#[he's started to go out on his own for a while now]

[julietcpulet]

Why Jinshi is perfect for Maomao 💜

Some people think that Maomao and Jinshi couldn’t work because she lacks any ability to feel romantic connection. That she rejects his advances because she either doesn’t like him personally or that she was born with an inability to feel in that way at all. Neither are true. In actuality, Jinshi is the one person best suited to Maomao. Why? Because she doesn’t lack the capability to feel romantic emotion, she’s just emotionally closed off.

Due to an upbringing where her needs and wants were ignored, along with abuse and complicated early relationships, Maomao has learned to shut herself off out of protection. She’s come to believe she’s incapable of feeling love because to her love is something seen as undesirable and scary. Viewed through the lens of the pleasure district, love was always a game. It was likely if you love someone you’d get hurt. Also, when she cried and expressed the need for something, no one answered her so she simply stopped expressing those needs and wants.

“You’ll never find some fine prince whose heart will never change. That’s one lesson you can’t escape here. What does trust ever get you? When you come down to it, I’m a whore, and you’re a whore’s daughter.”

So, I would argue that Maomao, as a person who has become emotionally reserved or closed off due to past experiences, is best suited for Jinshi who is very emotionally available. He counters her reservation head on. While this is often what is seen as “forceful” or ignoring her wishes, I’d disagree. It’s him trying to break through an exterior Maomao has learned to put up to protect herself. When she only sees herself as a tool and expendable, Jinshi finds ways to make her feel valuable, to work within how she sees the world and hopefully expand her view of her own worth little by little.

"Do you hate me so much?" he asked, his face now less like a wild dog and more like a puppy. Love, hate some people wanted the world to be so black and white. Why wouldn't he give her the choice of a gray area? "I suppose I don't hate you as such," she said. She might even think of him favorably.

"If you want to send me off wherever, well, if I'm just a pawn who makes no difference to the strategic situation, I guess I have no right to object. Am I a pawn to you, Master Jinshi?" He was silent. "Is there something you'd like to say to me?" - "Yes, I want to..." He started to answer, but refused to look her in the eye. Finally, he said, "I want to have another bowl of that stew." - "Sure," Maomao said after a second. "I'll go get some more." Apparently, she figured, this was his way of saying she was useful enough to keep around.

Jinshi’s steady and honest nature is what allows Maomao to feel comfortable enough in their dynamic to push back at him, to demand things of him and banter with him and be herself with him in ways she cannot express with others. Because he proves he is safe. That he will not hurt her, that he will not leave. He shows she isn’t just a crush of proximity but someone who matters to him and continues to show that over and over through words and actions.

"Jinshi was a man who could have had anything and everything he desired. And yet, he was such a straight shooter that it caused him to beat around the bush like this. He didn't want to take the shortest route to what he wanted, but the one that would be best for the other person."

"Jinshi suspected that if he asked Maomao what had happened to her since he had seen her last, she would give him only the most businesslike report. There would be no attempt to make him worry for her or sympathize with her. - Did she do that so that she wouldn't be a burden to him? Or simply because she saw no point in getting emotional about it? If the former, then Jinshi wouldn't be content until he had done something about this infuriating, cat-like creature."

He shows her he will give her what she needs, he will listen to her when she expresses a fear, a reservation, a want. And that's not something she's had in this particular way before. She's used to being ignored, so Jinshi's ability to push past her outer defenses of nonchalance and ambivalence reveals that she may want things, she may have desires but fear and insecurity often keep her from voicing them. In this way Jinshi's unwillingness to let her be continually evasive is a kindness.

"So I should be clear, should I? Unequivocal? I should say what I mean? If I did, would you actually listen to me? Is that what you're telling me? I'm going to hold you to that! Right this minute. I'll say it all. Don't plug your ears, listen to me!" He grabbed her hands as she was in the process of trying to put her fingers in her ears. He took a breath. He was looking at Maomao, but somehow he seemed almost embarrassed. Finally he managed, "Now listen to me, y- I mean, Maomao! Listen close! I am going to make you my wife!"

"But then, was it any less mad, what Jinshi had been forced to live with? He had the power; he could have done any number of even crazier things. That he had the generosity of heart to listen to Maomao's words made it hard to shout at him now."

This availability and openness is what I’d say is the perfect counter to Maomao’s inner deflective tendencies. In his prodding and affectionate pursuit, he gives her time and the opportunity to open up to someone in a way that feels comfortable to her. It allows her to see that any heartfelt reciprocation will be met with appreciation by the right person. Something even others affirm for her.

"I know you have your circumstances, Miss Maomao. It's important not to get carried away by your emotions! But..." - "You can't let that be an excuse either."

“Maomao, you're very fortunate. This person is clearly very persistent, extremely stubborn, doesn't know when to quit-" - "and is good enough that even you were willing to let him win." Maomao looked down, which was something Joka knew she did when she was trying to hide embarrassment.

So Jinshi truly is the perfect person for Maomao because she doesn’t lack the ability to love, she simply needs someone who can wait for her to express it. Which Jinshi has been able to do because of his growing appreciation of Maomao as a person and willingness to understand her gentle displays of affection that keep him eagerly pursuing her as he can see her sincerity underneath layers of feigned disinterest.

“What she felt for Jinshi was not, she suspected, a burning passion. She couldn't respond to him with the same feelings he brought to her, but at the same time, there weren't that many people in the world with whom she could feel this safe.”

Their love isn’t about one being forceful and the other relenting to it. It’s about one creating a sense of comfort through persistent faithfulness, so the other isn't afraid of expressing emotions they've always had but felt were inadequate or were given no outlet for. By Jinshi giving Maomao a feeling of protection and love beyond what she expects, she can come to the realization that it’s not all a game, some love can be real, honest and selfless 💚

[sixeyesonathiel]

this love survives bad haircuts

synopsis : satoru makes a very questionable decision the night before school. by morning, he’s convinced he’s ruined everything—especially the way you look at him. it’s not just about hair, he learns. it never was.

wc — 4.8k ✦ tags -> character study, humor, comfort, fluff, crack treated seriously, high school au, established relationship, military haircut disaster, teenage love, idiots in love, insecure satoru

satoru gojo has made a terrible, terrible mistake.

he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, running shaky fingers through what used to be his glorious crown of silver-white chaos and is now... this. this travesty. this crime against humanity. his hair sits close to his scalp in a crisp military cut, all sharp edges and geometric precision, and he looks like he’s about to ship out to boot camp instead of walking into first period chemistry.

the thing is, satoru has never been ugly before. not once in his seventeen years of existence. he’s been gangly, sure, when he hit that growth spurt at fourteen and couldn’t figure out where his limbs belonged. he’s been awkward, definitely, when his voice cracked during that disastrous presentation in freshman english. but ugly? never ugly.

more importantly, he’s never been ugly in front of you. you, who calls him pretty boy when you’re feeling soft. you, who traces his jawline with sleepy fingers during saturday morning cuddles. you, who literally purrs—purrs—when he nuzzles into your neck like the overgrown puppy he knows he is.

the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows across his face and making his shorn head look even more alien. he tilts his head left, then right, hoping maybe the angle will make it less catastrophic. it doesn’t. if anything, it makes him look like a confused ostrich. he wonders if this is what normal people feel like all the time—this horrible uncertainty about their own reflection.

“what have i done,” he whispers to his reflection, and his reflection—that traitorous thing—just stares back with the same horrified crystalline eyes, now looking enormous without his usual curtain of hair to frame them.

the dare had seemed so simple last night. suguru and shoko, sprawled across his bedroom floor with energy drinks and homework they weren’t doing, had been going on and on about how you were obviously only dating him for his money. for his face. for the way his hair caught afternoon sunlight and made him look like some sort of ethereal prince.

it had stung, the way they’d laughed about it. not because he thought they were right, but because some treacherous part of his brain had whispered what if? what if you really were that shallow? what if the girl who remembered his coffee order and drew little hearts on his notebook margins and let him drape himself across her lap like a house cat was just playing some elaborate long game?

the thought makes him sick. because satoru gojo is pathetically in love with you. embarrassingly so. the kind of love that makes him text you good morning before his eyes are fully open, that makes him buy you little trinkets from the convenience store just because they reminded him of you, that makes him physically ache when you’re not around.

he’d always been too much. too loud, too rich, too everything. his parents had made sure he knew that—love wrapped in conditions, affection measured in achievements. so when you’d started dating him six months ago, he’d been waiting for the catch. waiting for you to get tired of his energy, his neediness, his desperate desire to be wanted for something other than his last name.

instead, you’d started calling him baby. started letting him sleep with his head on your chest. started feeding him pieces of your lunch while calling him spoiled, but with such fondness that it felt like the sweetest compliment in the world.

“she’s totally shallow,” shoko had said, blowing smoke rings toward his ceiling while picking at her black nail polish. “i bet if you showed up tomorrow bald, she’d dump you before homeroom.”

“not bald,” suguru had corrected, ever the voice of reason, though his smirk suggested otherwise. “but like, really short. military style. bet she wouldn’t even look at you twice.”

and satoru—stupid, lovesick, pride-wounded satoru—had taken the bait hook, line, and sinker. because deep down, in the parts of himself he doesn’t like to examine too closely, he’d wondered the same thing. wondered if your fingers tangled in his hair during kisses because you loved him or because you loved the way he looked in magazine spreads and instagram stories.

now he’s standing in the school hallway, hood pulled up despite the no-hats policy, practically vibrating with anxiety. his palms are sweating. actually sweating. when was the last time satoru gojo had sweaty palms? never, that’s when. but here he is, seventeen years old and terrified of his own girlfriend.

he tries to remember the last time he’d felt this kind of bone-deep terror. maybe when he was eight and broke his mother’s favorite vase, standing in the wreckage with tears streaming down his face while she counted to ten in that voice that meant disappointment. or maybe it was never this bad, because at least then he’d known the parameters of his punishment. now he’s flying blind into territory he’s never had to navigate: the possibility that someone he loves might not love him back.

students flow around him like water around a rock, chattering about weekend plans and upcoming tests, and none of them seem to notice that satoru gojo is having a complete mental breakdown. someone laughs too loudly near the science wing. a locker slams shut with metallic finality. the morning announcements crackle through tired speakers, and principal yaga’s voice drones about dress code violations.

he spots you at your locker, and his heart does that stupid fluttering thing it always does—like a hummingbird having a seizure. you’re wearing the sweater he bought you last week—soft pink cashmere that probably cost more than most people’s rent—and you’re humming under your breath while you sort through textbooks. there’s a small furrow between your brows as you squint at your schedule, and he knows you’re probably trying to remember if you have calculus or literature next.

this is the thing about loving someone, he thinks. you start memorizing their expressions like they’re a language only you can speak. he knows that furrow means concentration, not annoyance. knows that the way you’re tapping your fingers against your locker door means you’re running through your mental checklist, probably remembering that you forgot to finish your chemistry homework and trying to calculate if you have enough time before class.

he also knows that if he walked up to you right now and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, you’d make that little huffing noise that means you’re pretending to be annoyed but secretly pleased. knows that you’d lean back into him anyway, letting him nuzzle into your hair while you complained about him being clingy in that fond, exasperated voice you use when you’re trying not to smile.

you look so pretty, so normal, so completely unaware that your boyfriend has committed follicular suicide. your hair falls in soft waves over your shoulder, and satoru’s stomach clenches with the sudden, visceral realization that he’ll never be able to mirror that gesture again. no more running his fingers through matching lengths of hair. no more of you braiding small sections when you’re bored in class.

no more of you tugging on the strands when you want his attention, calling him your pretty boy with that secret smile that makes him feel like he could conquer the world.

“just walk over,” he mutters to himself, bouncing slightly on his heels. “just walk over and—”

“satoru!” your voice cuts through his spiral, bright and cheerful, and he freezes like a deer in headlights. you’re waving at him with your free hand, that brilliant smile on your face—the one that makes your eyes crinkle at the corners and shows off the slightly crooked incisor you’re self-conscious about. the one that makes him feel like he’s swallowed sunshine. “come here, i missed you!”

missed you. it’s been twelve hours since he walked you home, since you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him goodbye on your doorstep, since you whispered “text me when you get home, baby” against his lips. twelve hours, and you missed him.

his heart does seventeen different acrobatic maneuvers in his chest.

his feet move without his permission, carrying him toward you on unsteady legs. the hood feels like it’s suffocating him, but he can’t take it off. won’t take it off. maybe if he just keeps it on all day, you’ll never have to see what he’s done. maybe he can transfer schools. maybe he can fake his own death.

he’s spiraling. he knows he’s spiraling. this is what happens when satoru gojo doesn’t have control over a situation—his brain turns into a hamster wheel of catastrophic possibilities. he’s going to lose you. you’re going to take one look at him and realize you’ve been dating a fraud, someone who’s only attractive with the right lighting and good genetics, and now that one of those things is gone, the illusion is shattered.

“why are you wearing your hood?” you ask, reaching up to tug at the fabric with curious fingers. your touch is gentle, familiar, and he wants to lean into it like a cat seeking warmth. wants to press his face into your palm and let you pet him until the world makes sense again. “you know mr. yaga will give you detention if he sees. and then you’ll be all mopey and i’ll have to sneak you extra cookies at lunch to cheer you up.”

the casual way you plan to take care of him makes his throat tight. this is what you do—you notice when he’s sad, when he’s stressed, when he needs just a little more attention than usual. you pretend to be annoyed about it, but you always have his favorite snacks in your bag, always save him the good seat in the cafeteria, always let him tangle his fingers with yours under the desk during boring classes.

“no, don’t—” but it’s too late. your fingers catch the edge of his hood and pull, and then you’re staring at him with wide eyes and an expression he can’t quite read.

the silence stretches between them like a chasm. satoru wants to die. wants to sink into the floor and disappear forever. wants to transfer schools and change his name and maybe join the witness protection program. your eyes are doing that thing where they go very still, very focused, like you’re trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem.

“your hair,” you say finally, and your voice is so quiet he barely hears it over the hallway noise. your hand is still raised, hovering somewhere near his temple, fingers trembling slightly like you want to touch but don’t quite dare.

he knows that gesture. you do it when you’re trying to process something that doesn’t compute. like the time he showed up at your house at midnight because he’d had a nightmare and needed to see you. you’d stood there in your pajamas, hair mussed from sleep, hand hovering just like this while you tried to figure out if you should scold him for being reckless or hug him for being vulnerable.

you’d chosen the hug. you always choose the hug.

