’s shoulders, squeezing him close to his side. “Sorry, Crystal”, he replies, and Edwin can hear the smile in his voice, wants to trace it with his fingertips, “I’m with my best mate on this one.”

“You wanna read to me again?”, Charles asks that same night after Crystal has gone to bed, lifting his legs to make room for Edwin. As if he knew his answer already. He does.

“I didn’t think you enjoyed the story this much”, Edwin remarks as he settles down between the sofa and Charles’ legs, reminded once more that this might be his favourite place in the world. His hand finds Charles’ ankle, only that this time, he touches not only fabric, but skin as well. “It’s alright”, Charles replies, shoots Edwin a little smile. “I’m mainly enjoying you reading it to me.”

If he had still a heart to pump blood through his astral body, Edwin is certain he would be blushing, because of Charles’ words, the sliver of skin pressing against his palm, or both.

Slowly but surely, it becomes a regular thing between them. Once or twice, occasionally even three times a week, Charles will look up at him from the sofa, lift his legs in invitation, and say, “Read to me?” And Edwin will slide into the best place this world has to offer, put his hand around Charles’ thin, graceful ankle, and start reading to him about the Salinas Valley.

Things are quiet, for their standards, because they are approaching Halloween and the ghosts are preparing for it like the living do, perhaps more so, when Charles looks up from the strange tablet computer Crystal is trying to get them to use. Charles, admittedly, is much better at it than Edwin, but at least in Edwin’s eyes, that was to be expected.

“This might be interesting”, Charles says and turns the device around so Crystal and Edwin can see. “A magician’s assistant went missing during a show, her body was found half an hour later, but halfway across the country. And in two places. They have no idea how she got there, it should be impossible. Nor how she got cut in half. Sounds supernatural to me, doesn’t it?”

Edwin scans the article for a second; it does sound interesting, sounds supernatural, but… “We don’t exactly have a client though, do we?” “I know, but I’m sure that if we find the ghost of that assistant, and she hasn’t passed on yet, she would be interested in solving it. And it would be a proper mystery again, you love those.” Charles smiles at him, because he knows he has won already; Edwin does love those. Slowly, he nods.

“Great. Crystal? You’re on board?” This time, he needs to do no convincing at all, because Crystal is grinning already. “Oh, absolutely. Magical nonsense with an actual magician? I’m so in.”

They take the train to Cambridge, where the body was found after disappearing in Manchester, and Edwin bites back every comment he might make about how much quicker it would be to travel via mirror. His point still stands, of course, but Crystal is now part of the agency, and, mostly against his will, Edwin has started to grow fond of her. And more importantly, Charles has. So they file into the small, dingy train wagon, where Crystal has booked not one, but three seats for them. It’s thoughtful, if not frugal, but as Crystal reassured Edwin when he brought it up, her parents have more than enough money and also owe her something for not even noticing when she disappeared.

It makes sense, in a way.

So they sit down, Crystal pulling out the tablet computer and a pair of oversized headphones, making it look like she is talking to someone over the internet instead of them. Quite a clever disguise, Edwin has to admit.

“So, I think the best plan of action is to first go to the site where they found the body. If the ghost is still on the mortal plane, then she might be hanging around. And if not, Crystal can maybe read something around the place, find out about what happened that way.” Charles says, and snatches Edwin’s spare pen right from his breast pocket to twirl it between the elegant fingers Edwin usually tries not to notice. “And anyway, we are getting out of town for a bit again, and that by itself is pretty exciting, isn’t it?”

Exciting might not be the word Edwin would choose, but he has to agree that a change of scenery is welcome. He nods, while his gaze follows the motions of his pen, the flex of tendons under Charles’ skin. When he looks back up, Crystal is watching him with an expression he cannot quite place.

“I don’t think I have ever been to Cambridge”, she finally says, although Edwin can hear the expression in her voice still. “So, yeah, sure. Nice to see something else. How about you guys?” “We were there in, what? ‘92, maybe? Definitely in 2006”, Charles replies, not noticing the expression at all, but then again, it isn’t directed at him. “The case of the missing sledgehammer and the Coca Cola vending machine, and the one with the electric monk.”

“I would posture that the first case had more to do with the man that went missing, but otherwise, Charles, you are quite correct”, Edwin replies, and he is not thinking about how they were back then, not wondering if, even twenty years ago, he had been this hopelessly in love with Charles. He suspects he was, but he is too good a detective to allow himself to spend more time wondering about it, lest he lose himself in the question.

“The electric – you know, all things considered, I don’t want to know, just forget I almost asked”, Crystal starts, then stops again, making Charles laugh. “Don’t worry, explaining the whole thing would take too long for this train ride anyway”, he comments, “and I would rather just enjoy it. Haven’t been on a train in a long time, have I?”

“And how does one enjoy a ride on the British National Rail? I don’t think that has ever been done before”, Crystal asks, but Charles just smiles. “Like this”, he answers and turns around so he faces the window, settling back against Edwin’s shoulder to use him as a backrest. The position is slightly awkward, doesn’t seem like one in which Charles will truly be able to enjoy the view, so Edwin adjusts his body slightly, turning it towards Charles’ back and puts the arm Charles is resting against over his shoulder, leaving it stretched out across Charles’ chest. Who grasps his wrist like Edwin does his ankle when he reads to him, holds onto it and settles back like they have done this a thousand times before. They haven’t, but Edwin allows himself the quiet hope that maybe, they will.

The expression doesn’t leave Crystal’s face for the entire train ride.

They arrive at their destination, a street corner with a quite charming looking French restaurant and a church on either side. Apparently they had found half of the woman’s body in the courtyard of the church, the other half in some bushes across the street, but, as Crystal informs them while reading off her phone, without any blood around the pieces. It is mysterious, and Edwin would be lying if he wasn’t itching to solve the puzzle.

To speed things up, they split apart, with Charles and Crystal going to the church, where the top half of the body was found, while Edwin walks over to the small square on the other side. Finding the spot where they had found the corpse is easy enough; police tape is boxing it in and the bushes are trampled around it to the point where Edwin almost pities them.

He walks through them, grateful that the twigs and thorns cannot snag at his spectral clothing, but there is nothing to be found that the police, or their boots, have left untouched. And just as Crystal said, not a single drop of blood that would suggest someone’s cleaved-in-half body had been left there just two days earlier. It is disappointing until he hears his name called from behind him, Charles running up to him with his curls bouncing, his steps light and sure. He’s a vision, just like he always is, and Edwin loves him to the point where it feels like it is splitting his body apart at the seams.

“Edwin!”, Charles calls out again and comes to a halt in front of the police tape. “We found the ghost! And she is even willing to pay!”

Amina, as the ghost in question is called, turns out to be a woman in her late twenties, with long, dark hair and a faint German accent, wearing something akin to a 1920s cocktail dress which she had apparently died in, although there is nothing left to suggest she had ever been split into pieces. “This is Edwin, my partner”, Charles introduces him, and Amina gives him a smile that looks practice and sincere simultaneously. “Well, you are a delightful addition”, Amina comments, her voice deep and warm, one eyebrow elegantly arched.

“I strive to be, at least”, Edwin replies, “Now, can you tell us anything about what happened to you?” “Of course. It isn’t much, though. I was on stage, and we were about to perform one of our usual tricks. Nothing crazy, just your standard disappearing assistant. Arnold did his speech, like he always does, then I stepped into our little cabinet and he pulled the curtain shut, so I could get into the hidden compartment below the stage.” She pauses for a moment, then adds, “Actually, I only remember opening and stepping into it, not getting inside. And then I found myself here, in Cambridge, where we had been only a few nights ago with the show. Not too far from where we had been staying, actually.”

“So you recognised the place?” “After a little while. At first, I was just very confused.” She shrugs her shoulders, one of the straps that holds up her dress falling down; she doesn’t fix it. “But my grandmother was a medium and used to talk about ghosts quite a lot, so I caught on relatively quick, all things considered. I spent some time trying to figure our what had happened myself, but now you and your little trio of detectives are here, so at least I will be able to sort this out before I pass.”

Edwin has the distinct feeling that she’d take a drag from a cigarette if she could, but like this she just stops talking, a moment of silence stretching between them.

“I tried to do a reading, but all that I could find out about this place and how Amina ended up here, is that she did. A flash of light and then there was a dismembered torso lying on the ground”, Crystal eventually says, gesturing at the floor. “Not exactly helpful, is it?” “Well…”, Edwin starts, glances over to Charles and realises that they are thinking the same thing. Charles is quicker.

“What colour did the light have?”, he asks and Edwin can’t help but smile at him; Charles gives him the quickest of looks, one corner of his lips upturned. “The colour?”, Crystal asks back, a second slower than expected, “Sort of…. green, I guess? Does that mean anything?”

But Charles is already looking at Edwin, the smile fully formed, and it’s in unison they say, “Oh, yes.”