“i can explain,” he starts, words tumbling out in a rush while his hands gesture wildly. “it was a dare and i was stupid and i know you probably hate it and me and—”

“satoru.” you’re still staring at him, and now he can see tears gathering in your eyes. actual tears. your lower lip trembles, and you press your free hand to your mouth like you’re trying to hold something back. “your beautiful hair.”

and then you’re crying. not just tearing up, but full-on sobbing in the middle of the hallway, shoulders shaking as you stare at his shorn head like he’s just told you someone died. your textbooks tumble from your arms, scattering across the linoleum with dull thuds.

this is it, he thinks. this is the moment everything falls apart. except... except you’re not looking at him with disgust or disappointment. you’re looking at him like you’re grieving. like something precious has been lost. and that’s almost worse, because it means you did care about his hair, means maybe suguru and shoko were right about something, means—

“oh god,” he panics, reaching for you instinctively, his hands hovering uselessly around your shoulders because he doesn’t know if touching you will make it better or worse. “don’t cry, please don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—”

“it’s gone,” you wail, and several students turn to stare. your voice echoes off the lockers, and satoru can see phones being pulled out in his peripheral vision. “it’s all gone! how could you do this to me? to us? to your perfect, gorgeous, fluffy hair that i loved so much?”

and there it is. the thing that makes satoru gojo absolutely, completely, stupidly in love with you. because it’s not his hair you’re mourning—it’s yours. you’ve claimed it, the same way you’ve claimed his hoodies and his passenger seat and his whole entire heart. in your mind, his hair belongs to you as much as it belongs to him, and someone has taken it away without asking permission.

you’re not crying because he’s ugly. you’re crying because someone stole something that was yours to love.

satoru feels his own eyes starting to water. this is worse than he imagined. so much worse. you’re crying over his hair—actually crying—and he doesn’t know what to do with that information. his throat feels tight, and there’s a burning sensation behind his eyes that he hasn’t felt since he was twelve and broke his arm falling off his bike.

he thinks about all the times you’ve touched his hair. casual touches—pushing it out of his eyes during study sessions, playing with the ends while you’re both watching movies, the way you’d run your fingers through it when he was stressed about exams. but also the possessive touches—tugging him down for kisses, wrapping the strands around your finger while you’re talking, the way you’d pet him absently while he dozed with his head in your lap.

you’ve never said “i love you” out loud. neither of you have. but you’ve said it in a thousand other ways, and apparently one of those ways was cherishing his stupid hair like it was made of spun gold.

had it really meant that much to you? had he been so stupid, so careless with something you treasured?

“i’ll grow it back,” he promises desperately, hands still hovering around your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he touches you. he’s crying now too, which is embarrassing, but you’re crying and that makes his chest feel like it’s caving in. “i’ll take vitamins and do scalp massages and—and i’ll research hair growth treatments! i’ll do anything, baby, please don’t be sad.”

the pet name slips out without his permission, soft and pleading, and your expression crumples even more. you’ve never said it makes you feel good when he calls you that, but he sees the way your eyes go soft, the way you unconsciously lean toward him like a flower seeking sunlight.

“it’ll take months,” you sob, and you sound so genuinely devastated that his heart cracks clean in two. your mascara is starting to smudge, creating dark shadows under your eyes, and you’re hiccupping between words. “months, satoru! what am i supposed to do for months?” your voice breaks on his name, and he’s never heard you sound so genuinely distressed. “what am i supposed to play with during movies? what am i supposed to braid when i’m bored? what am i supposed to tug when you’re being insufferable and i need you to pay attention to me?”

each question is like a little knife to his heart because they’re all so you. practical and petulant and so full of casual intimacy that he wants to wrap you up and never let you go. you’re not asking what you’re supposed to look at or what you’re supposed to find attractive. you’re asking what you’re supposed to do with your hands when the thing you love most is gone.

“i don’t know!” he’s definitely crying now too, tears streaming down his face as he stares at your crumpled expression. his voice cracks embarrassingly on the words, and he wipes his nose with his sleeve like the sophisticated seventeen-year-old he is. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, please don’t break up with me! i’ll buy you anything you want—that bag you were looking at, or we can go to that expensive restaurant you like, or—”

“satoru.” you interrupt him, and there’s something different in your voice now. something that makes him stop babbling and focus on your face. “baby.”

the pet name stops him cold. you only call him that when you’re feeling particularly soft, when your prickly exterior cracks just enough to let him see how much you care. you’re still crying, but now you’re looking at him like he’s the one who needs taking care of.

you stop crying so abruptly it gives him whiplash. your tear-stained face goes blank, then confused, then something that looks almost like offense. “break up with you?”

“isn’t that what you’re going to do?” he sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve like the sophisticated seventeen-year-old he is. his hands are shaking now, and he can’t seem to stop them. “because i ruined my hair and now i’m ugly and—”

“satoru gojo,” you interrupt, and your voice has gone from devastated to something else entirely. something that makes him nervous. your eyebrows draw together in a way that means trouble, and you plant your hands on your hips in that stance he knows means he’s about to get lectured. “are you insane?”

he blinks at you, confused. water still clings to his eyelashes, making everything look slightly blurry. “i... what?”

“do you think i’m dating you for your hair?” your voice has gone dangerously quiet, and satoru knows from experience that quiet-angry-you is infinitely more terrifying than loud-angry-you. but there’s something else there too, something that sounds almost like hurt.

“well,” he says slowly, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie, “suguru and shoko said—”

“suguru and shoko can eat glass,” you snap, and now you’re glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. your hands gesture wildly as you speak, and he can see the exact moment when your sadness transforms into righteous indignation. “and so can you if you think i give a damn about your stupid hair when i’m in love with your stupid face.”

the words hang in the air between you like a confession. like a secret that’s been building for months and finally spilled over.

in love with.

you said you’re in love with him.

“but you’re crying,” he points out weakly, gesturing at your mascara-streaked face.

“i’m crying because you look ridiculous!” you explode, gesturing wildly at his head. your voice cracks slightly on the word ridiculous, and satoru can’t tell if you’re about to start laughing or crying again. “you look like a military recruit! like you’re about to ask me to drop and give you twenty! it’s so bad it’s actually offensive to my eyeballs!”

satoru stares at you, mouth hanging open. there’s something almost hysterical about the way you’re standing there, tear-stained and furious, defending his honor while simultaneously roasting his appearance. “so you’re not... you’re not going to dump me?”

“for having a bad haircut?” you look at him like he’s grown a second head, and there’s something so incredulous in your expression that he almost wants to laugh. “what kind of person do you think i am?”

and that’s when it hits him. not like a physical blow, but like a slow sunrise, warm and inevitable. you’re not upset because he looks different. you’re upset because he looks bad. because someone he loves is hurt by something that hurts him. because in your mind, anything that makes him less than perfect is a personal affront to your carefully curated world.

the realization makes him feel dizzy. you’re not shallow—you’re protective. you’re not crying because his hair was the only thing worth loving about him. you’re crying because someone took something beautiful and made it ugly, and in your mind, he deserves only beautiful things.

you’re crying because you love him, and you want him to be happy, and you think his happiness is tied to being pretty. you’re crying because in your seventeen-year-old brain, ugly hair equals unhappy satoru, and unhappy satoru is literally your worst nightmare.

it’s such a fundamentally you way to love someone that he almost laughs through his tears. of course you wouldn’t care about his looks in the way his friends think you do. of course you’d care about his looks in the most loving, illogical, completely endearing way possible.

“but you said—”

“i said your hair was gone, not that i was leaving you, you absolute disaster of a human being.” you reach up to touch his head, fingers gentle against the short strands, and your touch is so careful it makes his chest tight. “though i am going to miss running my fingers through it. and tugging on it when you’re being annoying. and the way it stuck up in the morning like you’d been electrocuted.”

you pause, thumb tracing over his temple like you’re memorizing this new version of him. “and i’m going to miss the way you’d let me braid it when i was anxious. and how soft it was when you’d nuzzle into my neck like a puppy. and the way it would catch the light during golden hour and make you look like some sort of angel.”

each word is like a little love letter, and satoru feels his heart expanding in his chest until he thinks it might burst. you’re cataloging all the ways you loved his hair, but really you’re cataloging all the ways you love him.

satoru feels something warm and desperate unfurl in his chest. the hallway around them seems to fade away, the curious stares and whispered conversations becoming white noise. all he can focus on is the way you’re looking at him, like he’s still worth something even when he’s standing there with tears on his face and the world’s worst haircut.

“so you still... you still want to be with me? even though i look like this?”

you’re quiet for a long moment, studying his face with those sharp eyes he fell in love with. your thumb traces along his temple, following the harsh line where his hair meets skin, and he can see you cataloging every detail of this new version of him.

he wonders what you’re thinking. whether you’re trying to reconcile this version of him with the one you’ve been kissing for six months. whether you’re disappointed that the boy you’ve been bragging about to your friends now looks like he belongs in a military recruitment poster.

he thinks about the way you show him off, so casually possessive. the way you introduce him as “my boyfriend” with just a little extra emphasis on the my. the way you straighten his collar before school dances and tell him he’s the prettiest boy in the room, and you say it like it’s a fact, like there’s no room for argument.

then you lean up on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his forehead, right at his hairline where the damage is most obvious.

“you’re still pretty,” you murmur against his skin, breath warm and reassuring. “still mine. still the same boy who bought me coffee every morning for a month because i mentioned once that i was tired. still the same boy who carries my books and walks me to class and lets me steal his hoodies.”

you pull back to look at him, and your expression has gone soft in that way that makes him want to do something stupid like propose. “still the same boy who texts me good morning before he’s even fully awake. still the same boy who remembers that i like my sandwiches cut diagonally and always saves me the corner piece of cake. still the same boy who holds my hand under the table during lunch and draws little hearts on my palm when he thinks i’m not paying attention.”

satoru’s breath catches. he didn’t know you noticed that last one.

“really?” his voice cracks embarrassingly, and he hates how young he sounds. how vulnerable. but you just smile at him, that soft private smile that’s only for him, and reach up to cup his face in your hands.

“really, baby,” you say, and the pet name makes his heart skip. “though i am going to make fun of you for this until it grows back. and i’m going to take so many pictures. and i’m going to show them to our kids someday and tell them about the time daddy was a complete idiot and broke mommy’s heart by cutting off all his pretty hair.”

“our kids?” satoru’s brain short-circuits. the words echo in his head like a bell, and he can feel his face heating up despite everything. “you want to have kids with me?”

you flush pink, pretty color spreading across your cheeks like spilled paint. your eyes go wide like you can’t believe you just said that out loud. “hypothetically. maybe. in the future. if you want. if you don’t mess up your hair again.”

the last part is said with such stern seriousness that satoru can’t help but laugh.

he stares at you—his prickly, bratty, wonderful girlfriend who just cried over his hair and then promised him forever in the same breath—and thinks that maybe suguru and shoko don’t know anything at all. thinks that maybe love isn’t about perfect hair or perfect faces or perfect anything. maybe it’s about someone who’ll sob over your bad decisions and then kiss your forehead anyway.

maybe it’s about someone who gets genuinely upset when you’re hurting, even if you’re hurting over something as stupid as a haircut. maybe it’s about someone who sees you make a terrible mistake and instead of walking away, plants themselves firmly in your corner and prepares to fight the world on your behalf.

maybe it’s about finding someone who thinks you deserve beautiful things, even when you’ve just proven you’re an idiot. someone who plans your future together in the same breath as scolding you for making bad choices.

maybe it’s about someone who loves you so much they cry when you’re ugly, not because they care about your looks, but because they can’t stand the thought of you being anything less than perfect.

“i want,” he says simply, and leans down to kiss you properly.

you taste like strawberry lip gloss and tears and something that might be love, and when you pull away, you’re both grinning like idiots. your hands are still tangled in what’s left of his hair, and he thinks maybe this length has its own advantages.

“i love you too,” he whispers against your lips, because if you can accidentally confess in the middle of a breakdown, then so can he. “i love you so much it makes me stupid.”

“i know,” you say, and you’re smiling so wide it makes your eyes crinkle. “you cut off all your hair because your friends dared you to. if that’s not love-induced stupidity, i don’t know what is.”

“good,” you say, straightening his collar with careful fingers. the gesture is so familiar, so domestic, that it makes his heart skip. you always do this, fix his appearance like you’re sending him off to war instead of first period. “now let’s go find suguru and shoko so i can yell at them for talking my boyfriend into this monstrosity. and then you’re buying me that expensive hot chocolate from the café across the street because emotional trauma requires premium comfort food.”

“anything you want,” he says immediately, because he’s pathetic and in love and would probably agree to rob a bank if you asked nicely enough. “anything.”

you stand on your tiptoes and press one more kiss to his nose, quick and sweet. “i want you to promise me you’ll never cut your hair again without asking me first.”

“i promise,” he says solemnly, and means it. “i’ll never make any major appearance changes without consulting my girlfriend first.”

“good boy,” you say, and the praise makes his chest warm. “now come on, we’re going to be late for class and i refuse to get detention because you had a crisis about your hair.”

satoru laughs, bright and relieved, and thinks that maybe this terrible, terrible mistake might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. because now he knows, with absolute certainty, that you love him for all the right reasons.

even if he does look like a military recruit.

[rawjutsu]

jjk men with an easily overstimulated reader <3

gojo satoru 

oh, he lives for it. you whimper once, and his pupils dilate like he just hit the jackpot. you twitch, squirm, try to close your legs—and he just laughs.

“aww, what’s wrong, babe? thought you said you could handle me.”

he pretends to slow down, to "be nice," but five seconds later his fingers are back, curved just right, tongue lapping at your clit like he’s starving, your thighs clamped around his head—and he's thriving.

and when you're overstimulated to the point of tears? he coos at you like it's the sweetest thing in the world.

“c’mon, one more. you can give me one more, right? be a good girl for me.”

literally feeds on the way your voice breaks mid-moan. will overstim you on purpose just to watch your hips jerk and your body betray you.

fushiguro toji 

toji. you poor thing. the overstimulation with him is so nasty in the best way because he is ruthless. doesn’t matter if you’re shaking, babbling, trying to crawl away—he’ll just pull you right back by the waist with one arm like:

“what’s the matter, baby? you were beggin’ for it five minutes ago.”

he gets this low growl in his throat when you clench around him from overstimulation, like you’re just too much. he's obsessed with your limit and loves finding ways to push past it. that smug smirk only grows when your eyes roll back and your legs are trembling too hard to keep you upright.

“you’re twitchin’ like a fuckin’ mess. that mean you’re close again? thought you were done cryin’.”

his favorite thing is when you go limp in his arms after like the fifth orgasm and he has to hold you up just to keep going. 

nanami kento 

oh, nanami is such a soft dom at first, like—he tries to take it slow. he’s respectful. he asks you what feels good, kisses your neck, lets you ride the high of your first orgasm and praises you so gently...

but then he sees how sensitive you are and it awakens something feral in him. that neat composure starts to crack.

“you’re shaking already, sweetheart? just from my fingers?”

the glasses are off. his tie is undone. he’s got your legs over his shoulders and he’s watching you fall apart, murmuring praise through gritted teeth.

“you can take another. you’re doing so well. so sensitive for me.”

if you’re crying or begging, his tone turns into that firm voice:

“no, don’t shy away now. i want to see all of you.”

bonus: he’ll eat you out through the overstimulation while holding your thighs apart with a death grip.

geto suguru

suguru is the sweet sadist. he’ll talk you through it like he’s teaching a class. you say you’re sensitive? oh baby, you just unlocked his favorite game.

“already? you’re overstimulated already? hm… maybe i need to train that sweet body of yours.”

he's calm, in the most terrifying way. he holds you down gently but firmly, with that honey-smooth voice whispering how pretty you look trembling under him. he's always testing you.

“does this feel too good? or is it just enough to break you?”

overstimulation via toys + his fingers = his favorite combo. he loves seeing your body betray you, even when you’re sobbing and shaking, and his lips are at your ear murmuring,

“there it is. that’s it. just let go, baby. cum again for me.”

will overstim you until you pass out with a smile on his face.

ryomen sukuna 

overstimulating you isn’t even about your pleasure to him at first. it’s about dominance. it's about owning every twitch, every hiccupped gasp, every soaked inch of your overstimmed, ruined body.

he loves when you beg for a break because that’s when he knows he’s winning.