It’s a spell, of course it is, but it’s more than that: it’s a portal, and a shoddily made one, too. Edwin tries to explain, but he, quite honestly, doesn’t have the patience for it, so in the end, Charles takes over. Sits Amina and Crystal down and goes through it step by step: that the portal was done by someone who obviously didn’t have the practice, that it worked well enough to transport half of Amina at a time, but not all of her, and that that is why there was no blood. That the only question is if it was done maliciously or by accident.

“Your magician, the one you work with, is he, you know. A real magician?”, Charles asks, keeping his voice soft and sweet, although Edwin isn’t certain Amina needs it. For someone recently murdered, she is taking it in stride. “Oh no, it is all an act”, she answers easily, “Nothing but slight of hand, tricks, that kind of thing.” “So no way he could have created the portal?”

“I don’t think so? And why would he want to? The whole point is that I come back after I disappear, so getting me here, cut in half, would defeat the purpose, don’t you think?” She looks at them, one by one. “Also, Arnold, he is a little bit of a dork, but he is kind. Has a bit of a crush on me, if I’m being honest. It’s… sweet. Or something.” She smiles, almost pityingly, in a way that, if Charles had looked at him like this when he had confessed his feelings, would have broken the heart he doesn’t have into the smallest pieces. Edwin hopes against all hope that Amina never let her magician see that smile.

“Okay, so-”, Charles starts, and there is something wrong with his voice; when Edwin looks over at him, there is something off about his expression, too. Like there is something he wants to say but can’t. For a second, their eyes meet, then Charles focusses back on Amina. “We’ll still talk to him. After all, it was his cupboard the portal was in. Anyone you could think of that might have wanted to harm you otherwise?”

Amina shakes her head, and Charles nods, but the smile he gives her looks almost frail.

Once they’re on the platform for their train to Manchester, and Crystal has left them behind to get herself a few snacks for the ride, Charles suddenly turns to him. “Edwin”, he says, and there is an urgency in his voice that Edwin doesn’t associate with it at all. “I just- you know that that is not how I think of you, right?” “What?” “Like Amina”, Charles tries to explain, and if possible, he sounds even more urgent, more intense. “I don’t see you how she talked about her magician friend. Arnold. I never will. I never could. And I need you to know that.”

Standing there, he looks so earnest, so fierce, that Edwin wishes it still could take his breath away. Because it doesn’t matter that Charles isn’t in love with him, as long as he loves him like this: fully, completely, enough to be afraid that Edwin might be hurt by someone else’s comments about a person he has never met.

He permits him himself a little smile, because of course, Charles would notice, before he puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “I know”, he answers and sees the tension wash out of Charles’ form within a second, his gaze dropping as if he has to collect himself before looking at Edwin again. “I know you never would. I didn’t doubt it for a second. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” Charles almost breathes the word instead of speaking; when he looks up at Edwin again, his eyes are dark and full of affection, full of gratitude Edwin isn’t sure he deserves. After all, the only reason he knows it is because Charles has proven it again and again. “I’m – God, I’m glad, I don’t know what I would have done if you had ever thought it was like that with us.”

And he hugs Edwin to his chest, all that intensity, that urgency captured between two arms; Edwin sinks into it like he might not have permitted himself to a few months ago, and wishes he still had a sense of smell so he could breathe Charles in.

Their trip to Manchester is uneventful, Crystal munching on chocolate while listening to a podcast, and Charles looking out of the window at the scenery, this time, unfortunately not leaning back against Edwin’s chest. However, like this, Edwin gets to see the joy bloom on his pretty face whenever they pass something that delights him in particular. Because that is Edwin’s pastime: watching Charles.

He gets caught doing it, too, but then again, it doesn’t feel like getting caught at all, since Charles just smiles at him when he notices Edwin watching, points out something in the fast-moving distance. A cow, maybe, a cloud formation that reminds him of something. And then he turns back to the window, and Edwin goes back to watching him, the slope of his nose and the arch of his eyebrows, the sharp cut of his jaw. The darkness of his eyes and how they light up so easily, so often.

If he could, he would stay here. Maybe not for eternity, but maybe a decade or two.

Neither of them has been in Manchester in a decade, so it’s like stepping into a new city when they finally arrive. Charles takes off immediately, looking around the train station in wonder, but before Edwin can sigh and watch him, or maybe do the reasonable thing and follow, Crystal stops him.

“There is something going on between you two”, she doesn’t ask, just states, like she knows she is right. Which, of course, she is. Since it seems foolish to try and deny it, Edwin just nods. Doesn’t know what to say, if she wants an explanation, or just to let him know that she has noticed.

“Charles has told me about hell and all that”, she continues, and again, Edwin nods; he figured as much. In fact, he is quite grateful for not having to do it himself. “But it isn’t trauma bonding, not that you guys would need any more of that. It’s the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. Something has changed between you and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“It has”, Edwin confirms, and Crystal squints at him like she is trying to read him. “But not to worry, it’s nothing bad. Just complicated, I suppose.” His response draws a laugh from Crystal, her eyes sparkling with mirth and like Edwin has completely misunderstood her. “Oh no, Edwin, I know it’s nothing bad”, she replies, laughter still colouring her words. “I just wanted to know if you felt like telling me what kind of good thing it is, since Charles doesn’t seem to.”

Finding the magician turns out to be easier than expected. So easy, in fact, that they almost don’t, because looking in the venue where Amina disappeared seems too on the nose, all of them agree, and just stop by because Crystal wants to do a reading for clues where he might be. Which turns out to be the same theatre, sitting in the front row with his head in his hands, looking to Edwin like his shoulders are carrying the weight of existence itself.

“Uh… hi?”, Crystal tries to introduce herself, and it’s like pulling at the strings of a marionette how fast his head snaps up, red-rimmed eyes staring up at her. The Astonishing Arnold is a man in his thirties, hair dyed black and a little moustache over his upper lip, and he is devastated.

It’s pain Edwin cannot comprehend, and hopefully never will have to, but one he can empathise with; it looks like he thinks losing Charles might feel like. Without thinking, he turns his head, almost to make sure that Charles is still there, only to find that Charles is looking at him already, the same kind of understanding painted in bold strokes across his face. This was no little crush, and that makes Amina’s response to it so much worse.

“Hello”, Arnold says, quickly wiping at his eyes. “Are you… lost or something?” Crystal shakes her head and Edwin can see her make a quick calculation, decide on a plan of action. She is truly getting quite good at this. “I’m here about Amina. I’m a medium and I want to help.”

Her name is enough to draw a sob from Arnold’s lips; Crystal glances over at them quickly and Charles gives her a thumbs up, a brittle-looking smile. She’ll take this one. “I talked to Amina”, Crystal continues, “I want to help her find out what happened, so she can move onto the afterlife. She mentioned you and that she really cared about you. Said you were the kindest person she knew.”

She’s twisting Amina’s words, but Edwin cannot blame her, not when Arnold looks so broken down by what happened, not when a lie might ease a little of his pain.

“And she said she knows that you have nothing to do with her death”, Crystal continues, “That you would never do something like that.” A tremor runs through Arnold’s body, like an earthquake, a cosmic event, and then he drops his gaze to where he has clenched his hands in front of his chest. It looks like he is praying. “That’s where she is wrong”, he finally says, and it’s a confession, it’s a plea for help. “Because I did.”

It turns out to be a failed ploy to woo Amina, in the end. A portal to transport her to a restaurant they had been meaning to go to back in Cambridge, the little French place on the corner, where a reservation and a bottle of chilled champagne was waiting for them. Arnold would join her after the show, with a bouquet of roses he had stashed away in his dressing room, to ask her to give him a chance.

“I knew she didn’t feel the same way”, he admits, tears streaming down his face. “But I thought maybe I could win her over. I’ve loved for so long, I thought maybe that could be enough, that I could love her enough for the both of us. And I figured, real magic, that would impress her. That would impress anyone, right?”

Only that Arnold had no experience with real magic, had only found a volume of spells on one of their trips by chance and had practiced on objects first, then small animals. It had worked, well enough that he thought he was ready to do this, without realising that while his portals were able to transfer the bunnies and birds that they kept for their shows from one side of the room to the other, they couldn’t yet handle a grown woman and this much distance.

“It was only after the show that I started freaking out”, he continues and Edwin’s heart aches for him, more so than it did for Amina. “When I was preparing to go through the portal myself I found a strand of her hair, cut off, looking like it had been singed. Amina was always so careful with her hair, so I knew something was wrong. The portal itself looked different, too, like there was static running through it. I called her, because I know that she always keeps her stupid Apple watch on, even during the shows. We had so many fights about that.”

He sniffles, the ghost of a smile passing over his face at the memory, followed by a wave of fresh tears, most likely caused by the realisation that they will never have that fight again. Crystal reaches into her pocket and hands him a tissue, and Edwin drops the hand he is holding his pen with for a moment, glad that his fingers don’t have the ability to cramp any longer. Yet, he shakes them out; when he stops, there’s a hand reaching for his.

His non-existent heart seizes up in his spectral chest and he looks over at Charles, who is holding onto his hand, intertwining their fingers. Charles looks back, raising an eyebrow as if to ask, is this okay? and Edwin nods, although he isn’t sure if it’s the right answer to give. Not because he doesn’t want to hold Charles’ hand, but because he isn’t sure if he will be able to concentrate on anything but this, now.

The notes, in any case, will have to be written later.

Arnold is drying his tears, and Charles’ fingers are slender between his own, elegant and strong, and Edwin is trying his best to listen when Arnold starts speaking again and yet isn’t sure if he succeeds.

“She didn’t pick up”, Arnold says and it’s like his heart is breaking within the words, “Of course she didn’t. And I started panicking, but I didn’t know what to do. Go through the portal myself and try and look for her? Call the police? Drive to Cambridge? Before I decided on one thing, I got a call and they told me they had found her. Gotten my number from the stupid Apple watch.”

He shakes his head, like he is still not sure how to process any of this; in his lap, his fingers are tearing the tissue apart, bit by bit, but Edwin isn’t sure that Arnold even notices. “I tried to confess to the police”, he continues, every word a sob, “But what was I supposed to say? That I created a magical portal to take her to dinner, but instead ended up cutting the woman I love into pieces? They would never have believed me. I wouldn’t believe me, if it hadn’t happened to me.” There is a pause, and Edwin can see that Crystal is trying to find the words to say something, but Arnold beats her to it.

“When you see her again, tell her I am sorry”, he asks Crystal, no, begs her. “Tell her I never meant for this to happen. Tell her… tell her I love her.”

Another wave of tears and the fingers around Edwin’s hand tighten; when Edwin looks over, there are tears in Charles’ eyes too.

“I will”, Crystal promises, and Edwin hopes that something so small can be enough.

In the end, they don’t tell Amina anything. Instead Charles brings her to Manchester via mirror, where she crouches down before the man that loved her above all else, and there is pity in her eyes, but genuine affection, too.

“Tell him… tell him it’s okay”, she says softly, and reaches out to hold his clasped hands in hers. “Tell him I forgive him. And… even if I am not sure if it’s the truth, tell him I would have said yes.”

Walking back to the train station afterwards is a quiet affair, each of them lost to their own thoughts, until Crystal stops them between the bustling crowd, the cafés and stores. “You two go ahead without me. Use the mirror to get back”, she tells them, “I could use some time alone after all this.”

“Are you sure?”, Charles asks, trying and almost failing to give her a smile. “We can be quiet.” “Yeah, I really am. I’ll see you in a couple of hours”, she says, and squeezes Charles’ shoulder like Charles had held onto Edwin’s hand; to make sure he is okay, to let him know that she is. “After I have eaten my weight in Gregg’s sausage rolls and Cadbury crème eggs.”

The agency is quiet, almost empty, without Crystal here, and it is a strange thing to realise. Before Edwin can contemplate what it means, Charles has flung himself down onto the couch, looking up at Edwin with wide, hopeful, beautiful eyes. He lifts his legs a fraction, and Edwin knows his answer, the same answer as always, before he has heard the question. “Read to me?”

“He followed the Rio Grande past Albuquerque and El Paso through the Big Bend, through Laredo to Brownsville. He learned Spanish words for food and pleasure, and he learned that when people are very poor they still have something to give and the impulse to give it…”, Edwin reads, aware that this time, Charles is doing nothing to keep his hands occupied. He’s just lying there, his feet in Edwin’s lap, listening. If it means anything, Edwin isn’t sure what it is.

“I wish I could fall asleep like this”, Charles interrupts him, smiling softly when Edwin looks up from his book. “It would be nice, listening to the story and your voice and just drift off.” Edwin’s fingers tighten around his ankle unwillingly; Charles must notice it, if he doesn’t, then he at least hears the warmth, the heaviness in Edwin’s voice when he answers. “Do you want to pretend to? I’ll keep reading, but you could close your eyes.”

“Yeah”, Charles replies after a moment has passed, and a bit of the light that has been missing in his gaze returns. “That sounds really nice, actually.” And he settles back, letting his eyes flutter shut, and Edwin continues reading.

“He developed a love for poor people he could not have conceived if he had not been poor himself. And by now he was an expert tramp, using humility as a working principle…”

Crystal returns a few hours later, when the sun has long since set.

They are still on the couch, positions unchanged, but Charles’ eyes are closed and the blanket Edwin had thrown over them earlier is concealing where Edwin’s thumb is brushing circles against the thin skin of Charles’ ankle. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at them for a moment, then sits down into the armchair and lets her head fall back against the cushions.

Edwin continues reading.

It’s morning, but just so, the first rays of sunlight forcing their way through the clouds. A few days have passed since Amina’s case, and slowly, they seem to be getting back to themselves, which is why Edwin looks up from the book he is reading – by himself, this time – and asks, “Why didn’t you tell Crystal about the confession?”

Charles keeps his eyes on the tablet computer for a few more seconds, then glances at Edwin, shrugging his shoulders. He’s only wearing a shirt, his jacket discarded on the armchair, and somehow, it makes every motion even more distracting. “Wasn’t my story to tell, was it?”, he replies easily, like he never even considered it before. “Didn’t know if you’d want her to know, either.”

Edwin isn’t sure about that himself, but he knows that he wouldn’t have blamed Charles if he had told Crystal. After all, he deserves someone to share his feelings with that isn’t Edwin, even if it hurts a little to admit that. It was just the two of them for so long, is all.

“I wouldn’t have minded it”, he says, and Charles chuckles a little at that, sets the tablet aside. “Not minding and wanting something are different things, though. Do you want me to tell her?” “I’m not sure”, Edwin replies, then considers it for a second longer. “I do, if it would help you.”

“Help me? With what?” There is genuine confusion written on his face, and Edwin can’t help but smile at him. “As I have gathered”, he replies, “it is considered helpful to talk to one’s friends to solve a problem.”

A pause, then Charles laughs, a soft, sweet sound that makes very little sense in this particular situation. Until he says, his voice so warm and so full of affection it makes Edwin tingle all over, “Edwin, mate. Your feelings have never been a problem. Not to me.”

They find another case a few days later, a simple one. A missing necklace that is supposed to be given to a daughter, like it had been given forty years ago to their client. Crystal finds it easily, hidden behind cracks in the floorboards, and when blue light starts glowing behind their client, Charles reaches out and takes Edwin’s hand in his. Not to make sure that he is okay this time, Edwin thinks, but just to hold it.

By now, they have made it through almost half of East of Eden; sometimes Crystal joins them, but today, it’s just Charles and him. “You know”, Charles says in the pause between two words, which is a surprise, because Edwin thought he was pretending to sleep. His eyes are closed, after all, and Edwin has gotten him a blanket to cocoon into twenty minutes earlier. “Sometimes it reminds me of dying, you reading to me like this.”

The words are a slap to the face, delivered in a warm, relaxed voice. “Oh. Oh God, if I had known, I wouldn’t have- “, Edwin stutters, trying to stand up, but Charles’ eyes fly open, his hand reaching out to hold Edwin in place. “No, no, no, this is brills, that’s not what I mean at all”, he says quickly, sincerely, and Edwin settles back against the cushions, still unconvinced.

“I didn’t really think about how that would sound”, Charles chuckles, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Sorry for that. I just… I guess, dying isn’t that bad a memory for me. Sure, it sucked, it was really cold and kind of hurt, but you were there. Talking to me. Reading to me. And, to be honest, I hadn’t felt that… not-alone for a long time prior to that. So, yeah, this reminds me of dying, because dying wasn’t that bad. And probably the most important thing I ever did in my life.”

He gives Edwin a smile that would heat up his cheeks, if he still had the ability to blush; like this, it just makes warmth bloom in his chest, where his heart would be. “You dying isn’t that bad a memory to me either”, he confesses, something he has felt a certain amount of shame about until this very moment. “I didn’t want you to die, of course, but if you hadn’t…”

His voice trails off, because he cannot bring himself to say it, not sure if it would be too much, but he doesn’t have to. “Then we wouldn’t have this”, Charles completes his sentence, sitting up so he can grasp the hand Edwin had been holding the book in, squeezing it tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go again. “I know. Seems worth it, to me.”

Another smile, utterly sincere, then Charles settles back against the cushions. “And thank you, for letting me stay.”

The door opens, and Crystal steps out of the room Charles dragged her into a few minutes earlier. Something about her expression is conflicted, unreadable, but when she sees Edwin watching her, her eyes soften, even if the struggle doesn’t disappear. One, two steps, then she stops and looks at Edwin.

“Good for you”, she finally says, and even if Edwin doesn’t know what she is referring to, he knows she means it.

“Wanna come upstairs?”, Charles asks, rocking back on his heels. “Look at the stars for a bit with me?”

It wasn’t how Edwin intended to spend the evening, since they have a new case and he should do some research, but Charles looks at him with a ghost of a smile on his lips, hope in his gaze, and Edwin loses the battle before he has even decided to fight it. “Of course, he replies and closes the book without noting where he stopped reading.