“begging? you think i care if you’re tired, little thing? you’ll take what i give you.”

imagine four hands keeping you pinned. two gripping your wrists above your head. the other two… one on your throat, one between your legs, rubbing your clit even while his cock is still buried inside you, relentless.

you’re squirming, crying, mind blank from cumming too many times and he just laughs.

“look at you. can’t even speak. just a drooling mess and i’ve barely started.”

he feeds on overstimulation. you arch away from him? he pulls you closer. your legs try to close? he forces them open.

“your body’s so honest, pet. you say ‘stop’ but your cunt’s begging for more.”

he’s the type to dare you to pass out— and when you do? he’ll wake you back up with another orgasm.

[littledes1re]

need more mean joel spanking reader when she miss behaves 😞

Cruel

Pairing: Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel spanks reader, and he is so so mean.

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, Old man!Joel (he needs his own warning), MEAN!joel, age gap! (60s and 20s) daddy kink, ddlg if you squint, degradation, orgasm denial, darcyphilia

A/N: Okey, what if we combine normal spanks with pussy spanks🤚🏻😭 I MAY got carried away with this lmao

You messed up.

Totally and utterly messed up.

And you could see it exactly in Joel‘s face. All evening long he was trying to keep himself together. Eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, putting on a fake smile for everyone.

Secretly, you were getting on his last nerve. Your hand danced ‚innocently‘ around his crotch, whispering, needy and desperate pleas into his ear—„when are we leaving, daddy? Need you, daddy“— all while batting your eyelashes and trying not to show it to the other people around you.

The consequences of your actions were written on Joel‘s face. He did not once talk or glance at you, after the dinner. His face locked in, concentrated on the road, going through countless ideas on how to punish you. Your daddy wouldn‘t be your daddy, if he didn‘t punish you until he could see tears in your eyes. So understandably, you tried to apologise your way out of it.

Your pouting didn‘t work, the chants of ‚i‘m sorry‘ came unheard and now you were sitting on the bed, waiting for Joel to come out of the bathroom. Your heart starts picking up pace, as you nervously tap your feet on the ground.

„Daddy, i‘m really sorry.“ you try it once again, but having no luck. He doesn‘t answer you.

And as he opens the door, you can see it in his expression.

He was not going to go easy on you.

Without even saying a word, he walks over to you, sits down on the bed and looks at you. The air in the room thickens, there was no empathy in his eyes. You knew what to do, you quickly lay down on his lap, your bum facing up and your face buried into the sheets. Him not saying anything was scaring you, because he would always talk to you. Always go through what he is going to do with you, praise you and give you words of encouragement. You knew that this time, you really messed it up.

„I‘m sorry, I swear—“

„Shut up.“

And his big hand comes in contact with your ass. Hard. You cry out and bite into the sheets, feeling it pulse underneath his fingertips. As the silence in the room settles, you think about trying to apologise once again, but as if Joel knows, he stops you before you can even say a word.

„Don’t want to hear anything from this mouth anymore, already heard enough.“

Another hit. Your bum stings and stings, pulses and you know that tomorrow, you will not be able to sit properly. Joel always calls it a reminder to be good, the pain should remind you that you should behave. The third hit feels too much, his hands rough, mean—no massaging the skin, no rubbing the pain, no praise.

„Is it that hard to be not a greedy little girl? S‘it that hard to behave when other people are around?“

He lets his questions sink, excepting you to answer, to say ‚i‘m sorry‘ again. But it doesn‘t come. He chuckles to himself. What is he going to do with you.

Another hit. This time you can feel the tears start in your eyes, you hold on tight on the sheets. As you feel the way the tears fall from your cheeks, Joel grabs your hair and lifts your head up, looking into your wet face.

„Now she‘s crying.“ and he fucking laughs.

He drops your head again, and you feel yourself crying just more, and more at how cruel he was being. The hit he gives you next, makes you sob out, your body jerks in his lap and you almost fall off but, he squeezes your body so you stay still. His hand lands on your hair and strokes, as you shed tear after tear. You can hear him hum, suddenly grabbing you by the hips, and your arms to pull you up and sit you down on his lap. The rough fabric on his jeans, making your ass hurt just more as you face him. And there is still no sympathy in his eyes.

„I‘m sorry, daddy.“ you whimper, holding on to him, hoping that maybe he will accept it and not be mean anymore.

And he doesn‘t acknowledge it, giving you a pinch on your wet cheek. You can only look into his face, tears still spilling from your eyes. Dumbfounded. Not knowing what else to say or to do.

„For what reason am I giving you these punishments, pup, huh?“ you want to answer him, but he answers it himself. ���So you can behave, be daddy‘s good girl.“ he nods. And you do too, nodding your head at him, quickly.

„Now all those tears spilled, looking at me like you weren‘t the one who did this to yourself. So pathetic.“ he murmurs, making a tsk sound with his mouth and shaking his head. Your pout drops just more, as you look down to your hands, ashamed that you disappointed him so badly.

After a silent moment, he stands up, making you stumble on your feet, almost falling down. He ignores it, sits down on the bed and spreads his legs, his back leaning against the wall.

„Dress and panties off. Now.“ he signals you to come to him. You quickly do while pulling your dress down, and then your panties too. Standing in front of him, he suddenly grabs you by the hips, roughly, and places you to sit between his legs, with your back against him.

And you already have a feeling where this is going.

„Please. I‘m sorry.“ you whine, with no reaction. Joel spreads your legs harshly, and lands the first hit on your pussy. You cry out once again. And Joel just knew, how much you hated getting your pussy spanked. His other hand lands on your thigh, holding you open.

The second hit leaves your cunt pulsing and throbbing. Your head lays down on Joels chest, a sigh leaving your lips as he gives your temple a kiss.

„Think I enjoy hurting m‘girl?“ his hand connects with your pussy once more.

„I don‘t. That‘s why I always tell you to behave. Being needy and desperate will always bring you here. It will always leave you with pain.“ A loud whimper escapes from your lips, giving you your fourth spank. When you look down, you can see your pussy already swollen, red and pulsing. And as if that was not enough, you were aching for touch, for a release.

„Please, daddy.“

„Oh, my poor baby. Not enjoying these spankings, huh?“

You weren‘t sure. They were hurting but you were also close to soaking the sheets. Your clit throbbing in need, for something. A touch, a rub and release.

„Or you do? Look at you getting wet again. What am I gonna do with you, pup.“

The last was the hardest. You bucked your hips forward, almost slipping away from his grip. „Shh, all done.“ he whispers into your ear.

The room falls silent once again, with your focus on your swollen and throbbing pussy, hoping that Joel now has mercy on you, and gives you something. And for a while it‘s him just cradling you, kissing your head and letting your tears dry.

„I‘m sorry, daddy.“ you whisper, hoping that this time he accepts it and calls you his good girl again.

Instead, he stands up, you can‘t even register of what‘s happening and he is between your legs, on his knees, releasing his cock. You think, finally, he will fuck you. Give you what you want, make love to you. Yet, you are mistaken.

Joel‘s cock pulses at the sight of you. And he is not done being mean. He starts jerking his shaft in his palm, over your swollen pussy.

You shake your head.

And he nods, „y‘want daddy to forgive you? Let him cum on your sweet pussy.“ you knew what that meant.

No orgasm for you. So you laid there, as groans filled the room. His hand going faster and faster, his tip getting red and starting to pulse. And as he tapped his head on top of your clit, he came with a moan. His cock coated your pussy white, making you clench around nothing. You felt tears coming once again.

But Joel didn‘t care. He tugged himself back in and bought you new underwear. And as he tried to put it on for you, you whined—shaking your head.

„y‘want to ruin this? You laid there, being good and now you want to start whining again?“ his eyebrows furrowed at you, and you remembered the stings on your bum. So you let him. He put on your underwear, and changed his clothes to his pyjamas. And while you laid there, he kissed your head and whispered a tiny „Good girl.“ Finally.

What a mean, mean man :( still need him tho

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @keseqna @shivispunk @cuntyhunty22 @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @lovelystrawberrysblog @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @valitagun @bluekat707

I may mixed my taglist with my HtD taglist…I‘m sorry if there are people that DON‘T want to be tagged in my normal stuff lol

[manicpixiedreamkira]

first times series

first time making out (and he asks you to be his girlfriend, officially) | index

megumi x female!reader, nsfw, mdni

It wasn’t a date. Not technically.

You’d gone out for ramen. The little late-night spot a few blocks from your apartment—the one with bad lighting and perfect broth. You’d talked about books. And how tired you both were. And the professor who loved quoting Rilke like it was gospel.

It wasn’t a date. But he’d paid. And walked you home.

It was late. Colder than usual—one of those unexpected chilly nights mid spring—and your hands were cold. Megumi noticed.

He didn’t say anything. Just reached for your hand. Tucked it into the sleeve of his jacket where his own hand waited—warm, calloused, careful.

He didn’t let it go the rest of the way.

Your building came into view. Megumi slowed his steps just a little. He always did. Like he didn’t know how to end the night without wanting more.

You reached your door. It was quiet at this hour, only the occasional hum of a bike or someone’s distant laugh. Neither of you moved.

“Thanks for walking me,” you said softly, reluctant to break the moment.

“You always say that like it’s not the best part of my day,” he murmured.

You smiled. Looked up at him. His face was half-shadowed in the glow of the hallway light. Hair wind-tossed. Lips pink from chewing on them. Eyes focused—not just looking at you, but seeing you.

Your breath hitched. “What?”

He shifted slightly, like there was something sitting heavy on his chest. His hand still held yours, tucked into his sleeve, thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“I want to ask you something.”

You blinked. “Okay.”

His jaw worked for a moment.

“I… I know we’ve been doing this—whatever this is—for a while. And I didn’t want to rush it. But I think about you all the time. When I wake up. When I’m reading. When I’m listening to music, I wonder if you’d like the song.”

A beat. Then, quieter: “You already feel like mine. I just—I want to say it. Out loud.”

Your heart was pounding.

He swallowed, like the words still burned.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

You stared at him, warmth blooming across your chest like someone had just struck a match inside your ribs.

“You mean I haven’t been this whole time?” you teased, voice shaky.

He exhaled—half a laugh, half relief.

“Please say yes.”

You cupped his jaw. “Of course I say yes.”

He kissed you the moment the words left your mouth.

“Do you want to come in?” You asked, lips brushing his. 

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Just… movie? I don’t feel like saying goodnight yet.”

He smiled—small, soft. “Okay.”

It started normal. Shoes off. Jackets thrown onto the coat rack. You queued up a movie on your couch while he sat beside you, thigh brushing yours, pretending not to notice how close you were sitting.

Half an hour in, your legs were tangled.

Forty minutes in, his arm was around the back of the couch. An hour in, you turned your head during a quiet moment in the movie, found him already watching you.

Neither of you said anything.

You kissed him first.

But it didn’t stay soft.

His mouth opened for yours the second you leaned in, one hand sliding to the side of your face as he pulled you deeper, closer, lips parting with a quiet groan into your own mouth. 

You climbed into his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his thighs, his hands already on your waist—firm, pulling you closer as his body melted into yours with a kind of hunger he’d clearly been holding back.

His tongue slipped between your lips slowly, coaxing yours to meet his pace, and the kiss deepened—lazily, completely, until you were clutching the collar of his shirt and breathless against his mouth.

He broke away just enough to rest his forehead to yours.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered.

You kissed him again—harder.

“Yours,” you breathed.

He groaned again, softly, pressing closer, kissing you like it was all he could do—like he’d been dreaming of this forever.

And when you finally pulled away, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, he grinned.

“Want to go back out and do that all over again just so I can ask you again?”

You laughed.

Then pulled him in for one more.

© MANICPIXIEDREAMKIRA - do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[punkkture]

69 w simon 69 w simon

{ word count: 668 }

.ೃ࿔*:· —  you were both a little drunk. he's never sloppy drunk, but sleazy drunk? simon was definitely that. dick always half-hard even when he doesn't mean to be. always when he starts to drink too much.

now partially naked in bed, it starts with a dare. your soft voice only barely carrying a sense of seriousness. it was soft, almost slurred, a joke.

"i think you cum quicker than i do." it was said while laying against his chest, feeling the curve of his collarbone under your fingertips. not outright a tease, but more of a challenge.

you had been testing him all night. ever since that second glass of wine. touching him too much for it to feel normal. putting on that pretty babydoll slip for bed. kissing his jaw and cheek with sloppy stumbles.

"yeah? you think?" he mumbles, an idea of a smile on his face.

it's how it starts. the essence of a dare against a man too cocky about his own dick and power over his pretty baby. but the words had slipped out before you could understand what you just started.

his hand already pushing up the soft slip while he settles the view of your bare cunt over his face, bending his own legs a little just to give himself more leverage. his other hand was pulling down his sweats, letting you do the rest.

the second your lips started giving soft kisses to his tip, it was game on. you started gentle - licking at his shaft and making sure all your spit was drooling right down onto him. a sticky string of it mixed with his precum, connecting to your lips after the last kiss.

he didn't waste any time. pulling you down onto his face and spreading your thighs. wet and sloppy with his tongue already fucking into you.

it gets you to gag on him, kicking your calf a little bit while the feeling of it made your body twitch.

you spit onto your hand, wrapping it around him and squeezing while shoving the rest deep into your throat. barely getting all of him in there half the time, this makes his hips stutter, push up just a little more. finally thinking you're winning a little bit.

but he spits onto the already soppy cunt he's making out with and gives a harsh kiss right on your clit, groaning against it and then laying his tongue flat against you.

your hips try to pull away and your mouth lets go of him, just to gasp and whimper. his cock is so heavy and already leaking over your fingers. you just knew he had to be close. he always cums fast when he's drunk.

but you do too. there's a drunk competitive edge to it all.

you reach your hand back, grab his hair and just shoves him closer, grinding against his mouth. simon nearly whimpers, his one leg twitches.

"fuckin' cheater." he groans against you, hearing the strain in his voice.

if there was one thing he loved more than the feeling of getting his dick sucked all sloppy, it was the thought of knowing you were feeling good because of him.

so you lean into it. high pitched sweet moans and soft gasps of his name followed by the word 'please'. your hand coming back down to squeeze at the base of his cock, letting the tip leak against your tongue.

his hands tighten, his hips buck, and then he pulls you down right onto his face. wet and sloppy. like he's panting against your pussy and is desperate to get you to finish.

but your moans were just too angelic to deny.

he cums everywhere. more than he normally does. against your tongue, a hot string of it getting on your lips while the rest dripped down onto his stomach.

"fuckfuckfuck." he whines while rutting up into your hand a few times.

the idea of you cumming, making him cum, and far quicker than normal.

ೃ࿔* tag list: @vanillarosekiss @simonskitty @cu456 @silverwoodlynx @mlthree @vint4geroses @ktmjoslin @darlingchanse @xangelbnnyx @jgissle12 @asherscove @bunty-girl @diorpar @sky-robin  @ldrtypeofgirl @mentalhorror @teranya @chawitea @all-by-myself98 @jinx53 @alfiestreacle @frazzledfawn @iamtoriasworld @annierosesposts @dude1634 @happysmappy @itgetsdarksometimes35 @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @slut-lmao @theyluvlaur @bruisedfig @pinkthxt @hobiebrownenthusiast @h0lydrag0ns @cashmereandcookies @effyzgirl @avgdestitute

[anon-188]

kansas

pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.4k

summary: clark tells you everything, but there’s just one thing you can’t get past.

a/n: i loved the new movie and just had to write something! no big spoilers. just a tiny one, if it even counts?? (iykyk.)