If he could feel, the night air would be crisp and fresh against his skin. Like this, it’s just clear, lets the stars shine brightly against the darkness of the sky. They used to do this more often, back when they first set up the agency; why they stopped, Edwin cannot quite say. Because it’s nice up here, the sounds of the busy streets mostly muffled, just enough space for the two of them. It’s intimate, it’s theirs, and Edwin hadn’t even realised that he missed it.

Charles is standing with his back to him, fussing around with something, cursing under his breath, so Edwin cranes his head back to see more stars. Long ago, he learnt the names of the constellations over London, but right now it seems difficult to recall a single one.

Before he can remember, a note rings out, strange and unexpected, and when Edwin looks down to find the source, Charles has turned around, Crystal’s Bluetooth speaker glowing with a dim, purple light behind him. He’s playing music, and it makes Edwin smile, even if he doesn’t recognise the song, because, of course, Charles would want to have something playing in the background to watch the stars.

“It’s the band we saw back at the Troxy”, Charles explains, and he looks nervous, almost. Hands clasped together in front of his body, fingers tangling and untangling, the smile on his lips bearing an edge Edwin isn’t familiar with. “You know, the stabbing case. I thought, maybe you would like to dance? The song is the same, even.”

His gaze drops and when he looks up at Edwin again, it’s from beneath his lashes; it’s enough to set Edwin’s immortal soul aflame. Charles has always been beautiful, Edwin had known that since the first moment he had set eyes on him, but he looks ethereal now, a painting, a statue carved in marble and gold.

He nods, because he doesn’t trust his voice, and Charles smiles so wide it’s blinding. Ducking his head once more, he steps forward and takes Edwin’s hand in his, puts the other one on his waist, and although they have only done this once before, it feels like like it is their rightful place. It feels like coming home.

Edwin’s other hand settles on Charles’ shoulder, and it feels so easy to start swaying in time with him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other so he can continue to look at Charles, who is looking back so openly, like he wants Edwin to read every single of his thoughts, his feelings. He can’t, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying.

“It might sound a little silly”, he finally says, and Edwin wants to kiss the words out of his mouth, wants to listen to his voice for the rest of time, “but I never thought about this. Never considered it. I’m not sure why, but in the end, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because I love you. I’ve always loved you. Ever since you read me detective stories so I wouldn’t die alone.”

He smiles and Edwin is combusting, he’s being torn apart, he’s bubbling over with happiness and with love and with gratitude to be here with Charles, to have gotten the privilege of knowing him, loving him.

“You know when I said we would have forever to figure out what the rest between us meant?”, Charles asks, and Edwin nods, speechless. “I don’t think we’ll need that long. I think I’ve figured it out already.”

And he leans in, slowly, like this is a moment he wants to savour, and kisses Edwin with so much love, so much devotion, he can feel reverberate through every part of his soul. His hand slides from Charles’ shoulder to cup his face, and Edwin was wrong before. Because this is its rightful place.

This is coming home.

[creative-heart]

"In the arms of love"| Enzo Vogrincic

Lucia’s notes: This One Shot was fueled by my lovely @lastflowrr who said she heard the song “Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby” by Cigarettes after sex and wanted to see it in writing. So here goes nothing. I hope you enjoy it, especially my girl Lucy. I also suggest you listen to the song while reading this. 😘😘

+18 MDNI: Please stop reading after the cut if you don't want to read the smut part.

Content Warning: Mention of past relationship trauma, Sex scene, a short mention of heavy social drinking, some degrading name calling.

Word Count: 1.2k

Enzo knew from the moment you two got together for the first time, that getting you to overcome your fears and traumas wouldn’t be easy and he had been trying for the past three years to help you get past what you had lived through. The dark-haired man had to admit, that he liked the little dynamic you had established for yourselves, he didn’t mind being a little bit of a dominant person when it came to you and apparently, it helped you stay centered.

When he saw the way you were drinking at the party in Mati’s house, he knew he needed to tread lightly with you or it could go southways. So he approaches you from behind wrapping his long arms around the middle of your body and whispers “Be careful now baby girl, if you get too drunk I won’t be able to fuck you when we get back, and then I will have to punish you won’t I?” and as soon as you hear those words coming from his lips you can feel your skin filling up with goosebumps, and even through the fog of your brain courtesy of the alcohol you’ve consumed already you are now burning with the anticipation his words brought into the mix. You know full well that Enzo means what he said and so you nod softly before turning around and looking up into his now dark brown eyes biting your lips “I’ll be good, I promise”. The only problem with this is, that you kind of enjoy it when he punishes you because you know he would never actually hurt you, as he’s repeated to you tirelessly, nothing’s gonna hurt you, as long as you’re with him, you’ll be just fine; you know this is true, you trust this man with your life.

When you walk away from his embrace, you’ve already devised a plan for how you will push his buttons and test how serious he is about the punishing part. The first step of this plan is locating the guy you know is going to drive him the craziest you flirt with; you slowly scan the room until you find your target, sweet Santi is sitting on the couch having a beer and you make your way to him, your hips swaying honestly a little more than they should, you sit down next to him your leg crossed in a way your knees are brushing slightly. “Hi Santi, did you do something different to your hair? it looks exceptionally good tonight” You smile playfully playing with his blonde curls. You can already see two things happening, first, Santiago’s already blushing like crazy, and second, you can feel Enzo’s glare drilling into you from across the room.

Of course, it doesn’t take more than 5 minutes for your boyfriend to make his way to you and bend down to talk to you at a volume he knows no one else will hear above the blasting music “What did I say about behaving baby? now we’re gonna have to go home and I’ll have to do something about this” You can already hear the lust filling his voice and you can’t help but bite your lip looking up at him, you can’t help it, you love being a bit of a brat sometimes. Even if you know this may come at a price.

As soon as you walk into the apartment your back is against the wall and your hands are up and out of the way held by one of Enzo’s big hands, the other resting on your hips squeezing just enough to make you feel it. “You enjoy making me jealous by flirting with my friends, don’t you princess?” It’s the tone of his voice matched with the sweetness of the pet names he uses which makes you weak at the knees, your breath hitching at the back of your throat as you nod softly looking at him through your lashes. “No no, use your words, baby girl, you know I like hearing your voice”. Just as you’re about to talk back you feel his right knee pressed up gently against your center and through your opened mouth instead of words comes a whiny, needy moan, your eyes fluttering closed. Just as your eyelids close you feel the grip of his hand on your hip tightening and you know that  to be your final warning so you force the words out of your mouth “Yes Enzo, I enjoy it” you say barely above a whisper. 

Just as you finish saying that Enzo picks you up tossing you firmly yet gently over his shoulder walking straight to your bedroom “well then… I guess that means there’s no orgasm for you tonight then, that’s what you get for being a little slut” He puts you down on the bed taking your clothes off before folding them neatly on the chair beside your bed. “Come on babyyy” you whine aching for some release between your legs, when he catches you  through the corner of his eye he turns his head clicking his tongue admonishingly shaking his head. Once you’re both in your underwear he grabs your legs behind your knees bringing you to the edge of the bed and without breaking eye contact with you kneels down between your legs “now… you know not to flirt with my friends, it’s not respectful to me” he says in his low sultry voice in between kisses up your inner thighs just before depositing the last one right on your already pulsating nub. When you feel his mouth making contact with your already slick aching center you close your eyes a loud moan flowing from your lip before you can even stop it digging your nails on the heels of your hands leaving crescent shapes on them knowing better than to tug at your boyfriend’s hair.

Enzo might enjoy this a little bit too much if he’s honest with himself, but there’s something about having you like that, laying on the bed and at the mercy of his skillful fingers and mouth begging for some release that just drives him crazy. He’s been at this for almost an hour now, his fingers moving in and out of your dripping center which so lusciously tightens around them as he accompanies each thrust of his digits with alternating sucking and lapping at your throbbing core and once more when he feels your breath hitching in the back of your throat and you trying to move your hips into him trying to look some release and pulls away before you can get the so coveted release you so much desire. As he gets back up to his full height he looks at you seeing how distraught you look and smiles softly “Come on babygirl, let’s get you into the shower, a nice warm soothing shower to get you better”.

Before you can protest he’s disappeared into the bathroom running the water, once  he’s back by the bed Enzo  picks you up in his arms cradling you against his chest and walks to the shower standing under the water gently placing you down as he proceeds to wash your hair and body making sure to give you a soothing massage until he feels you relax under his touch. It's become a habit now, after one of these sessions of yours, he likes taking care and pampering you, he knows sometimes he can get a bit taken away in the situation and more than anything, he wants you to remember nothing’s gonna hurt you as long as you’re with him.

Lucia's notes: I relly hope you enjoyed this little one shot, as usual, reqs are still open for a bit longer until I get in the mood to start my new series.

Taglist: @madame-fear @cyliarys-starlight @castawaycherry @luceracastro @espinasrubi @koiibiito @candycanes19 @nperoconelcositoarriba @lxdyred @deepinsideyourbeing

[kinardbegins]

For the prompt thing, what about one of them bringing the other one flowers or something similar to woo them?

Or we kinda know Buck goes all out for his dates and Tommy isn't much better (helicopter to a fight in las vegas with Eddie) so what about them outdoing the other one and coming up with bigger and bigger date ideas?

thank you for the ask!! i wrote a lil thing based on the flower prompt for now and i might go back to write the second part another time <3

wc 500ish

Buck’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he’s already smiling before he checks who it is, knowing it’s Tommy. Made it to Bobby’s and Athena’s ❤️️, the message reads, and his smile grows. It makes him feel all squiggly inside knowing that Tommy’s integrated so well with his team–his family—and that he feels comfortable enough arriving at a get-together without him. Shooting back a quick message and sliding his phone into his pocket, Buck continues running the few errands he has to check off before the day is done.

It’s about an hour later when he pulls up to Bobby’s. He parks beside Eddie’s jeep and grabs everything he needs from the passenger seat before knocking on the front door and walking in. People greet him and he smiles in response but he doesn’t stop to talk, only looking for one person and one person only. And when he sees him, standing near the back doors with Bobby and Chimney, his breath catches in his throat and his heartbeat quickens and he’s sure he’s never felt this happy to see anyone ever.

Tommy spots him and grins, his nose crinkling in that way Buck loves. “Heeey,” he sings, voice like honey. Buck feels his chest tighten. “You get here okay?” 

“Mhm,” he replies, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He can feel Bobby and Chim watching them with smiles. “Got you something.”

“Evan, baby, you didn’t have to.” 

“I know.” He reveals a bouquet of flowers he had hidden behind his back. Roses, because he wanted to play it safe, and because he knows that Tommy is a romantic at heart. “But I saw these and just had to get them for you.” 

Tommy pauses, his grin slipping momentarily, and an unreadable look passes over his face. Buck falters, worried that he did the wrong thing–or, god forbid, embarrassed Tommy in front of everyone–when Tommy lets out a choked noise and smiles even wider than before. His eyes are glassy as he reaches out for the roses with one hand and for Buck with the other, bringing him in for a tight hug, holding the flowers to the side so they don’t get crushed. “God, Evan, this is so thoughtful. You’re so thoughtful. This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Really?” Chim asks, drawing both of their attention to him. He jumps a little at that and raises his hands with a smile, taking a few steps away to give them space. Bobby chuckles and moves with him. “Sorry. Continue.” 

Buck huffs out a laugh and turns back to Tommy, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, it seems like I’ll just have to get you flowers more, huh? A pretty guy like you deserves them.”

“Evan.” Tommy opens and closes his mouth a few times but nothing comes out. He’s completely speechless. “I… this… thank you.” He pulls Buck in by his jaw, the pad of his thumb lovingly stroking over his cheekbone, and kisses him with so much force Buck stumbles back a bit. “Thank you,” he repeats, voice shaky at the edges. "I mean it."

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

[lipglossanon]

stepbro leon finding readers embarrassing smutty book and peeks inside it and teases the reader about it..perhaps he wants to read it with the reader..and perhaps recreate it…

Howdy anon!! 👋

(Sorry to make you wait so long for a reply! 🙈)

AHSKGL I’ve had an anon mention something like that before (I think 🤔 maybe I thought of it if not lmao)

And he’d definitely sneak up on you as you’re reading to see what’s got you all excited 🤭 so once you put it down, he’s skimming through the pages, trying to see what it is that you like and he doesn’t notice you coming back into the room. He doesn’t care that you caught him cause you’re more embarrassed than he is 😉

So then he gets you guys comfy on, let’s say, the couch, your back to his chest so he can touch you freely. Getting you to read out loud, he starts running his hands over your body, light groping your breasts, pinching your nipples until you whimper and then smoothing his palms down your ribs.

He kisses and nips at your neck and ears, just continuous teasing as you try and read your smutty book out loud until finally you toss it away and turn around in his lap. Too turned on to really think about where you are, you pull his sweats down and spit on his cock before moving your shorts and panties to the side to sink down on him.

Leon is completely dumbstruck by you and so it takes his brain a second to realize what’s happening before he’s fucking up into your pussy hard and fast whispering that you’ve gotta be quiet and quick or else your parents are gonna walk in 🤭

“Just couldn’t help it could you princess. Had to ride your big brother’s cock where anyone could see,” he coos condescendingly, “such a needy little pussy.”

[dimitrscu]

there are two types of elden ring fan:

the normal one

and then this guy

[starbuck]

oh right, i was gonna say this, about my lovers:

the reason i want their marriage to fail is because i know that he would never eat her out. that’s the entire reason. i feel like an ideal situation would be that they stay married, but she also has a live-in girlfriend who treats her right. this will not happen, but i can dream.

additionally, in the other case, i KNOW that he gives her at least eight orgasms every night, so i’m not mad about it.

[camscendants]

That Jaiden Animations video about her being aroace really messes with me cause it’s way too relatable so it just adds another layer of confusion to me

[tonycries]

Whiskey, Neat, With a Side of You - T.F.

Synopsis. When your date stands you up, you’re lucky that the hot bartender is more than happy to keep you company! 

Pairing. Bartender! Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, strangers to lovers, unprotected, pússydrunk Toji, cúmplay, oral (female + male receiving), créampie, some heinous things with pantíes, dirty talk, spitting, whískey, neither are drunk, absolutely filthy, pet names (doll), swearing.

Word count. 4.6k

A/N. Was originally gonna be Nanami but Toji mmmm

“So, that date of yours is late, huh?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the question, or the voice from behind the counter - so very deep, tinged with just a bit of amusement.

Tearing your eyes away from the clock at the other end of the bar, it takes a second - and one look around the almost-empty room - for you to realize that shit the hot bartender was talking to you. Sputtering out a quick, “Oh, yes, um-” quickly reading that faded nametag, “-Toji. He’s a bit late.”

The man in front of you raises a brow, dark green eyes locked on the way you shift in your seat. He seemed a bit older, and - you gulp, eyeing the way his arms flex as he fumbles with the shaker - so undeniably attractive. Plowing on obliviously, “Boyfriend?”  

You sigh, pinching your nose, “No, some guy from a dating app. It’s supposed to be our first date.” 

“First date?” Toji lets out a low whistle. “Way to make an impression, dunno what type of asshat would keep a pretty lil’ thing like you waiting.”

Cheeks flaring, you don’t know what it is about him that makes you want to defend yourself, but it doesn’t matter anyway - because whatever rambled excuse gets stuck in your throat at the sharp scrape of glass against the counter. Large hands gently placing a pretty pink daiquiri in front of you, Toji gives you a reassuring nod. “S’on the house till that dumbass shows up. Until then, you can keep me company, doll.”

Playing with the straw between your fingers, your eyes flit to the clock again - 8:10pm.

Well, there was still time. Right? 

Nonsense, maybe.

Because it’s around 10:21pm when you conclude that no, there really wasn’t still time, and your date seemed well and fully intent on completely embarrassing you. And now, him still nowhere in sight, lips a bit looser, you were having the time of your life complaining all about it to Toji.

“-no, I swear.” you groan over his low chuckle. “He really gave me the ‘sorry, my dog ate my keys’ gem. And you know the best part?” Beckoning him over to whisper conspiratorially in his ear - heart stuttering at the heat of his proximity, “The man doesn’t even own a dog.”

Shaking his head, Toji seemed like he was drinking in your every word. “Classic. If yer gonna be late, at least make it interesting. Like, ‘I accidentally joined the circus on the way here.’”

“Mhm, I’ll have to keep that in mind for my next no-show date.” you grin, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than you were a few hours ago. Nowhere near tipsy, but definitely high off the conversation and the addictive scent of his cologne - the expensive kind that left you wondering whether all of him smelled this delicious. 

“Or better yet, you could spend your time with someone who actually knows how to keep you entertained rather than some scrub.”

Snapping out of your little reverie, lifting your head just fast enough to catch the little smirk tugging Toji’s lips. Managing to grit out, “Smooth, huh?”

“Just sayin’.” he hums, before turning his back to organize the glasses on the shelf. And you can’t help but traitorously admire his broad shoulders, cursing that t-shirt for being so goddamn tight that you could see the way his muscles ripple with each movement. 

“Besides-” Catching the tail-end of Toji’s question, “-neat whiskey for all the failed dates?”

You chuckle, “Ah, I really shouldn’t, the other customers will probably-” your sentence dies in your throat as a quick glance at the empty room showed that everyone else had eventually left - leaving just you. And Toji. Damn. Slow day, huh?

“Well, doll?”

Heaving out a shaky breath, you nod. Eyes zoning in on the way he expertly handles the glasses, so dizzyingly inviting. It makes a sheepish smile play at your lips, letting out a quiet little, “Despite all the shitty dates, I’ve actually never had whiskey neat before.”

Oh? That made him pause. Eyes widening ever-so-slightly as he sets down the glasses and leans in a little closer, breath hot against your face. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Well.” Toji muses. “This overpriced shit can’t be your first intro to neat whiskey. If you’re up for it, I’ve got a special 1926 Macallan stashed away in the back n’ can get it for us?”

Oh. Maybe it was that slow, silent grin that curls his lips, that sinful little scar moving as he does. Or maybe it was the way he places a hand on the counter to stare down so heavily at you. Probably it was just him - because you find yourself batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Or I could just go with you?”