Clark Kent had just spilled everything to you. Confessed his love. Told you he was Superman, which—if you were being honest—wasn’t as shocking as he thought it would be. But you didn’t say that. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

He finally told you where he grew up—Smallville, Kansas. He said it quickly, almost like he hoped you’d miss it, before circling back to the part that mattered most: that he loved you.

One thing had led to another. Something between kisses, half-smiles, and uneven breaths. A blur of soft touches and quiet urgency.

Now you lay there in your bed, limbs still loosely tangled with his. Your head rested against the steady rhythm of his chest while his hand moved along your back in slow, absent strokes—soothing and familiar. Your breath had started to even out, but your mind still hadn’t caught up.

He was Superman.

He was yours.

And those two things alone should’ve been front and center in your mind, but they weren’t. Not even in the slightest.

"I can't believe it," you whispered.

Clark shifted, his chest rising with a quiet inhale. "I know. I should've told you sooner. About Superman. About who I am."

You lifted your head, turning to look up at him. "I knew you weren’t from here, but I didn’t think there.”

He furrowed his brow, confused. “You mean… Krypton?” 

You made a face. “No. Kansas.”

“Everyone knows you’re from Krypton. But Clark Kent? I thought maybe, like… Vermont. Or Oregon. Definitely not Midwest.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed in mock offense. “What’s wrong with Kansas?”

You gave a half-shrug, still curled against him. “Nothing. Just… explains a lot. I mean, you’re like, painfully polite. I should’ve known.”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face like you’d just wounded him, but the smile gave him away.

“No, really.” You grinned, propping yourself up slightly. “I bet you’d even stop mid-battle to save a squirrel. Like, buildings crumbling, alarms going off—and there you are, making sure it gets to safety.”

Clark shook his head, pretending to protest, but you could already feel the laugh building in his chest.

“I can totally see it,” you teased, as he slipped his other arm around you and pulled you closer.

His lips brushed yours, soft and warm.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you murmured against his mouth.

He didn’t answer. Just kissed you—deep and unhurried, laughter still dancing behind it.

It was the kind of kiss that said you weren’t wrong at all.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

• tag list: open!

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, comment or message me! i’m happy to do it! :) just let me know if you want all works or just for specific characters <3

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[secretivemessenger]

i cooked smth chat

☆ top M!reader x bttm cheater bf x switch dude ur bf cheated on u with lol, no specific character other than kev a rando name i thought of.

★ cw: non/dub-con, cheating, cuckholding, bondage mentioned, porn with some plot, bad attempt at angst that takes a 360 and becomes porn, very poorly written (i think idk i’m rusty.. can’t tell whats good writing and whats not)

☆ synopsis: you catch ur highschool sweetheart cheating on u so u just fuck the guy he cheated w infront of him wowie

★ AUTHOR’ rambling: uh i couldn’t care less who interacts so just jack off and enjoy i suppose hhhh its so bad guys i forgot how to write, if anyone is even reading my ramblings on here tell me if i did a good job on this one and praise me 🧏‍♂️.

NSFW content under the cut, proceed with caution.

im thinking reader whos been in a highschool sweetheart relationship with his beloved.

all was great, all was good until it wasn’t. you noticed a fridge growing between you both, what could it be? he’s not as enthusiastic with you as he used to be. always declining your date invites with the excuse of being busy with uni projects? all good no problem. then he’s not texting you as often anymore, his texts becoming shorter each day till they were non existent.

soon after you start seeing less of him each day, he walks by you down uni halls like some sort of stranger, like you weren’t the love of his life? or maybe that wasn’t how he saw you anymore.. it can’t be, he loves you dearly like you love him, right?

you were filled with self-doubt. perhaps you’re just too paranoid, yeah that has to be it.. you were just overthinking it. all until you saw him again, with the company of a man you never saw before! must be a friend of his, but the look on his eyes was intimate, intense and sexual even, you recognize that look, of course you would you’ve seen it a million time before, and every time he presented that look you were always on the receiving end, so why was he looking at this random guy with that same look.

suspicion arises within you and it makes you feel terrible, how could you possibly think that the person you share so much memories with could be cheating on you? what if it was nothing like that and you just painted your boyfriend with such dirty light, you’d never forgive yourself if that was the case. you have to confront him about it, to make sure that your dark thoughts are nothing but false.

you make your way to his dorm hastily, every step you take felt heavy with emotions, you were scared that you admit to, you almost want to just turn around on your heels and go back to your own dorm but you can’t, you know if you don’t have this conversation with him now you’ll never muster up the courage ever again.

so here you were twisting the spare key he gave you, slowly opening the door to a, well shocking sight. but is it really shocking? you’ve been overthinking it too much you already saw this outcome in your mind many times, it’s laughable honestly. seeing your so called boyfriend all tied up and wet, hands tied up to the bed frame, back arching against the sheets, legs splayed out and spread like some cheap whore while getting his hole plowed and crying out like some porn star, by the same said unknown guy you saw him with earlier.

the room was dimly lit, the scent of sex that filled the air was almost suffocating to you. your heart pounded you took one slow step at a time.

is it a surprise, not really. does it hurt? very, it stings even, not to mention they took no notice of you when you opened the door, being too immersed on fucking like rabbits. it isn’t until you’re right behind said rando that your boyfriend seems to take a notice of you, his eyes stare in shock but before he says a word he cries out “k-kev” he threw his head back moaning while the so called kev unaware of your presence behind him “oh yeah, feels good right. cmon say my name again” “KEV- kev wait wait pleas—“

poor little kev, too lost in the warmth of a tight wet hole squeezing him dry, he doesn’t slow down but goes even faster. gripping your little boyfriend’s thighs and spreading them open even more, plowing hard and fast while cussing out bout how good it feels

“wait hng please— i can explain” his words cut off by a sharp gasp from a particularly sharp plow by kev.

kev finally looking took a glance to the back once noticing the shadow hovering behind him, but he isn’t quick to react to you yanking his head back hard before shoving him back down onto your boyfriends sweat-slicked skin. your boyfriend whimpered and gasped after being hit with kevs weight, his tiny cock leaking a ruined orgasm against kevs tummy.

wanting to say something your boyfriend opened his mouth for a chance to redeem himself but you cut him off by shoving your two of your fingers down his throat making him gag and choke, his eyes rolled back struggling to breath as you practically fucked his mouth with your fingers to get it wet, not hesitating to shove them even deeper towards his throat, as tears rolled down his eyes while they rolled back.

once your fingers were out he choked out and coughed breathing in the air that was stolen from him, as he looked at you pleadingly.

you fully ignored him and turned your attention to kev while he struggled and tried to get out of your grasp, honestly he looked more of a twink than your own boyfriend how could he possibly been able to top and satisfy him while you were literally right there… eh no matter.

you kept one hand on his hair forcefully pinning his head down while you reached your saliva slicked fingers back to his hole, sliding them against the tight opening, he instinctively clenched down, but you forced your way inside regardless. one finger at a time, thrusting in and out.

one finger in drawing out a pained cry from kev as he babbled out incoherently. two fingers in and he’s violently shaking while his hips twitched and pulsed pushed harder against your boyfriend’s prostate making him cry out and shake his head. three fingers in and kev is already braindead, mind overloaded, body aching and out of control as his hips bucked against your fingers making him thrust up onto your boyfriend aswell in the process.

“is this really who you decided to cheat on me with? really?” you said with a disappointed huff looking at your boyfriend whos sobbing and trembling while you continued to stretch and pump your fingers in kevs hole, slowly getting him used to it. “you had better but guess you really like sabotaging what you have”

kev groaned being in his own little world as you curled your fingers at just the right angle giving him an euphoric feeling, his legs shook desperately, fucking himself back against your fingers and into your boyfriend’s welcoming hole, gosh he felt like he was in heaven. kev can feel the tightness against his cock increase at your degrading words and even he clenched his hole tight around your fingers but all he muster up is a sob and a pathetic little slutty whimper that he never realized he could make.

you withdrew your fingers out roughly earning a shake of kevs ass and a loud moan, almost a disappointed whimper even. giving his cheek a light slap then leaning down to whisper in kev’s ear “don’t worry, i got something better for you”.

unzipping your pants and pulled down your boxers you took out your cock and rubbed it between kev’s cheeks, really humping him and getting him to feel it as your purposely press against his hole with your tip then just sliding against it without going in. kev wanted to cry out and beg you to just shove it in if it wasn’t for the fact he was so fucked dumb from your fingers alone.

no worries tho, you knew what he wants, not that you can read his mind or anything but the way kev looked back at you, with sex-drunk looking eyes and pouting lips was just like that of your boyfriend’s, needy and very much dick-craving stare, who were you to deny a whore its purpose?

and just when your boyfriend thought he could have a moment of respite, he’s being pounded into again. he starts sobbing and begging you to stop, spouting out “i’m sorry” and “forgive me”. but just like kev you threw your head back at how tight he was, your cock fighting to force itself even deeper in his little virgin hole, while kev is crying out in pain and somewhat pleasure, slowly losing more and more control over his body as he thrusted his hips front and back.

you watch as kev humps back and forth getting more of your cock in his hole and fucking into your boyfriend who’s lost in shameful bliss, and honestly you couldn’t feel a thing, he is inexperienced in bottoming you assumed… even tho he looks like one, ah well you just have to regain control again.

as you deemed kev well adjusted for your cock you finally grabbed his hips stilling his body and pulled back far leaving the pre-covered tip hovering just a bit inside his hole then thrusting your hip fast again reaching all the way past his prostate and deep in his guts, oh god kev felt like throwing up, screaming out as he felt like he got punched in the stomach,, oh he just came.. well that’s embarrassing.

kev tried to mask his ejaculation from you, he didn’t want to admit he just came from getting a cock up his ass but you took notice regardless, of course you would just from the way his back arched out? let alone his girly-ish moan that kev himself didn’t know he had in him.

you looked directly into your boyfriend’s eyes, as you started up a slow pace fucking in and out of kev’s hole, “pathetic really, this guy is who you choose instead of me? unreal” but at this point neither lev or your boyfriend could register anything.

kev gasps and screams as his hole finally gets its taste of an actual cock for the first time, while your boyfriend trembles as he’s forced to endure kev’s cock fucking into him over and over again.

you really set a brutal pace for a first up the ass timer from the way kev was screaming, a bit annoying but honestly appealing to your ear.

with every thrust you make kev feels more and more like he’s in heaven, his perky nips rubbing against that of your boyfriend as he’s being manhandled by you, it was almost like they were kissing tits for tits. not only that but kev felt highly overstimulated, feeling pleasure from two end points, gosh how can this feel so good, he feels like he’ll cum again.

and he wasn’t the only one you can tell, as you continue to fuck up into kev but your eyes are glued to your boyfriend, staring daggers at him, seeing the way his face twists into different stages of sorrow and pleasure, soon he’s also braindead with his tongue hanging out like a used out whore from being double pounded, all while he struggled against his bound hands. now that’s a look you’re well familiar with, but no shot yer gonna have a cheating bitch get that sort of privilege.

you wrap your hands around kevs tummy and pull him back to and out of your boyfriends hole, pulling him back until his back is pressed against his chest, he whimpers out and shakes his head as you place him on your lap and spread his thighs wide.

your boyfriend whimpers out at the feeling if emptiness, and more so the look you gave him as you started thrusting up into kev while staring daggers onto him never cutting of eye contact. you want him to be ashamed, and more than anything you want him to feel jealous that he can only watch as you pound another,

unless he was into being a cuck then thats just sad.

what’s more sad is how unsatisfied you feel right now, your cock is hard and raging as you fuck into kev while manhandling him up and down on your cock in sync with your thrust, but you barely feel anything, more like kev is feeling most of it. sobbing, bawling and moaning like he was getting beat up, well he was getting his guts beat up thats one thing.

kev sobs turn into hoarse screams, his body shaking as he was fucked into over and over again. deep, you were in sososo deep in this position, he can feel you even deeper and it feels so good, way too good. god.

all while your boyfriend watched, tied down helplessly to the bed, years streaming down his face non-stop, as he watched you downgrade kev into a mere fleshlight right before his eyes, he shoulda been more careful, but shoulda coulda woulda all he can do is watch pathetically as his lil cock twitched at the sight against his own will.

kev lost in pleasure as he unconsciously reached a hand to his wet cock but was stopped mid stroke by you who took grabbed onto his cock instead, wrapping your hands around the moderate sized cock and squeezing tight, making kev shake his head left and right begging you to give him release.

“patience, well can’t assume you have any since you couldn’t wait to plow another man’s boyfriend,, well ex now i suppose” you said out-loud to kev while directly staring at your boyfriend.

you didn’t stop for a second continuing to fuck into kev, you fucked into him so deep you could swear you saw the outline of your cock against his stomach,, seriously how did he of all people get to fuck boyfriend? you weren’t sure with how he huffs and puffs random nonsense, fully cock-drunk.

you fucked harder into his hole, still being as tight even though you stretched it out properly.

you started to feel it more the harder his hole squeezed your cock and the more desperate your boyfriend looked at you, not kev but you.

was he envious? did he want to be the one getting fucked instead? maybe he finally realized the mistake he did, the fact that this kev will never be able to satisfy him like you will. well you were gonna give him a little taste.

you sped even more groaning as you felt yourself closing in on your peak, you chomped down onto kevs neck and closed your eyes, all while still holding a firm grip on kev’s cock preventing him from any form of pleasure other than your cock ramming into his guts.

your thrust grew shallow as you threw your head to the back, thighs shaking as you slowly move. “fuckk,,, there we go” your spunk shot up deep in kev’s guts as you stayed still making him cry out, it felt hot, he felt like his stomach was boiling.

and when you finally released your hands off his cock he came with a scream, one so loud you’re sure the dorm next door will not be appreciative about it.

the feeling of warm cum filling him to the brim and your cock pushing hard against his prostate plus being denied resulted in him orgasming a long streak of white that shot all the way to you’re boyfriend, soaking him fully.

some reached his face, eyes and bits even in his hair, “truly filthy”.

you pulled out and pushed kev till he fell forward on your boyfriend, losing all his strength to make even a single move.

you stretched out your arms and sighed, then got up and took one last glance at the sight before leaving, a job well done.

—-

you received a text message from an unknown number! report or accept the message?

report - accept

message has been accepted

unknown: hiya uh kev here 😶‍🌫️ u free after roll-call tmmr at midnight by chance?

[thatonegrimm]

hii! Saw a precious post of the saja boys with reader who has ADHD, could you please maybe write something about them with an s/o with autism pls? maybe like them supporting readers stimming behaviours and such?

Many thanks! And love ur writing <3

Thank you for the request! I had to ask a few friends but hopefully this is accurate to most. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Autistic!Reader

---------------------------

🧿 Jinu 

The apartment was too loud.

The blender in the kitchen, the clink of silverware, the faint sound of a commercial playing from the other room—it all grated at you in invisible, itchy layers. You sat curled into the far corner of the couch, hoodie hood up, hands pressed to your ears, rocking ever so slightly.

Jinu walked in halfway through making tea.

He didn’t say anything.

Just registered your body language in that calm, steady way of his and, without comment, walked right back out. When he returned, the apartment had gone oddly still.

The blender was off. The commercial had been muted. Even the kettle, now steeping on the side table, seemed to be letting off steam a little more quietly.

He didn’t crowd you—he just sat beside you, back to back, a comfortable weight that didn’t demand anything.

“You want to stay quiet,” he said after a moment, “or should I start reading that weird book I found at the thrift store?”

You peeked out from your hood.

“…The haunted one?”

He smiled faintly. “With terrible grammar and a ghost named Pickles.”

You nodded.

He started reading aloud in a quiet voice, calm and steady, like nothing had been wrong at all.

---------------------------

💪 Abby 

You couldn’t sit still today.

The feeling wouldn’t go away—like your skin was too tight, like the air was buzzing wrong. You paced the hallway barefoot in Abby’s oversized shirt, hands flapping by your sides as you tried to bleed the energy out of your fingertips.

Abby peeked around the corner. “You stimmin’?”

You paused.

“…Yeah.”

“Need pressure?”

You nodded, fast.

He opened his arms, no hesitation.

And you bolted into him like a freight train.

He caught you with a soft “oof” and wrapped his arms around you, solid and firm. You dug your fingers into his back and pressed your cheek to his chest, breathing in the clean-laundry scent of him.

He didn’t move.

Just swayed slightly, grounding you with a rhythmic squeeze-and-release motion of his arms.

“Feel better?” he asked softly, after a few minutes.

“Still itchy in the head,” you murmured.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll keep holdin’ till the itch passes.”

And he did.

No questions. No pressure.

Just pressure—the good kind—until you were calm again.

---------------------------

📚 Mystery 

You found your favorite hiding spot again—under the lofted bed in the guest room, behind the stack of storage bins where the noise and light couldn’t quite reach.

You weren’t trying to be dramatic.

You were just…done.

Done with too many words. Too many plans. Too many textures on your clothes.

So you sat in your quiet little pocket of the world, hugging your knees to your chest.

Mystery found you twenty minutes later.

He didn’t knock.

Just ducked down, spotted your shape, and without a word, slid in beside you like a cat curling into a cardboard box.

He didn't ask questions. Didn't try to fix it.

He pulled out a wrapped hard candy from his hoodie pocket and offered it to you without making eye contact.

You took it, unwrapped it, and rolled the cool candy over your tongue.

It helped.

The world stayed small and manageable for a little while.

And when your fingers started tapping against your thigh, Mystery matched the rhythm with his own.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

Together, in silence.

Exactly what you needed.

---------------------------

💋 Romance 

You’d warned him.

About the days when you get overwhelmed by people, by lights, by being perceived too much and feeling everything.

About how sometimes you script conversations in advance.

About how, when you rock or click your fingers or need to chew something, it isn’t because you’re “nervous.”

It’s just how you are.

Romance had nodded the first time you told him.

Said, “Okay, sweetie. Just let me know what you need.”

Today, you needed to stim—hard.

So there you were, curled up in the studio lounge with your stim rings, knees bouncing, chewing on the corner of your hoodie.

Romance walked in and immediately knelt in front of you, slow and soft, like he was approaching a sacred thing.

He kissed your forehead. Didn’t say a word.

Then he pulled out his ridiculous fidget cube—the loud, flashy one he kept “for emergencies”—and held it out.

“Wanna trade?” he whispered.

You did.

And when you couldn’t speak yet, he just sat beside you, humming softly, letting the sound fill the air while you came back to center.

“Still with me?” he asked eventually.

You nodded.

He smiled. “Then I’ve got you.”

---------------------------

🔥 Baby 

He found you sitting in the bathtub fully clothed—hood up, headphones on, chewing on your drawstring and rocking.

Did he panic?

Nope.

He just climbed into the tub too.

Shoes and all.

You paused, mid-stim, and stared at him.

“…What are you doing?”

“You’re in the Sad Zone,” he said, folding his long legs to fit. “I go where you go.”

You blinked.

Then sniffed.

Then laughed a little.

“It’s a meltdown,” you said. “I don’t know why.”

“You don’t need a reason,” he replied, already tugging his hoodie tighter. “You want me to shut up or talk about cartoons?”

“…Cartoons.”

And he did.

He launched into an impassioned rant about overpowered anime villains and morally gray protagonists while you chewed your hoodie and let your breathing steady.

No fixing.

No pity.

Just Baby, being your fireproof shield from the world.

---------------------------

They don’t treat your stimming like something strange. They don’t make your meltdowns feel shameful. They don’t call your quiet days “cold” or “confusing.”

They just meet you there.

In the quiet. In the buzzing. In the moments when everything feels like too much.

With steady hands. Warm voices. Unspoken understanding. And love.

Always love.

---------------------------

M-List

[solivagant-1]

⋆˙⟡ Let the Light In ⟡˙ ⋆

Ch 1: First Meet

Characters: Rumi x fem!reader

Synopsis: You’re the new assistant manager to Huntr/x. Follows the events of canon.

A/N: Honestly didn’t think I’d ever write for this fandom but I needed more Rumi x reader content so I hope y’all enjoy :))) This is also my first time writing a fic longer than 2K words & while this 1st Ch might be a little short, the rest I’ve written are def longer.

Magenta.

That single red blue mix bounces off the idols’ eyes as they stare at the growing collapse of their beloved Honmoon.

“How did we go from gold…to this?” The question hangs heavy in the air. “Look at all the weak spots, we’ve never seen the Honmoon like this before.”

“Gwi-ma must know we’re close to sealing it for good.”

“So he sends a demon boyband?” Mira questions.

“Well, it’s working.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure “Soda pop” is just a fad. These boys will be old news by next week, you’ll see.” Zoey’s reassurances come to a halt at the familiar ding of their elevator.

“Girls?” In unison, the group quickly covers up the evidence of their battle in makeup before turning to him with an energetic “Hi Bobby!”

“It’s a lot more serious than I thought. The Saja Boys have gone completely viral after that variety show. They even have their own fandom!” His thumb scrolls through the new dance trend based on the Saja Boys’ public performance. Bobby’s shoulders sway to the catchy music, as do Zoey’s behind him.

“Bobby! Control those shoulders.” “Zoey!”

“Wow, it is catchy,” Zoey remarks. Bobby closes the app, glancing up at her. “Yeah, you’re right, Zoey. They’re amazing, but they suck. I’m sorry, I’ve been glued to this tiny screen for hours.” He sighs, turning to face the blue cityscape outside their window.

“I just need to look away and…woo” his palm presses flat against the glass, “Relax Bobby. It's just social media numbers, not the end of the world.” Unless you’re a Hunter. To which then, it's just the start of the end of the world. Bobby’s eyes lit up, “But that reminds me! I actually have a surprise for all of you.”

“Bobby, we love you, but we really don’t need a vacation right now,” Rumi pleads.

“No, it's not that. But I'll gladly try to make room for one if any of you need the time! Let’s just sayyy a new member will be joining our staff!!” Bobby exclaims. “I have a feeling we’ll be all hands on deck pretty soon and I’m in need of a little help so,” he claps, “I’m taking on a new assistant manager. You guys are gonna love her. She's absolutely perfect. She’s got good work ethic, creativity…” Bobby drones on and on, technically spoiling the surprise as he rattles off this woman’s praises. But Rumi can’t help but be suspicious of the timing. A new demon boy band appearing out of the blue and a new assistant manager at the same time? Feels a little too on the nose.

“You’ll get to meet her later tomorrow, I’ve arranged time in your schedules for all of us to meet over dinner.”

A few streets down, in a cozy two bedroom apartment tucked away in the city, you’re busy ransacking your closet until every piece of fabric lays strewn out on the floor. Nothing in your wardrobe feels right.

I don’t have any outfits, you deem, standing in a mixed pile of dresses, shirts, and bottoms. After all, what were you supposed to wear to meet K-pop idols? Workwear might be too professional for the location, but going too casual could jeopardize your reputation. Decisions, decisions.

A quick ping rings out from your phone sitting on the nightstand, away from all the clutter. You swipe open the notification and see it’s a text from Bobby.

“Good news, the girls are really excited to meet you! We’ll discuss their upcoming project over soju, my treat! See you tomorrow.”

You type out a quick response and glare at the pile of clothes on the floor as if they’ve betrayed you on a spiritual level. You’ll settle on something, eventually.

—

The next day passes quickly for the trio. With so many hours dedicated to magazine photoshoots and music promos, plus the formulation of a diss track on their minds, their exhaustion’s starting to catch up to them. They left the shoot in an SUV that would take them to the last appointment on their schedules: meeting you for the first time.

The trio are the first to arrive at the restaurant: A secluded ramen spot that offered to serve them after hours so that no other customers would be around to see them. Though, that didn’t stop the owners from requesting a quick photo op. They’re guided to a table in a small private room shortly after with menus and water already laid out.

A bell chimes from the door, making the three of them perk up. Two distinct voices grow louder as they get closer, the girls immediately recognizing Bobby by his animated tone. He’s the first to pop in through the door. “Hey girls!”

“Hi Bobby!” They reply in sync. Your figure steps out from behind him, bowing to the group. “Annyeonghasimnikka/Hello everyone, I’m Y/N. I’m honored to be your new assistant manager.”

When she sees you, Rumi’s heartbeat fastens. Her mind goes blank and her mouth goes dry and why does the room feel so much warmer all of a sudden? Now her bomber jacket feels suffocating over her long sleeve, but she’d rather die than take it off.

Mira and Zoey stand in her peripheral, so Rumi does the same, accidentally banging her knee against the edge of the table on her way up. She bows, ignoring the stinging shockwave of pain spreading throughout her entire knee, and wills herself to focus in on the conversation.

“Oh my gosh I’m so happy to meet you! Bobby’s talked about you so much we’re so so lucky to have you!” Zoey beams. Mira watches you with unwavered attention, “Welcome to Huntrix.” Is all she says. Simple, blunt, and straight to the point. Then you look at Rumi, and it’s as if you just sucked all the breath right out of her with just one look.

Y/N is stunning, incredibly so. But that doesn’t explain why Rumi’s senses are going all…haywire. What on earth is making her feel this way?

There can be only one explanation.

Y/N must be a demon.

[fixing-girls]

Tw: CNC, gangbang, misgendering, intox

Your fellow trainees have suspicions about your slender body at the male-only bootcamp. You've been holding the group back from not being able to complete many activities. On the second week, they break into your room and tear your clothes off. One person trying to cover your mouth to put you out, but it is just enough to make you fuzzy and unable to resist.

You feel their hands when they touch your body. Fondling your binder-less tits, your subtle curves around the hip, and of course, forcing your thighs open to reveal that delicious pussy.

Immediately, one guy unzips and shoves his cock in you. He groans, feeling your delicious cunt wrapping around him. Your inhibitions loosened by the drugs, you moan through the gag. Your hymen had broken as a teenager during sports, but this is the first time you have been penetrated. The pain comes with a fullness. A completeness that itched a missing part of your soul.

The centre doesn't have any women around, and the men have been deprived. Your legs are held apart while his thrusts penetrate hard and deep and without mercy. He cums with a grunt inside you, and the next guy got on top quickly to insert his penis into your vagina. His hard, masculine body a contrast to your soft and curvy one. Nobody would mistake you for a man now. Your nipples are hard nubs against his rough chest hair. He bites your neck while humping you. His balls slapping against your labia. Another hand sneaks down to rub your swollen clit. You're a woman underneath a man in a missionary position, like the porn you get off to so many times.

Your head is so fuzzy but your body knows what to do. Your crotch grinding against him as you whimper. He jerks and shoots his load inside you before you can cum.

"Can't believe we lucked out and got this cumdump with us. The next month will be awesome."

The men laughed as they used you through the night. And again, the night after. And again. Filling you up with their sperm but never caring about your pleasure. You ride the waves of pleasure of being used but never cum. Secretly, you start looking forward to night time. You didn't need the drugs to be compliant anymore, but you let them, because it's hot to be helpless.

On the last night, the men take all your holes at once, because that's what you are, a set of holes. You're terrified of what you've shown here, but also afraid that you'll never get the chance to be used like this again.

You stare up at their big bodies, using you for their pleasure. You close your eyes and finally let go. To take pleasure from men's pleasure. The hard cocks in your body creating delicious friction. You worship the cock in your mouth as your body pushes back into the cocks behind you. Your pussy tingles and clenches. The man underneath you gasps as he pushes in more, against your cervix. The hot jets of his load shoot straight into your primal receptacle. The other two follow with their own increased thrusts and cum.

This is what you're made for, to give pleasure to men and squeeze it out of their cocks. Your orgasm is an electric storm through your body as you buck against their bodies. You cum with three cocks in your body as they fill you up. The pleasure keeps coming until you're a mess of cum, with your legs spread open, alone in bed. Already missing their touch.

You graduate the course with an insatiable craving for cum and men, as well as a belly full of new life.

[formulafanfics13]

Lactation kink with ollie please?

Want a taste? - OB87 🔥

Masterlist

summary: ollie's been patient. sweet. soft. but ever since your milk came in, he's been different. hungrier. needier. completely obsessed with your tits. tonight, he finally breaks — and you let him have everything.

warnings: lactation kink, dom/sub power shift, breast worship, nipple sucking, milkplay, oral (f receiving), finger sucking, begging, creampie, soft possessiveness, obsession, established relationship, implied pregnancy/postpartum body, soft dom!ollie, long smut

It starts with his eyes. You catch him staring at your chest more often than usual, not in the casual, boyfriend way. In the desperate, feral way. Like he's starving. Your tits are fuller now. Heavier. Sensitive. Ever since the milk came in, they ache if you go too long without a pump. Or a mouth.

"Ollie," you tease one evening, catching his gaze stuck on your cleavage, "you're drooling."

He blushes, but doesn't deny it. "You don't get it," he mumbles. "They're... perfect. You're perfect."

You raise an eyebrow. "You want a taste?"

He chokes. Literally chokes on his own breath. "You're joking."

You aren't. You're already shirtless when he enters the bedroom. Lying back against the pillows, tits on full display. No bra. No top. Just you. Waiting. His mouth parts instantly.

"Ollie," you purr. "Come here."

He obeys like he's under a spell. Sits beside you on the bed, staring like you've invented religion. "You sure?" he whispers, fingers hovering just above your nipple.

"You've been staring all week," you murmur. "Be a good boy and suck."

That's all it takes. His mouth wraps around your left nipple like he's dying for it. You cry out, the suction is strong, greedy, needy.

He moans as the milk starts to flow. Swallows it down like he's thirsty. His hands cup the weight of your tits, squeezing gently, thumb grazing your other nipple until it hardens.

You watch him suck like he's been fantasizing about this for weeks. Maybe months.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes between gulps. "You taste unreal."

You tangle your fingers in his curls. "Slow down or you'll choke."

He doesn't listen. He switches sides, now latched onto your right tit like a man obsessed. He moans louder as more milk fills his mouth. The sound of him drinking, moaning, is almost enough to make you come untouched.

"Feel how hard I am," he whispers when he finally pulls away. His chin's wet. Your nipples are red and leaking.

You slide your hand into his boxers. He's rock hard.

"Fuck me," he begs. "Please. I need it so bad."