And shit if there was ever a time where Toji was sure he met his match then it might just be right now. Because that sultry lil’ smirk on your lips was killing him, making such a carnal little part of him twitch so dangerously. With a heavy nod, you’re following him through the dimly lit bar.

The back room is more of a VIP room than anything - cozy, lined with shelves of alcohol and leather furniture. Heady with the liquor and something so so Toji. 

You’re halfway through reading the title of a wine you could barely pronounce before he’s letting out a grunt of satisfaction from behind you, “Excuse me, doll.” It’s all that’s said before Toji’s pressing up against you. His muscular arm just inches from your head, reaching for something from the very top shelf. And oh you could feel his abs rubbing up against your back, so warm and- 

And then he’s pulling away. 

It was quite hard to stomp down the disappointed whine that almost leaves your throat, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said something about the amused little glint in his eyes. Smug bastard knew what he was doing. 

Instead focusing on the way he turns to show off a bottle with a deceivingly innocent reverence. “This is going to be a real treat.”

Well. Two can play that game.

“Is that so?” you tilt your head, reaching out to grab the bottle neck, with not as much care of concern as you should have considering this was a million dollar whiskey. Swiftly unclasping the lid, focused only on the way Toji’s breath hitches as you fist his t-shirt in your other hand to pull him close to you - so close.

Close enough that you could count every shade of green in those half-lidded eyes, long lashes fluttering as your breath fans his face. “Such a shame we didn’t bring our glasses, huh?”

Oh the devilish grin that splits across his face sends such delicious shivers down your spine - Toji gets your drift. Of course, he does. Because he’s squishing your cheeks together in an almost-embarrassing pout, fingers searing on your skin, lips ghosting yours, “Yeah, real shame.” 

Immediately bringing the bottle to his mouth, letting the burning liquid pool on his tongue, he spits into your mouth, once. Twice. 

A steady stream of whiskey, and spit. It tasted just like the acrid alcohol and sin. And Toji. 

And it was so messy, smearing across your lips and trickling down your chin. Tilting your head back, you let it flow down your throat obscenely. Locked in his greedy gaze as you loll your tongue out to show off the way you’d swallowed everything he gave. 

“Maybe I do like neat whiskey.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him because fuck Toji was intoxicating and just there. That little scar rubbing against your lips as he devours you so sloppily, all hard muscles and heated skin underneath your fingertips. 

“Fuck.” he hisses into your open mouth. Setting down the whiskey God-knows-where near the couch to pick you up like a ragdoll. Drinking in the cute lil’ gasp that leaves you as you wrap your legs around his slutty waist. Groping and kneading every inch of skin he could reach. “How ya likin’ the Macallan, doll?”

“A ‘real treat’.” you mimic his earlier words, voice slightly broken as you feel his rock-hard cock through your wet panties, throbbing angrily against your cunt. Fuck, would you even be able to take him all?

“Oh yeah?”

And before you can react you’re being pushed against the hard wall. Toji’s lips dizzying on yours, fiddling with that godforsaken clasp on the back of your tight dress. 

“Shit.” he groans impatiently, wedging a knee between your legs, grinding against your wet pussy. “Such a delicious meal all f’me but I’ve gotta get through this- fuckin-” rip! “-dress”

Well, you expected your dress to end up on the floor somewhere, just not like this - tattered and hitting the ground of this back room behind the bar, faster than your jaw. And so do Toji’s - pupils blown, eyes hooded as he takes in the heavenly view in front of him. 

Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, licking like he couldn’t stay away. “Shit, doll. You were gonna wear this pretty lil’ number for that loser?” he sounds genuinely confused. Immediately tweaking and rolling your swollen nipples through the sheer fabric. “M’so fucking glad that bastard doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

“T-Toji- ngh-” you mewl, as he lets your bra fall to the ground. Taking in one tit in his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around your areola. “Wan- wan’ more-”

“Now now,” he tuts mockingly, delicate strings of spit connecting him to your breasts. “S’rude to be the only one drinking. Unless…” Toji looks up at you through his thick lashes, “You wan’ me to drink in that pretty lil’ cunt of yours?”

And shit that sounded like everything you ever wanted right now. All you can let out is a delirious little nod before Toji’s dropping to his knees. So hard you wonder if it hurts - and maybe it’s the liquor, probably it’s the way he’s drunk off you - but he doesn’t give a fuck. 

“Yeah, atta girl.”

Pulling down your panties in one, fluid motion, he tugs them underneath your legs, disappearing between his own, fumbling with his waistband. And if you angled your head just right you could see the slightest glimpse of Toji fisting his cock. Soaking your already-wet panties with his precum.

“Aw, look at the way she’s so wet f’me already.” he coos at your dripping cunt. Absolutely obsessed with the way you’re so drenched for him already. Slick beading through the flimsy fabric at each hot breath, oh Toji has half the mind to just take you right here, right now. But no, he wanted- needed a taste. Doesn’t think he could live without it. “Wonder if she tastes just as sweet as she looks.”

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by Toji burying himself face-first in your pussy. Licking a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds, pooling your slick on his tongue. 

But it wasn’t enough - it might never be. Because one taste of your pretty cunt and Toji is hooked. 

With a low groan, he’s spitting a steady stream of spit onto your quivering pussy. Spreading it with his thumb before he’s diving back in nose-deep. Snaking a hand down to draw frenzied little circles on your swollen clit, letting your juices glisten all down his wrist.

“Taste s’fuckin’ good. Fucking sweet.” So hot and maybe you should’ve gotten an inkling with how sloppy he was with the whiskey - but Toji was so fucking filthy. Your slick glossing his face so prettily, smearing right up to his nose and dribbling down his chin. Lewd little squelches deafening in your ears. 

“Ngh- Sh-shut up-”

“Shut up? Can’t shut up, doll, m’drunk on this sweet cunt more than I am on whiskey.” he mutters into your folds. “My favorite taste. Got me addicted, huh?”

He huffs out a dark laugh into your pussy, taking in that cute lil’ embarrassed expression on your face. Throwing one of your legs over his sculpted shoulder, Toji bullies his soft tongue into your snug cunt, past that delicious little ring of resistance. 

Making out with your pussy deeper. And his tongue was so long - perfectly hitting your sweet spots, licking all over your plushy walls. Thrusting in time with his thumb drawing on your clit, in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck, I could get used to this. Have you for breakfast, lunch, n’ dinner.”

His words were so dirty, but Toji looked so pretty stuffing his face in your cunt. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, dark strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. Tilting his head just so that your sweet sweet juices slide down his throat. 

It’s what has you tugging in his hair to angle him just right, using him like your favorite toy. Such cute lil’ whines of his name leaving you each time his tongue grazes that one spot that has you keening and bucking into his mouth for more more more-

“Fuck fuck fuck jus’ like that- Ah!” you let out such pretty whines, words slurring together. Delirious little ones that go straight to Toji’s achingly hard cock, angry and twitching in his fist. So needy and glistening with precum in the dim lighting.

Shit, Toji thinks he could cum at just that, which is why he’s lapping at your cunt even greedier, drinking you in like a madman. Fingers so deftly toying with your pretty clit, making you putty in his hands. He has to make you cum. Now. Or else he’s gonna fuckin’ embarrass himself in front of such a goddess. 

“Oh? So drunk on m’tongue, already, doll?” he chuckles. “Can’t speak?” Vibrations sending white-hot jolts of pleasure up your spine. It has you dragging your cunt so sloppily all over Toji’s face - and he likes it. Loves it even, only speeding up his movements. Even when his jaw is aching, walls sucking him up so desperately that it was almost difficult to eat out your pretty lil’ cunt. Even when your sweet juices are dripping down to the hardwood floor in a sinful little drip! drip! drip! 

“I- ngh- m’gonna-”

“Gonna what? You can handle whiskey, you can handle using your words, doll.”

“Cum!” you yelp, “M’gonna cum Toji- ah- feels t’good.” 

And that’s exactly what he liked to hear because Toji only gets sloppier. Alternating between stretching you out on his tongue, sucking on your clit, licking everywhere. Over and over-

“Then cum f’me, doll.”

And you are - fast and hard. So hard that you don’t even realize when you’re rocking your hips all over Toji’s face. Cunt fluttering around his tongue as if you were trying to suck him up - and he lets you. 

“Fuck. Sweeter than I imagined.” he’s slurring into your cunt. “Jus’ like that- yeah, ride out that pretty lil’ cunt on m’face.” Words muffled as he tonguefucks you through your high, stars behind your lids every time he flicks at your pussy. 

Distantly, you hear such embarrassing little whimpers of his name in time with the sinfully wet groans from below - ones you realize are yours only when you’re blinking back your vision. Heart thundering, pathetically trying to catch your breath.

The first thing you hear is Toji’s little chuckle, followed closely by a lewd pop! that has you whirling to look at him down below.