You ride him slow at first. Letting him feel every inch. Tits bouncing with each thrust. Milk dribbling down your chest. He can't stop touching them. Grabbing. Kneading. Licking. Begging.

"Let me come inside," he pants. "Fill you up. Keep it in. You're already so full for me."

You moan, it hits a nerve, his filthy words crashing into your already sensitive body. He sucks one nipple back into his mouth as you grind down harder.

"Look at you," you pant. "So obsessed. Is this what you needed, baby?"

He whimpers. "Yes. Needed this for so long. Please let me keep sucking while I come. Please."

You nod. And he does. He spills inside you just as your milk spills across his tongue again.

It's a mess. A perfect, unhinged, soaking mess. But he doesn't stop. Keeps sucking. Keeps thrusting.

Until you're both soaked and trembling and breathless and entirely his.

Later, when you're panting against his chest, still leaking slightly, he whispers, "Next time... can I fuck you while you feed me?"

You don't even hesitate. "God yes."

[m-robinavitch]

Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, soft dom!Robby, p in v sex, orgasm denial

Summary: Trying to shower before work but Robby has other ideas

“Michael-“ you were whining into the feeling of his teeth and lips just grazing over your neck because he knew it would make you whine for him, “I’m gonna be late.” You were technically already late. Exhausted after last night, you didn’t exactly clean up afterwards so you needed to shower before you left Robby’s. But he also needed to shower and innocently slipped in to join you under the hot steamy water at first. Hot and steamy it was, but now for an entirely different reason.

“Yeah?” He asked, not caring about your words much, pulling your back flush against his chest with one hand holding your jaw to tilt at a slight angle so he can nip and kiss easily- the other hand gripping at your own chest, soapy and easily gliding over your perked nipples- scratching just lightly to hear your sighs. “Is your boss gonna be a jerk about it?”

“He can- fuck, he can be such an asshole,” you nod- moaning slightly while pushing your ass into his hips to try and entice him for a bit more stimulation, “but he’s kinda cute, so it makes it worth it.” He chuckled at your words, now biting the lobe of your ear while the hand that was teasing your breasts slid down your body. He was more than half hard, woke up that way because you move so fucking much in your sleep that you had been rubbing against him all night. Just enough to cause an aching feeling but not enough for a release.

“Doesn’t sound like you make it easy for him,” you sigh when his fingers finally breached the top of your pussy- slowly starting to rub your clit with scarcely enough pressure to make the ache really go away, “being late, lusting after him on the job- maybe you stress him out?” Robby pushes his hips into your ass and slides his thick cock between your thigh- teasing through the crease of your wet folds to help the throbbing ache dissipate for a moment while he rubs slow circles on your clit with calloused fingers.

“Can’t- fuck, can’t help it-“ the feeling of his heavy cock gliding between your wet lower lips is too much- you wish he’d just slip inside you but, fuck it was so good at the same time. “Looks so good when he’s mad.” Wasn’t a lie- Robby’s voice when mad was deep and rough, akin to a fucking growl and you hated how even when he yelling at you and Langdon for poaching patients from the urgent care clinic across the street- you got wet. You’d bite your lip as he crossed his arms, or when he’d pull off his glasses in frustration. It was your fault and in those moments you accept whatever punishments he decided for you. And he’s doling out a punishment now, fingers working achingly slow against your wet pussy and fucking laughing as you whimper. You’re squeezing your thighs together as much as you could, trying to stop the pressure from his fingers but it just makes it’s so much better as he fucks the space between your legs, wetness from the shower and your own body mixing to help the slide. Every drag of his cock- each back and forth motion he made would have you sigh and whine because you swear you feel him at your entrance a little more each time. If you could just angle your hips- he’d slide in perfectly. It would feel so good and you’re already fucking late- there was no reason to hurry now.

“I knew you did it on purpose,” he groaned, the hand that was holding your jaw lowered and began to pinch and pull your nipples, pulling away for a moment to slap at your breast before turning to push you against the cold tile wall. The contrasting feeling biting into your skin, ice cold tile pebbling your nipples and fire along your back from Robby’s chest. “Love to piss me off on purpose. Is that what gets you off sweetheart?” Fuck- so he wasn’t going to let it go. You had teased Robby within an inch of his life yesterday. You were off from work and bored and missed him so much. But that was besides the point. You forgot to set an alarm last night amidst Robby fucking you into the mattress- so you woke up and realized you had 10 minutes to get ready. It was not nearly enough time. He knew that. That’s why he’s here now- rutting into the space between your thighs and groaning when you try to close them because it’s just adding to the tightness and pleasure. “I asked you a fucking question angel.” He notched himself at your entrance- teasing the hole while he waited.

“Y-yes, fuck I like getting you ma-” you were cut off with a gasp, he gave you no time to adjust. Robby slammed into you so hard you’re sure the air from your lungs was pushed out due to the force of it. You couldn’t breathe and there was nowhere to go besides into the tiles as he started at a brutal pace. One of his strong arms comes around your waist so he can keep you still between him and the wall while he fucks into you. He doesn’t make any noise besides grunts and the occasional ‘fuck’ while he shoves his cock up into you. The water was hot, the steam rising in the air and it choked you more as you felt yourself be rearranged by him. The pressure and force was too much- and Robby was getting annoyed by having to bend a little to get his dick inside your cunt so the arm around your waist pulled tighter as he straightened out. You were barely on the tips of your toes- but in reality you were mostly being held up by Robby and his relentless pace while he fucked you. You felt your walls flutter and spasm around his thick cock while he kept dragging himself in and out of you. But with a harsh slap to your ass he spoke-

“No one said you can cum, you’re not fucking cumming yet. You need to ask me first sweetheart.” If you could fucking ask you would- but he was so deep and every thrust shoved you into the tiles that the pressure on the top of your pussy just affected your clit ever so slightly. It was so much. It was so good that you tried to claw at the walls for something to hang on to because your thighs started to shake from the force of him inside you.

“Please- baby please I need to cum. Let me- fuck let me fucking cum-” he laughed- Robby fucking laughed at your words and he felt himself start to pull at the string deep inside of his gut. He was close and one disastrous clenching of your tight pussy around him was enough to push him over the edge. He came with a growl- something low and deep and painful almost while he spilled deep inside you and released the hold he had around your waist so you were fully touching the tiles under your feet now. You were dazed- breathing heavy and almost seeing stars from the heat of the steamy water and embers of the denied orgasm smoldering in your gut. You whimpered- fucking whined because Robby’s hand dipped down to collect him dripping from down your thigh and shove back inside you with a kiss to your temple.

“You came enough last night- maybe later.” What. Oh- he’s being mean. “And don’t try to use the shower head either- we’re gonna be late angel.” An endearing slap to your ass and he’s out the shower- leaving you breathless and needy. Oh okay- fine. He’s playing a dangerous game. He will be dealt with today- he can’t hide the red face he gets no matter how hard he tries. Good.

[moonchildstyles]

the bunny

the swan final part: tonight marked the end of swan lake, but there was still so much more y/n wanted

wordcount: 18k+

—————

(Y/N) bounced on her toes as she stood around her apartment building. Her tote bag, packed with snacks and a change of clothes, hung from her shoulder. From where she stood, she could spot her car in its usual parking spot. 

A smile bloomed on her features when a familiar sleek SUV pulled into the car park. She couldn't see through the glare on the windscreen, but that didn't stop her from picturing the raspberry lips and lily pad eyes of her... Harry. 

Or whatever he was to her. Her best friend maybe? If having a best friend meant wanting to kiss all over his blushed face until there isn't a piece of him she didn't know. 

It'd only been a week since he spilled his secrets to her on her sofa while she sniffled through a runny nose and hid her face in his neck in a way to both comfort him and to hide the blaring light from her sore eyes. He hadn't been able to stay too much longer after that intimate moment on the couch, but Harry had made a point to stay in contact with her everyday since. 

It had started with check-ins to ensure she felt better through her illness, but hearing about her symptoms only lasted for a few messages each day before he was texting her just to hear from her. There was no longer a veil between them, that thin separation that had formed from Harry's cautiousness and (Y/N)'s constant reminder of what she didn't know. Now all of that was gone, leaving only everything easy. 

That quiet affection she'd been holding for him no longer had a roadblock stopping her from getting butterflies in her stomach and a giddy pattering of her heart when she saw him. She no longer forced herself to wait a couple of minutes when a text message came in from him. When she returned to the stage after a couple of days of recovery, she didn't hesitate to look up at his balcony the second she touched the boards. 

When Harry pulled up to the curb in front of her, she barely waited long enough for him to put the car in park before she was bounding towards him. Pulling open the door, she hopped in before he even had a chance to unbuckle his seatbelt in an attempt to be a gentleman and grab the door for her. 

"Hey you," she chirped, her grin scrunching her eyes.

"Hi," he greeted, a shy smile on his lips as a soft pink glow emerged over his cheeks. He made no move to pull away as she settled in, instead lingering his gaze on her. 

"Thanks for picking me up today," she said, dropping her bag at her feet as she shifted to face him as much as she could in the passenger seat. "You're really okay with waiting so long after the show?" 

He didn't hesitate before he was nodding his head, matching her gaze earnestly. "Of course. What else do I have going on?" 

There was a moment as he gazed at her that felt far too intimate for the front seat of his car in the middle of the afternoon, the weight not quite matching the levity of his tone. He mimicked her body language as much as he could with the steering wheel in the way, his eyes stitched to her own before they shattered into a soft blink, lashes fluttering as the grazed his cheekbones. It was the kind of look filmed in a perfume ad with the fragrance meant to be selling something dreamy and alluring. (Y/N)'s skin warmed at the look. 

Breaking eye contact as she reached for her phone out of her bag, restless fingers adjusting her leg warmers as if there weren't supposed to be so many folds in the scrunched fabric. 

"I don't know, but definitely not work," she attempted to tease, hoping her words came off as unbothered as she wished she was. It was an inside joke of their's, something (Y/N) pointed out when they had spent a few nights in a row with Harry shamelessly texting her into the late hours of the night. 

"Definitely not," he played along, grin stretching his raspberry lips as he finally pulled away from the curb. Heading out of her complex, he peeked at her from the corner of his eye. "I meant to text you before I left m'place, but did you want to stop at Coco's on the way?" 

(Y/N) lit up at the mention of her favorite cafe, the warm tension that had squeezed her stomach leaving her in an instant. Her mind was now filled with the cafe's specialty matcha menu—including their year round raspberry cold foam topper. 

"You already know what I'm going to say." 

Harry let out a laugh at her words, already taking the turn to set them in the direction of Coco's. "Jus' thought I'd ask before I started driving you all over town when 'm supposed to be taking y'to work." 

Laying her head against the rest, (Y/N) traced her eyes over the lines of his profile with what she was sure was plain affection swimming in her features. He had such a nice nose. 

"I wouldn't have questioned it," she admitted, settling in as she watched him, "Did your morning get any better?" 

He sighed as his hands flexed around the wheel. Earlier in the day, Harry had told her he was visiting one of his galleries a little further out of town only to walk into one of their featured artists crying as one of their paintings was sold off to a collector. A painting that they had already made money on when selling it to Harry's gallery, and would be earning a portion of commission on from this sale. It was the kind of situation that wasn't written about in business manuals or HR policy books. 

"'M talking to an HR rep to see if there's anything we can do contract-wise about getting involved in any sales, or if they just won't be a features artist anymore. I felt bad, but there's nothing I can do once the paperwork is signed." 

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth. She didn't envy him in the slightest. "Did they say anything after they stopped crying?" 

"They didn't. Stop crying, I mean." 

Picturing a clean, modern art gallery with glamorous canvases hung on the walls, a patron eagerly admiring their new buy while someone stood sobbing was... hard at the least. All while Harry was supposedly looking on, attempting to diffuse a situation he wouldn't have even had to deal with had he stayed within the confines of the city that morning. It wasn't funny exactly—it wasn't funny that someone was crying over a piece of their work—but it felt like something out of a silly movie. The more dramatic she pictured it, the more comical the moment felt. 

Stifling her growing amusement, (Y/N) covered her mouth. "That's so sad. I hope they're okay." 

Another peek at her from the corner of his eye. "Y'can laugh—'m sure 's even more uncomfortable than what you're picturing. 'S alright." 

"I feel so bad, though," (Y/N) insisted though she couldn't quite hold back the airy giggle that escaped her. "That's so sad." 

"Don't feel too bad," Harry countered, pulling up to one of the few street parking spots in front of Coco's, "From what I hear, after I left they went after the collector and tried to get him to give it back. By yelling. In the street." 

"Oh!" she bubbled, allowing a wave of laughter to take her this time. Drama in the art community—who would have seen it coming? "That's not quite right."

"Exactly," he mused, moving to unbuckle his seatbelt while eyeing the short line through the flossy front windows of the cafe. "Jus' want your usual?" 

"That's what I was thinking," she answered, plucking her wallet out of her tote bag, "Hopefully they still have some raspberry—" 

"Y'don't have to go in if y'don't want," he cut her off before she could reach for her own buckle. "It looks a little busy inside."

She followed his line of sight and did see a handful of people waiting for their drinks with a line of three deep waiting to order. It wasn't super busy, but it was definitely a bit more than she'd like to deal with right now in her warm up leotard. 

"Are you sure?" she pressed, slipping her card from her wallet.

Harry decisively nodded his head. "I think I remember your order, so I should be alright." 

(Y/N) tipped her head, hand stalling with her card. "You do?" 

As far as she remembered, she only texted it to him once almost a week ago when she had mentioned this cafe in the first place. And it was really just a one a.m. babble about how more places should offer raspberry cold foam. 

"Iced matcha with oat milk with vanilla and as much raspberry cold foam as they'll let you get away with. Light ice, too, so it doesn't get all caught up on the lid when you're trying to drink." 

He said it without a shred of doubt. He didn't think he remembered her order—he definitely remembered. 

"That's it," she said, a breathy laugh filling the air between them. Blinking herself out of her head and the implications she was spinning, she offered her card out to him. "Just tip whatever you want." 

Harry barely glanced at her offering before a small pinch formed between his brows. "I've got you, don't worry." 

"No, Harry," she insisted, "Just take it, you're already driving me." 

"'M alright," he dismissed, moving towards his door. "Lock everything while 'm gone, I'll keep it running for you." 

"Harry, reall—" 

He was already rounding the bonnet of his car before she could even finish her words. 

She really wanted to be offended. He shouldn't dismiss her offer of paying for herself, especially when she was in the middle of her debate. She was a working woman in a big city who could take care of herself just fine. She didn't need Harry to buy her little drink before she went on stage as the prima ballerina of Swan Lake. 

But it sure felt nice. 

He didn't even entertain the idea, dismissing it wordlessly. He already decided he was taking care of it all when he offered the detour, she figured. All after he had read off her order as if from memory and not a throwaway text sent in the middle of the night. 

She attempted to bite back her smile as she slid her card away. 

—————

"Jeez, since when was this supposed to be happening?" 

Harry's muttered huff carried over the quiet radio as he made a second U-turn to head back towards the theater. The car park outside the stage door was already small enough, but with a section of it being corded off by a slew of construction vehicles—despite the work being performed on a neighboring building. All that was left was street parking for the time being. At least until five p.m.

Nonetheless, Harry parked his car off in one of the slim street parking spots and started calculating what time he would have to come out and move it to avoid getting towed. 

"Sorry," (Y/N) said, a frown on her lips, "If I had known this was going on, I wouldn't have made you drive me." 

"'S not your fault," he waved off, peering out his window with a stern brow to look for any oncoming cars before pushing his door open, "Ready?" 

"Oh yeah, sorry," she scrambled to grab her tote and her slick iced matcha. 

She caught up to him while digging through her bag for her phone, hoping there was some kind of message from any of the others about what to expect with the construction crew outside. From her periphery, she thought she was catching up to Harry and following his cue as he crossed the street.

Until an arm shot out across her chest before she could step onto the asphalt. (Y/N) jumped back, finally looking up from her bag to see Harry looking down the road with his jaw set in a harsh line.

"Hold on," Harry murmured, corralling her closer to him as a car went barreling past. 

"Oh," she sounded, looking up at him and the way he practically scowled at the car even as it grew smaller in the distance. "Thanks." 

It was so silly, so bottom of the barrel, completely bare-minimum, but there was something about him grabbing her like that to keep her from walking into the street like that. He didn't shout or push, just quietly pulled her to his side. 

Very dreamy, Siobhan would say. Very, very dreamy, (Y/N) agreed.

"Yeah," he said, still looking rather irritated as she blinked up at him, "People need to be more careful. He didn't even look at us." 

"Right," (Y/N) nodded, hyperaware of the way his arm slid around her until his hand was wrapped around her wrist. 

There was a moment, standing where they were on the pavement for a beat, where his hand stayed right where it was. She wasn't sure if he could see her from the corner of his eye with the way he was carefully patrolling the street in front of them. But she still moved her hand that much, shaking off his own until she was lacing their fingers together. 

Harry's only noticeable reaction came in the form of a flutter of his lashes and a soft flush touching his cheeks. 

He didn't speak again as he walked with her, their hands laced together between them, towards the stage door. He made a point to keep his eyes ahead, all while (Y/N) happily followed with the straw of her matcha tucked between her lips. She couldn't help her smile, especially not when he squeezed her hand as they passed the construction crew on break. He kept her particularly close after that. 

"Do you want to come in with me?" (Y/N) asked as they approached the stage door, hands still laced together. 

"I've got to track down Ariel," he sighed, already peering around to the front office area, the space she spent most of her time prior to showtime. "I'll see y'after, though, yeah?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) nodded, already looking forward to whatever bouquet of flowers he would surprise her with. Especially since she didn't spot even a single petal on the way here—how he would get a new bouquet between now and showtime, she wasn't sure but she looked forward to the reveal nonetheless. "See you later, Harry." 

"What was that word?" Harry mused, cutting himself off just as his eyes lit up, "Merde!" 

(Y/N) let out a boisterous laugh at the pronunciation she had vaguely taught him through voice notes a few days prior. How he'd been a part of the arts for this long and hadn't heard of the French slang for good luck, (Y/N) couldn't believe it. She did have a fun time teaching him, though. 

"Thank you," she beamed, "I didn't think you'd remember—we talked about that at like four in the morning on a Wednesday." 

Harry only shrugged, a bashful smile on his lips as he dropped his gaze to their twined hands. "I've got a good memory." 

It was the way he looked at her through his lashes, the squeeze of his hand around hers, that carried with her even after they said goodbye and Harry waited for her to be safely tucked behind the stage door before going off in his own direction. Not even placing the straw to her matcha between her lips was enough to keep a smile from blooming across her features. 

"Hey," Lydia chirped, slowing down her bustling as she caught sight of (Y/N). Her gaze turned suspicious as she took in the light glowing through her expression. "What's got you all happy?" 

"Nothing," (Y/N) shook off, starting towards her dressing room on light feet. "Just excited for the show." 

"That's good," Lydia mused, clearly not believing (Y/N)'s words. "Good matcha at least? From Coco's?" 

"Oh yeah. No where else to get the right cherry foam that doesn't taste like cough syrup." 

Lydia fell into step with (Y/N) as they traipsed through the backstage area. "I thought you weren't going there for a while since you’re broke?" 

(Y/N) laughed at her words, remembering the exact day she had made the declaration after looking at her bank account after a night out. "Well, I didn't pay for this one so it doesn't count." 

"Oh?" Lydia trained her surprised gaze right on (Y/N)'s giddy smile. A slight narrow thinned her eyes. 

There was a part of (Y/N) that knew better than to start blabbing about Harry to each of the dancers. She'd seen first hand just how quickly news traveled amongst the cast—as well as just how long a rumor could linger within the company and be spread as fact.

But, (Y/N) knew she had nothing to be ashamed about. She knew the truth about Harry and the messy past he held. It wasn't so bad if the girls knew, she thought. If anything, maybe if the rest of the company could see there wasn't anything to be scared of when it came to Harry, it would lessen the claws that had hooked into him years ago. 

"Harry got it for me." 

As expected, Lydia's eyes widened, brows shooting halfway up her forehead. "Oh. I didn't know he was here already." 

"He drove me today actually." 

Lydia paused. "Is your car acting up again?" 

"No," (Y/N) chirped, stepping carefully over a set piece. "He just offered to pick me up today since we were going to the same place anyway." 

"Oh," Lydia parroted, the gears beginning to turn in her head as she shot (Y/N) a pointed look once they were outside of the dressing room door. "Are you guys... together? I know he's been around a lot more, but..." 

(Y/N) shrugged, absently taking a sip of her matcha, "I wouldn't say that. We are friends, though. He helped take care of me that weekend when I was sick." 

This seemed to be more than Lydia had hoped for when she started this line of questioning. (Y/N) caught the way she peered around them, spotting the stage hands on the other side of the stage before training her gaze pointedly on (Y/N).

"Is everything... okay? Are you okay?" 

(Y/N) blinked. She had counted on this being one of the questions, though that didn't really ease her any. "I'm fine—really. It's not really my story to tell," she started, lowering her voice, "but you guys do need to know you're wrong about Harry—about all of the rumors. I don't blame anyone for worrying or anything, but I promise you it's not at all like what people were saying. I really am okay." Lydia scanned her eyes down (Y/N)'s form as if to corroborate her story. (Y/N) tried her best not to be offended. "I just want you guys to give him a chance," (Y/N) pressed onward, "He's incredibly kind and very forgiving given the circumstances around here. It's really okay." 

Lydia rolled her lips between her teeth, dropping her gaze to the floor between them. A beat passed before she perked up again. "You understand how I feel too, though, right? How we all feel? Being nervous for you and everything." 

"Of course," (Y/N) chirped, a soft smile on her lips, "You just have to trust that I'm telling you the truth." 

"I do," Lydia immediately answered, nodding her head as if to self assure her words, "He has been really nice when he's hung around. I'll back off a little—sorry." 

"It's okay. That's all I'm asking," (Y/N) smiled, collecting her friend into a short hug before backing towards her dressing room. "Warm ups at four, right?" 

Lydia, eyes finally free of that lingering doubt, nodded her head. "Right." 

Sealing herself away with her matcha and tote bag in her dressing room, (Y/N) could only assume that her words would be spreading through the company soon enough. There would be a few messages from Siobhan and Kingston most likely, but she hoped this would only ease things for Harry. Even if a few less suspicious eyes landed on him, that would be enough, she thought. If only Lydia came out of this believing that (Y/N) knew better about these rumors, she'd take it. 

Anything to make things easier for Harry. Anything she could do for him.

—————

With Kingston holding her hand, (Y/N) was guided offstage as the raucous applause from the audience died down. The curtain had closed, leaving only a gauzy projection of the Swan Lake title card on the velvet. 

Another successful show. A breath of relief deflated (Y/N)'s chest. 

With each step they hustled back stage, stray flower petals fell from the fluff of her skirt, creating a trail that followed her through the set pieces. Kaleb—in full monster Rothbart regalia—followed behind them, decidedly less out of breath since getting to spend the final moments of the show pretending to be dead behind a cliff. With her own breathing finally regulating and the sound of the crowd outside waning, she turned to Kingston. 

"I'm so sorry I kicked you—I didn't think I was that close," she bubbled off, sure he could still feel the weight of her pointe shoe kicking at his shin during a twirl as the black swan. 

"You kicked me?" he questioned, blinking owlishly at her.

(Y/N) laughed, familiar with the game he was playing. "Stop it, I know you felt it. Do you think anyone else noticed?" 

"Maybe the tears in my eyes, but I'm sure they think I was just really into the story." 

"Stop," (Y/N) laughed again, collecting Kingston into a hug. "I really am sorry. I hope it doesn't bruise too bad." 

"It wasn't that bad," Kingston reassured her, dropping his playful act as he pulled away from their hug, "I really didn't feel it, and I doubt anyone noticed." 

"Let me know if it hurt later, though," she pressed, "I have a bunch of that lotion so I can give you some if you need." 

"It's fine, (Y/N). Really." Kingston flitted his gaze over her shoulder, spotting something in the way of her dressing room. "Besides, I think you'd got more exciting things to worry about tonight anyway. Hi Harry!" 

(Y/N) couldn't help the way she perked up, whipping her head around to find Harry standing at her dressing room door. A large bouquet of roses was tucked in his hands, petals a delicate pink with velveteen leaves of lambs ear stuck in between. Though he was still just as reserved as usual as the cast began pouring back in, a grin unfurled on his lips when he caught her eye. Though, he, of course, still politely waved at Kingston, keeping from shouting across the space. 

"Oh," she sounded, glancing back at Kingston though it was hard to take her gaze off of Harry for long. "I should... Do you think he's waiting for me?" 

"No, the pink roses and the ribbon with little swans on it is for me. Duh." 

Another peal of laughter came from (Y/N) as she playfully pushed her Prince Siegfried. "Shut up. I'll see you tomorrow." 

"See you tomorrow, babe." 

Kingston sent her off with a push to her back, flower petals falling from her flowing skirt as she bounced over to her Harry. A few stage hands and members of her wedge of swans stopped her to congratulate her on another successful show or to bid her a goodnight, though she wasn't the only one catching attention by her dressing room.

More than one cast member or production aide stopped to say hello to Harry. One of the swans, hairpiece already slipped off with a makeup wipe clearing away the feathers painted on her skin, even stopped to compliment Harry on the flowers and ask him if he was going to be in house again for tomorrow's show. Even from where (Y/N) was standing, still working her way over expensive set pieces and bundles of cords and ropes and light fixtures, she could tell Harry was taken aback. She could only imagine the stuttering response he gave and the polite thank you that followed, though the flowers were all the florist's work. Because he was a modest guy. Kind to a fault. 

It'd been only a week—only two days in theater with two extra rehearsal days at the studio—since (Y/N) had confided in Lydia. Though, that seemed to be just enough time for everything to be spread around like she hoped. Even time for opinions to be shifted and minds to be opened. 

By the time she made it over, (Y/N) had also discarded her hairpiece and attempted to brush all of the petals from her skirt. 

"Hey," she smiled, reaching for the door to her dressing room, "How did you get back here so fast?" 

"I know the stage manager," he teased, following after her into the quiet of the green room. 

"Right," she laughed, taking a seat at her vanity to start unlacing her pointes. "It looks like you made a few friends out there." 

Harry shrugged though there was a distinct flush touching his cheeks. "I don't know. I think everyone jus' liked the flowers I got for you." 

"Those are for me?" she sang, batting her eyelashes at him in faux-innocence. 

His grin only widened as he passed them along, the parchment paper crinkling under her hands. "I jus' found them on the way in. Didn't know what to do with them, so y'can have them I guess," he teased despite the bright eyes that watched for her reaction.

Touching her nose to one of the buds, (Y/N) pulled in a deep breath. The velveteen floral scent of the roses, backed by the slightly sweet scent of apples from the lamb's ear. The furls were soft under her touch, the fuzz on the lamb's ear feeling like a peach. 

"They're really beautiful, Harry. Thank you." She beamed up at him as she delicately examined the arrangement. A card placed securely amongst the flowers brandished a familiar, rudimentary drawing of a swan. Almost identical to the one she had tucked away at her house. 

While she hadn't ever doubted that those first flowers came from Harry, especially as the show went on for weeks without a single person claiming them. But this, the little sketch with blocky lines, was the confirmation she needed to send her heart soaring out of this theater and up to the stars. 

"'M happy y'like them," he murmured, growing shy with his knuckle coming up to nudge at the tip of his nose. He cleared his throat, a blush on his cheeks even as he steered the conversation elsewhere, "Did Ariel want to meet with you tonight?" 

(Y/N) shook her head, admiring her flowers still. "Not tonight. We're close enough to the end of the run that I think she just wants us to have fun." 

"That's good," Harry insisted, "Y'can have an early night then." 

Right, (Y/N) thought. All she needed to do was get unready and Harry would take her home until she would see him again tomorrow for the next show. Something in that thought dampened (Y/N)'s mood, picturing herself with her bouquet of flowers alone in her apartment. She was on too much of a high to end her night like that. 

While she didn't necessarily have the energy for a night out, having some company for a night in didn't sound so bad. 

Blinking up at him, (Y/N) wished she knew what he saw on her face that had his pupils dilating and mouth puffing into a small gape. 

"Are you doing anything tonight, Harry?" 

—————

Harry gaped, brow furrowed with chopsticks hovering in the air, up at her television screen. (Y/N) couldn't see a scrape of comprehension as he took in the film playing before them. 

"This is the movie that made y'want to be a ballerina?" 

(Y/N) let out a peal of laughter, pausing in her own take down of a spring roll. "Yes! Is that so hard to believe?" 

She followed his gaze to the bright t.v. The lights in her apartment had been dimmed to give the ambiance of a movie theater despite the less-than-movie-theater kind of budgeting that went into the film playing for them. The animation was rudimentary, blocky and singular in the details of the characters. Nonetheless, (Y/N) still admired the colors and the fluidity of the movements. The voices and scenes were a comfort, taking her back to a time when the world was everything and anything she wanted it to be. 

Including a dream to be a ballerina in her own Swan Lake. Just like Barbie. 

"Is this a real movie? In theaters and everything?" Harry pressed, still determined to figure out how a children's movie starring Barbie set (Y/N) off in her dreams to pointe across the boards herself. 

(Y/N) canted her head, rolling his question around. "I don't think it was in theaters, no. I think it was straight to DVD or something. I had the Barbie to match." 

Harry made a small huh as he took in the beginning scenes of Odette's story. It wasn't too different from what she acted out every weekend, though there were definitely a few discrepancies. Especially when it came to some of the child animals. And Rothbart's daughter. And the unicorn. 

Barbie was an original, what could she say? 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) was not immune to the nostalgia she felt watching the story play out and the feeling in her chest when the music played. 

"Will you just watch it, please? I'm letting you in on a secret, you know," (Y/N) playfully chided, bumping her shoulder to Harry's. "It's good, I promise. It has a better ending than our's anyway." 

"We'll see," Harry countered, though (Y/N) was sure she already won with the way he looked at her with a small smile. 

Silence settled between them as the movie went on, only being interrupted by Harry when he laughed at the serious moments with bad animation. Even that couldn't keep (Y/N) from falling into the scenes playing out in front of her. She enjoyed it too much, remembering her days of rewinding Odette's transformation into a swan, the nights she would spend staying up too late to learn the dances before her parents would hear her stomping around and send her to bed. There had been plenty of throw blankets that had been makeshift gowns, the fabric tied around her waist with a voluminous train as she twirled and twirled in her bedroom. (Until her gown would get twisted around her legs and send her off balance anyway). 