“Wh-wha-” and all you can let out is a strangled little oh! at the sight before you - Toji licking his fingers clean, sucking all your sweet juices like he couldn’t get enough. Even when he’s flashing you a devilish grin around his fingers, rising from his position on the ground to cage you against the wall.

“Told ya m’addicted, doll.”

Your back hits the soft leather before you even realize what’s happening. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw, you gasp in both shock and at the audacity of this man.

“Toji…” you warn as he looms over you on the couch, yet it comes out more breathless than you intended. But looking at him there - straddling your hips, pants pulled just below his heavy balls, tugging and teasing his rock-hard cock like he was trying to fuck something delicious out of it - how could you be blamed, really?

He was so big. Pulsing wildly in his fist and just soaked in precum - all the way from his pretty pink tip to the tufts of black at his base. Not quite wild, not quite tamed. You cunt clenches in- anticipation? Fear of not being able to walk for the next week?

And in the haze of your orgasm it takes you a second to register the flimsy panties wrapped around his hand. Rubbing against those prominent veins on the side as Toji fucks his fist. So wet and ruined that you almost didn’t recognize it. 

“Jus’ think of it as repayment.” he grins, following your line of sight. 

You scoff, eyes still traitorously stuck on his throbbing cock. So massive and mouth-watering that it makes you wish he used you instead of those panties. “Those were expensive y’know.”

“I’ll buy you new ones. Four. In the color of my eyes.”

“How about…” you flash him a sultry smirk, urging his hips to shift higher. And by the amused quirk of his brow, you knew Toji liked where this was going.  “I can repay you another way.”

And before you knew it, his pants are thrown to God-knows-where, and you had two, muscled thighs straddling your face. Toji slaps his swollen cock on your face once. Twice. “Think that loser was this big?” Thumbing your mouth open as he grazes his weeping tip across your lips, glossing them so prettily. Precum salty on your tongue, all filthy and dripping down to your chin. 

“Open wide- Fuck. Tha’s it-” he hisses, brows furrowing as he stuffs his fat head into your hot mouth. Eyes rolling to the back of his head at the way your lips bulge around him, flicking at the sensitive tip. And it was so delicious, Toji couldn’t decide whether he liked eating you out or this more. 

“Shit, doll.” he grunts, hips fucking into your plushy tongue in shallow, quick little thrusts. “Taking me so well, huh?”

You didn’t know if you were - lips stretching obscenely around his thick cock, tears clinging to your lashes. Choking and gagging around his length in a way that made Toji twitch inside you. Shit, he liked this - liked seeing you like this. And as soon as the realization hits you, you’re moaning around his cock, making Toji’s hips stutter above you. 

Toji has to fight off that part of himself that just wants to paint your mouth a sinful white. Fuck his cum into your till it’s all you can taste - all you can feel. 

“Shit. You little minx. Ah- s’heavenly around me ngh-” pressing your head down till all the way till your nose is flush against his pelvis, balls twitching against your chin. Finally bottoming out and fucking your mouth in harsh, long strokes. “Fuck- Wonder if that pretty lil’ cunt of yours is gonna take me t-this well, huh?”

Oh does he love your smart mouth - but he loves it even more when all he gets in response is wet gurgle around his cock. Looking up at him so tearily and shit he could get used to this sight. “M’gonna take that as a yes.”

And then he’s speeding up, balls squeezing so painfully. God it’s so fucking hard to look at you too - precum and spit bubbling sloppily at the corners of your mouth, makeup so messy and fucking gorgeous to him. 

“Can feel m’self riiight-” Reaching out a hand to wrap around your throat, feeling his dick bulging in and out in and- “here.”

Moving faster so he can ruin your pretty face. It’s so sloppy the way your spit glistens down his length, using your swollen mouth as he pleases. And you’re so eager to make him lose his mind too that it has been fucking into you like a toy.

“Ya like this? Like me using your pretty lil’ mouth like oh- it’s a fucktoy? Oh fuck, doll.” he groans, running his mouth like he’s drunk off yours wrapped around him. “Gonna paint that pretty mouth of yours white if y’don’t stop now.” 

And shit if he knew those words would have you eagerly bobbing your head to meet his hips a little slut then he’d have said them a lot sooner. Trying to get just a taste of him. Mascara runny now, swirling your tongue around his leaking tip every time he hits the back of your throat, so hard that it’s probably sore and bruised. Toji almost feels bad. 

…

Nahhh

Pulling your mouth off him, muttering low and dangerous. “Told ya to stop now, didn’t I?”

And oh he hates to cut off that cute lil’ whine spilling from your kiss-bitten lips, but shit Toji’s losing his patience and his sanity with each passing second that he isn’t stuffing his cock in your pretty cunt. 

Toji backs up, swiping a thumb under your lip, sucking off the remnants of his precum before capturing your lips in a searing, searing kiss. Tasting you and himself and you- 

“Liked the Macallan, huh?” Reaching blindly for the bottle of whiskey, taking a deep swing. Spitting it back into your mouth because shit you looked so pretty swallowing it all up. Rutting his hips into yours, sliding his throbbing erection in between your swollen folds. Collecting your sweet juices on his head, drinking in your adorable gasps.

“T-Toji.” you whimper, hips bucking up wildly. “Just fuck me already, goddamnit.”

And then he is - pressing his fat tip into your sloppy hole. Inch by fucking inch. Not even thinking of easing into it because fuck he needs it. He needs it-

“-s’bad. Ah-” Toji drawls against your lips. “Wan’ed this ever since y’walked in through that damn door.” A mess of spit and alcohol and precum - it made you feel so dirty, dirtier than the pressure between your legs as he bullies his heavy cock into your snug pussy. And all you can do is fucking take it because Toji was so unrelenting.

Thrusting in shallow, mindless little thrusts to just fit himself inside you - and you already feel like you’re being stretched to your limits. Whimpering out a tearily little, “Are you at least ngh- halfway in yet? Oh-”

If Toji was any lesser man he’d just have split you apart on his cock right now, but no. Instead settling for a smug little, “Nope”, popping the p.

But that doesn’t stop him from wrapping two arms around your waist, sitting up on the couch with you splayed out so prettily on his cock. Pulling you, squeezing his dick into your soft cunt, sliding down, down, down.

“Ah! Ah- shit shit shit s’too deep, ngh-”

“No such thing as ‘too deep’, doll.” he clenches his jaw. Hands pushing your thighs apart even further as you’re split apart on his cock. “You jus’ hafta sit there all pretty n’ take- it-” Each word is punctuated by a harsh thrust. 

And Toji’s manhandling you around while bouncing you on his dick. Drawing unhurried little circles on your clit while trying to find that one spot he knows you’d love more than any whiskey or drink. Looping a strong arm to arch you into his body and-

“Fuck!” you keen, hips grinding sloppily to milk his cock as much as you could. Walls clenching so sinfully and shit-

“Found it.”

And then it was like something snapped - because all of a sudden Toji’s no more playful teasing and letting you have your little fun. No, he’s fucking you like a man possessed - thrusting his cock up into you. All the way from his weeping tip, till his balls smack your ass. So hard he’s sure they leave such a shameful mark for tomorrow. Hitting that spot over and over-

“Aren’t ya glad you chose to ah- s-stay with me?” he hisses, throwing his head back. One hand rocking your hips deeper the other becoming faster and faster on your poor, ravaged clit. Driving you crazy. “Fuck that date ditcher, y’look all pretty like this for me.”

“Yes yes yes- s’glad.” you manage to sob out. Voice shaky and hitching at the way he was bouncing you on his cock with reckless abandon. The lewd squelches and skin-on-skin filling the heady room, making your head spin so much that you barely hear Toji’s words. 

“I’d make a much better date. Hngh-” he lets out a guttural groan as your nails rake his back. Fingers on your clit becoming more and more frantic. “Would buy ya flowers n’ a-all that shit. Show up on time, all dressed up.” Drinking in your lewd little ah! ah! ah! every time he milks himself on your sloppy pussy. But oh maybe Toji was a talker when he was drunk because he wasn’t done yet. 

“Make all those other scrubs fuck- jealous. And then-” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy. “Hah- at night- m’gonna fuck you dumb just like this.” he gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his sanity. Losing it bit by bit every time his veins rub so deliciously against all the right spots that make you see stars. 

Losing his sanity especially when you whine out such a cute lil’ noise of agreement. “Fuck m’close. Wanted this too, huh? I saw the way you’d been eyeing me all night.”

You can’t even be embarrassed about being caught red-handed, only looking up at his pretty face with delirious heart-eyes. Too cockdrunk and delirious at this point. And, well, maybe it’s the alcohol in your veins because you’re grabbing at the shiny bottle on the seat, bringing it to your lips. The bitter taste barely hitting your lips before you’re meeting his. Making out as sloppily as he was ravaging you below - all teeth and whiskey and pure filth. 

And that answers his question. 

Messy and desperate. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same - clamping down so sinfully on his aching cock. And shit it’s so heavenly that it sends him over the edge as well. 

Toji cums, and keeps cumming so hard that he can see the way his seed was gushing out of your poor, overfilled pussy. Especially not when his thrusts get sloppy, thick cum spilling all over your pretty cunt. Purposely not pulling out like the mean bastard he is to paint your walls a sinful white

Over and over, forming a wet little patch on the couch that he knows he’ll have to worry about later. But right now he doesn’t give a fuck because your bloated and so prettily all covered in his seed. 

Leisurely, he pools the cum trickling out of your cunt on his fingertips, not even wasting a second before stuffing them in your mouth, pushing through your swollen lips. And you don’t complain - not at all. In fact, you’re sucking it all up eagerly. Looking Toji straight in the eyes while you swallow it all. 

“Hmm, not as good as the whiskey.” you tease. Letting yourself be yanked into his body, as he grins against your lips.

“For that, m’keeping the panties.” 

--- 

“Toji…” a low voice rings through the closed bar. Shiu sounding like he’s absolutely at his wit’s end as he continues, “Where the fuck is our 1926 Macallan?”

The man in question was staring suspiciously giddily at his phone - either having not heard what Shiu said, or he just couldn’t give a fuck anyway. And knowing Toji, it was probably the latter. 

A warning. “Toji I’m serious, that shit costs over a million dollars.”

“Yeah yeah, congratulations or my condolences but hey, do you know any great flower shops?”

A/N. I don’t even like whiskey so much, it’s just the thought of bartender! Toji that has me feral.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[yueebby]

how i met your mother  — gojo satoru

contents. fluff, meet ugly, established relationship, highschool!gojo in flashback, gojo just loves his wife and everyone is sick of it

notes. this is apart of my indulge me series but everything can be read as a standalone!

“you forgot to give me a kiss this morning,” your husband pouts from your lap before puckering his lips out, “i’ll need a thousand more to compensate!” 

just a couple meters away from you, paper crinkles harshly as nanami, your fellow colleague, flips the page on the newspaper he’s reading. you hear a heavy sigh leave his lips.  “i missed it when you both hated each other,” he readjusts his glasses with one hand tiredly. he’s disappointed, but not surprised with satoru’s behavior.

this comment causes itadori, who happened to be hanging out in the teacher’s lounge to perk up.

“gojo-sensei and gojo-san hated each other?” he sits up straight on the couch. the pink haired boy looks between you and satoru, who is purring happily as you play with his hair. “i can’t imagine that..” he mumbles quietly. he was, unfortunately, a first hand witness of gojo’s love for you.

the white haired male that was comfortably nestled in your lap looks up at you, “ah! she tried so hard to resist my charms, but this handsome face won in the end!” his loud boast leads you to cover his mouth with the palm of your hand.

“that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” you press your palm harder against his mouth, determined to silence his protests. 

nanami easily ignores his senior’s muffled whines while itadori looks at his sensei in pity. marriage must be tough, he thinks.

you only lift your hand off of his mouth with a shriek when satoru decides to lick your palm. he smirks proudly at himself causing the other two males in the room to grimace at the strange display of affection. 

“darling, you hated me?” his eyes blink up at you innocently, blue eyes on full display. you purse your lips together, resisting whatever game he was playing at. from the moment you stepped into the lounge with him, he insisted on taking his blindfold off. he argues that he has to see you with his own eyes or he’ll die. you argue that he’s dramatic. nonetheless, satoru was cute so you’ll let him get away with it. 

“hate is a strong word– i just didn’t like you very much. we got off on the wrong foot, might i remind you.” 

2005 — year one at tokyo jujutsu tech

meet at 1 chome-1-1 dogenzaka, shibuya city, tokyo

that was written in the letter addressed to you from yaga. the bustling streets of tokyo, filled with the cacophony of hundreds of conversations and the rush of oncoming traffic, were a stark contrast to the serene country life you had enjoyed. 

the sheer mass of people in the street made it nearly impossible for you to spot your teacher and future classmates, but the heavens above must be on your side because you spot a dark uniform in the corner of your eye, similar to the one you’re wearing.

a jujutsu tech uniform! without wasting a second, you weave your way through the crowd to the tall figure. upon closer inspection, you find that it was a boy with snow hair, a juxtaposition to the dark fabric of his uniform.

“excuse me, but are you by any chance from–” you tap on the abnormally tall frame from behind.

“not interested.” he doesn’t spare you a glance before walking away. it takes you a minute to process what had just happened. did he just–? that must have been a figment of your imagination. you feel as though you were shell shocked.

another voice joins the conversation, “oh, gojo, you found her.” it was another guy with a uniform just like the white haired boy and yours. he has notable bangs, you think. 

“did i? she must be a real weakling. i couldn’t even sense her cursed energy,” gojo now turns back to look at you.

a surge of irritation courses through you, your grip on your skirt tightening. this guy must be some spoiled brat that came from a special lineage. you shoot him a sharp glare from the corner of your eyes, only to find out that he too had a sharp gaze on you.

a low whistle comes out of his mouth. 

 “oh,” there is a noticeable change in the tone of his voice. from your peripheral vision, you notice him take off his round sunglasses. “hey.”  you want to laugh.

out of pure pettiness, you recycle his previous comment, “not interested.”

thankfully, another student arrived, this time it was a girl with short brown hair. she waved at you politely, to which you happily smiled. it was nice to know that there were some people left in this world with manners.

soon after her arrival, yaga comes.

“hello, i’m [last name] [first name] from kyoto. please take care of me!” you bow before everyone but gojo or whatever his name is. you come to find out that mr. bangs is actually geto and the pretty girl is ieiri.

“you didn’t tell me she was hot,” gojo not-so-quietly whispers to geto. the hand over his mouth is in vain because you can still hear him clearly. both ieiri and geto make a distasteful face. 

you look around confused. it’s not everyday you receive such a brash compliment, “...thank you?” 

there’s a slightly horrified look on gojo’s face when he realizes that you had heard him, but he recovers quickly, replacing it with a cheshire grin.

“say, have you been to shinjuku? i’m sure a country bumpkin like you wouldn’t know, so allow me to–” 

there’s only so much patience in your body. with a deep breath and your best passive aggressive smile, you utter, “no thanks.” 

he blinks. once. twice. you assume he is not used to rejection with the way he has yet to process it. 

a soft chuckle leaves his mouth, “playing hard to get, i see. i like a challenge.”

“that’s not really the case.”

“one date,” he announces with a playful smirk, raising a single finger in emphasis.

you’re on the verge of shaking your head in rejection, but before you can, yaga intervenes, swiftly and unceremoniously slapping the back of gojo’s head.

“kids these days,” he mutters under his breath while gojo rubs the wound painfully. you snicker.

gojo straightens up when the sound of your laughs reaches his ears. his eyes track the sound waves back to your face, only to be disappointed when he sees that your attention is on geto. 

unlike gojo, geto was trying to salvage what was left of a good first impression. the black haired male smiles awkwardly, leading you away from his strange friend, “so you’re from kyoto? why didn’t you attend the jujutsu tech there?”

from behind you, there’s an incredulous, “eh? and lose a beauty like that to the kyoto guys?” 

you’re nearly certain that a blood vessel is about to pop. but you swallow your frustration, choosing to answer the only sensible boy you’ve met today.

“i’m trying to avoid clan matters, so kyoto is the last place i want to be,” you explain to geto who nods understandingly. 

what you don’t see is the sneaky wink he sends back at a fuming satoru.

2018 — present day

your recollection must not have been accurate, because your husband is sulking by the end of your story. 

“hmph. that’s not how i remember it.” he crosses his arm with a huff.

“how do you remember it? do tell.” you look down at him. there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap.

there’s a cheeky glint in his eyes, like you’ve just walked into his trap. “i remembered cherry blossoms falling and more hearts floating around,”

you smack his shoulder.

“be serious!”

he waves his hand in the air to stop your playful attacks, “fine, fine!” 

you know that he’s secretly enjoying the attention.

“well, i’m quite the looker so it was common for girls to constantly gush over me y’know?” he grins. you did not find that amusing, retracting your hands from his hair. he immediately grabs your hand and places it back on his head.

“let me finish!”

you resume your handiwork on his head reluctantly. “go on.”

there’s a content smile on his face, “i thought you were just trying to hit on me! it was only after i took a good look at you, i realized that you were totally hot.”

“i can’t believe i married you.” you roll your eyes, but there is no malice behind the action.

“hah–” his mouth is wide open. “i’m a total catch, ya’ know?!” 

“mhm, yeah. you are a catch toru,” you coo while pinching his cheek and he blushed furiously. 

the two of you are too engrossed with each other to notice the horrified look that has settled on nanami’s face. one peaceful afternoon, he thinks. one peaceful afternoon is all he asks for.

extra notes- 

yuji respects gojo as his teacher, but he still can’t believe that gojo was able to pull you.

there have been multiple occasions where you had forgotten to give satoru a goodmorning kiss, each time he finds you and forces you to actually give him a dozen to compensate. it doesn’t matter if he was on a mission or teaching (he’s annoying like that).

gojo’s the pride of the gojo clan so he was spoiled rotten, hence the reason why he was so sure you were into him.

this is only the start, as your high school years go by, he only falls harder.