This movie was the reason she spent an adolescent birthday at the ballet, where she saw the real story with real Barbies and ballerinas and swans on stage. This was where she began her journey to where she was now. 

On screen, Odette and her Siegfried (aptly named Daniel, as Ken didn't really look like a Siegfried here) danced along the shore of the lake, looked on by the creatures of the forest as they fell in love with every step. This had always been one of (Y/N)'s favorite moments of the movie—the central love story coming together over the most beautiful of soundtracks. 

With his chopsticks picking through the carton of rice in front of him, Harry nudged her gently. "We tell each other secrets now, right?" 

"Of course," she muttered, shooting him a small smile, "I just told you my favorite movie is a Barbie movie from 2003, so we better be sharing secrets. I feel an uneven balance of embarrassment right now." 

Harry dropped his head, a lopsided smile on his lips as he looks to the grains of rice he was pushing around with his chopsticks. "'S—uh—... I know Kingston isn't interested—would never be—and I've gotten better about it since the show started running, but 's hard not to be a little... jealous when you're dancing up there with him."

It took less than a second for (Y/N) to hear his words, a moment to comprehend and register the meaning, but far longer to react. All she could feel was the flutter in her chest, the squeeze of her lungs. Her stomach even hurt with the way it was immediately full with something so warm and floaty and full. 

Jealous. Harry was jealous. Jealous of Kingston, who was not shy about his sexuality and how it very ardently did not include women. All because Kingston had the role of playing her love interest and got to dance with her. 

All because Kingston got to be close to her. 

Attempting to not look as giddy as she felt, (Y/N) absently poked at the last spring roll on her Styrofoam box. "Really?" 

Harry shot her a look from the corner of his eyes, the apples of his cheeks going pink in the limited light from the movie. "Yeah," he mumbled, "'S not serious or anything, but... yeah." 

"You know Kingston would never with me, right?" 

"I know, I know," Harry waved her off, forcing a short laugh out, "'S just—'M sure being up there with you... it's something special. 'S hard not to imagine... Nevermind." Cutting himself off, another short, airy laugh replaced Harry's voice as he shook his head. 

(Y/N) didn't know what she was feeling. How to describe the kind of energy coursing through her. She felt giddy and excited, eager to start an adventure that could last them all night. Though with all of that excitement, she felt knocked off balance. Butterflies bat at the chambers of her heart, but their wings anchored her to the ground instead of floating off into the sky. 

She just hoped, so badly, she wasn't reading this wrong. That Harry was saying what she thought he was. That he was confessing to a feeling she had wrapped up herself and put away for no one else to see. 

Forcing out a small laugh, she attempted to come off not nearly as giddy as she felt. Nudging his side, she dropped her gaze to his hands, too nervous to look at his face. "Ooh," she sang, a teasing sound that hid the tremor in her body, "You wanted to be close to me instead?" 

A single dimple dented Harry's pinked cheek as he looked at her. "You know that." 

She swallowed, mouth dry. "Do I?" 

Harry tipped his head, feigning thought as the movie scenes flashed across his face in strobes of pink and blue. "I guess I do give every dancer bouquets after every show, drive them around town, and text them all night long. I have been giving some mixed signals." 

A bubble of laughter burst out of (Y/N) then. Her skin warmed as he listed out all of these ways he'd been showing he cared for her. Wanted to be at her side. His teasing voice, the way he plays with her only made her that much more antsy sitting next to him. 

These moments—a confession of feelings, if that's what this was becoming—could be over Chinese takeaway and a childhood film. It could be with stray glitters stuck to her skin and fly away hairs that didn't quite have all of the gel brushed out. It could be with a bruised foot from the amount of fouettés she'd performed earlier in the night and Harry's placemat littered with stray grains of rice from the amount of times he lost control of his chopsticks. It could be with dried roses pinned to her walls and Tupperware she'd been meaning to return to the owner. 

"Maybe," she started, speaking through her smile, "you just have to be a little more clear." 

Harry looked at her then, lilypad green flecked with specks of warm gold. The space between their cushions suddenly seemed too big. Too wide for what she wanted. 

It was hard to tell with the way her thoughts tangled and diverged all at once, just who closed the distance first, but that didn't really matter when the end result came with her lips pressed to his. 

It was sweet and careful the way he pressed into her, the ridges of his mouth lining up with hers as if made to fit. Dinner was pushed to the side in favor of reaching for one another, chopsticks rolling to her rug. Harry held her steady with his hand on her cheek as he tipped his head just so, deepening their short kiss into something more languid. The tip of his nose glanced along her cheek, the touch eliciting a small smile on her puckered lips. 

Of course Harry felt it, pulling away just enough for the full of his mouth to still graze hers. His own lips upturned into a smile. "What?" 

"Nothing," (Y/N) giggled, reaching up to take his jaw in her hands, "Your nose just touched me—tickled." 

"Oh," he breathed, dotting a kiss to the corner of her mouth, "Sorry." 

"No, no," she shook off right away, chasing his mouth for another long kiss, "I like your nose." 

"Yeah? That's a new one." Her smile only widened when she watched him cross his eyes, scrunching his nose.

Tipping his head with her hands on his jaw, (Y/N) pressed a kiss to the tip of his scrunched nose. "It's a pretty nose." 

Harry didn't respond with words, only pulling her back to his mouth. Their lips slotted together with her bottom one between his two. It was sweet and new, both of them feeling out what the other liked with tips of their head and presses of their mouths. It'd been a while since she had a first kiss, but she didn't remember the learning phase ever being this thrilling. 

His stubble prickled under her hands as he pressed into her mouth that much more, feeling the give her lips underneath. The way his jaw worked as he kissed at her bottom lip, a slight draw of his tongue running along the pillow. There was nothing urgent about the way he tested the waters, tasting her kiss. Just the want to know her, to feel her, the way she was eager to know him. 

Harry was the first to draw back as the ending credits of the movie started playing. The flashes of white across the black screen shone over their features, glancing over the light in his eyes and the shine covering his mouth. The very tip of his nose now sported a stray fleck of glitter, no doubt caught from grazing her cheek. 

A bright smile bloomed across her lips. 

"What?" Harry asked again, the pad of his thumb running along her soft undereye. 

(Y/N) swiped at the glitter, removing the fleck from his skin. "Nothing. I just like your nose." 

He kissed her again. 

—————

     27 shows done, only 3 to go! Merde everyone! 

(Y/N) smiled at the mass text that was sent to the whole company from Ms. Ariel. This was the last week of the ten week run that their Swan Lake production had done, with only three more shows standing for the weekend. 

While this was now (Y/N)'s fifth production with the company, this final set felt so much more significant. Not only because she was the prima and would be retiring Odette after this Saturday night, but with everything she'd learned these last ten weeks. Not even including the months they spent rehearsing and preparing for the show in the first place.

She had been deemed principal worthy with this role. She had given the performance of a lifetime, enough so that people noticed and wrote articles. The success of the show was something she'd never seen coming. While she was no Misty Copeland, there were people who knew who she was and had come to the theater to see her dance. There were articles written praising the way she embodied her dream. It was a hard thing to let go of.

But, there was always Harry, she thought. Harry who was the reason her apartment was full of bouquets—both dried and fresh. Little cards congratulating her, singing her praises, or boasting an unskilled sketch were filling a drawer in vanity. Evidence of him came in the form of her Netflix history now being an amalgamation of their tastes thrown together. While she knew where her car keys were, there was no reason to look for them half the time when Harry was already waiting for her downstairs, ready to take her wherever she needed to go and make a day out of it. She no longer stuffed the feelings away when she was reviewing a manuscript and the male love interest's features suddenly resembled Harry in every way. 

Even the times at the theater before and after shows had shifted some. The thin ice Harry had been skating on when it came to the dancers and crew had melted away, leaving him on solid ground. While no one had made it as close to him as (Y/N), there were still more than a handful of dancers and crew members that no longer cringed or whispered when Harry came into the room. Instead, (Y/N) was proud to hear the greetings he would get, small talk always being extended to him even if he still grew bashful under the attention. 

Harry wasn't afraid to walk into the theater or studio with his hand wrapped in hers. The grand bouquets were always handed to (Y/N) with dancers coming by to praise the fragrance or the arrangement of colors. He didn't worry about anyone seeing her duck into his car after the night had ended. Things had brightened for him here. 

(Y/N) may be letting go of Odette, but she would always have this Harry. 

A service had been done to her that she had never seen coming. Only three shows left. 

—————

(Y/N)'s hand absently worried the strap of her tote bag hanging from her shoulder. She could feel the thread she was picking at beginning to loosen, and she knew she needed to stop. But if she stopped, she wouldn't have anything to concentrate on to keep her from crying. 

Ms. Ariel was standing in front of the company with the director, orchestra conductor, and the department heads as they gave their final night speeches. Even Harry was up there shadowed in the back, the face for all of the patrons that helped put the show on this season. 

It was something that happened every season as each run came to a close. (Y/N) had cried before their last show on her first production (a rendition of Magic Mirror with distinct Snow White elements. She had been a bunny), but she'd been able to be put together in the productions that followed. 

Until tonight. 

It hadn't felt real until she and the rest of the company were herded into the front of the house and sat in rows the same way they had been during their final meeting right before rehearsals had started for Swan Lake. Now, here they were with their send off for the season. Odette's final night on the boards. 

Siobhan reached over the arm rest and patted (Y/N)'s leg, a sympathetic smile on her face with her own eyes glossed with tears. (Y/N) couldn't look at her if she wanted to keep it together for a moment longer. 

Once the director took his step back, Ms. Ariel took the center stage. 

"I know we all have to start getting ready, so I won't keep any of you too much longer. Just know that this has been a bigger success than any of us had seen coming—all thanks to all of you. Without your help and hard work and love for the show, we wouldn't have made it so flawlessly through these ten weeks. This has been a one to remember and one that will set us up to be remembered. Merde!" 

A round of applause sounded through the theater as the cast and crew stood from their spots. Before long, as expected, a huddle formed in the main aisle. As with the end of every production, there was always a big group hug orchestrated right before everyone would scatter to put on the show for the last time. 

(Y/N) was readily pulled right in by the rest of the swans and Kingston, unable to keep her tears in this time. If anyone noticed as they all huddled in, no one said anything. Words of congratulations and gratitude were shared among the moving pieces that made the show possible, the murmurs roiling into a quiet purr in the middle of the theater. (Y/N), arms around Siobhan and Kingston, squeezed them tight. She could't wait to see who she was at the end of the next production.

Soon enough, Ms. Ariel dismissed everyone with the reminder that there was still work to be done. All of the fonding and celebrating was to be scheduled later tonight. 

—————

Patting a tissue under her eyes, (Y/N) could only halfway concentrate on catching the tear before it had a chance to ruin her makeup. The other half of her concentration was being spent on the next tear that was working its way out of her other eye. 

It'd been like this off and on since she started warm ups, this roller coaster of emotion following her through her hair and makeup, into costuming, and now when she typically flitted about the backstage area and chatted with her colleagues to keep her nerves down before the show. Instead, she was spending her final night as Odette hoping against all odds that no one would be able to spot the tear tracks in her makeup. 

A gentle knock came to the door of her dressing room. 

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) quickly patted around her eyes once more with a sniffle of her nose before calling out, "Come in!" 

Instead of Ms. Ariel or Kingston being unveiled behind the door, Harry stepped in. He was clad in one of his signature suits, the creamy sage color tailored to the contours of his frame with a black button down stitched underneath. The hue made his eyes impossibly brighter as they landed on her, a look of sympathy landing on his features. 

"Y'alright?" 

That was all it took before she was tearing up once more, voice thin. "Yeah, j-just excited." 

"Oh, love," Harry crooned, passing the room to her vanity in quick strides. Before even her first tear fell, he had her gathered in his arms. "I know," he murmured into her slicked back hair, "I know." 

"I don't know why I'm so emotional," (Y/N) blabbered, doing her best to keep her face angled just right so she didn't blink away her mascara. 

Harry only squeezed her tighter. "This show meant a lot to you, that's okay. You're allowed to be sad 's over." 

"But," she breathed, taking a moment as her voice shook, "But, it's not like I'm not going to be in more shows. I-I just feel silly." 

"I wouldn't," Harry said, pulling away from her to get his eyes on her own, "This was big, and y'did so amazing. I don't think any of our shows have ever been so positively reviewed until you. You're going to have more opportunities like this, but that doesn't mean y'can't be sad that this one is over. 'M going to miss this too, you know." 

"Really?" she sniffled. 

"Oh yeah," Harry smiled, thumbing at a tear under her eye, "Y'made this one of m'all time favorites, love. 'M going to miss seeing y'be the best swan ever up there, but I know this isn't going to be your last time as the prima."

"I hope not," (Y/N) laughed, the sound watery and thin. 

"'M far from the only person so impressed by you. You'll have more moments like this, (Y/N). But 's okay to be sad that this one is over." 

(Y/N)'s bottom lip wobbled, another round of tears collecting in her waterline. "Thank you, H."

A small smile graced his features before he pulled her in for another hug. "I've got you, love. Always." 

She didn't let him go until they heard the first notes of the prologue on stage. 

—————

Lifted over Kingston's head, (Y/N) let her tears freely fall as Odette. A blissful afterlife with her Prince laid before her while all of her cursed swans were left to freely roam in their original forms. 

Tonight, these crystalline tears had little to do with the love bursting from Odette and much more to do with the gratitude in (Y/N). She would never have another night exactly like this again, with these exact people and this exact audience. She couldn't keep her eyes from sweeping across every face every time she twirled out. 

Though it was hard to keep from falling into the pattern of looking right up on the balcony. Right where Harry sat, his own eyes glossy as he gazed down at her so adoringly. 

With her arms raised around her, (Y/N) floated like a swan over the boards, a beaming smile on her lips with her eyes fluttered to a close. 

—————

Still in her bow, the curtains dropped over the entire ensemble gathered on stage. Ms. Ariel and the other department heads still had their bundles of flowers clutched to their chests—all gifted by the cast and crew—even when the only stage light could be seen peering under the hem of the heavy velvet curtain. 

The final set piece for the story—the glade with which a finally human Odette and Siegfried danced together for a blissful eternity—was frozen in time around the. Stray flecks of faux-snow and glitter from the costumes littered the boards, all complimented by stray feathers scattered about. Flowers still littered the stage that had been thrown at their feet. The limited light from under the curtain bounced across the final moments of this set's life. 

Another set of tears touched (Y/N)'s eyes, tears she saw mirrored in Kingston's gaze when he looked down at her. A bright smile took over his features before he pulled her in for a hug. It wasn't long before the rest of the cast and crew were there in the huddle with her. This group huddle felt tighter and warmer than the pre-show snuggle, leaving (Y/N) to feel every bit of the drop now that she was leaving the stage as Odette for the last time. 

(Y/N) could have stood there for hours before Ms. Ariel, her voice coming from somewhere in the crowd, reminded everyone of the group reservations that were made for later in the night. A post production celebration that occurred after every wrapped run, though this one felt particularly special for (Y/N). 

At that, the group scattered, dancers moving to change out of costumes and crew working to break down the sets. (Y/N) and the swans stayed in their costumes as long as they could, flitting about to help take down the glade and stack away the rest of the pieces until a new home could be found. Flower petals and feathers followed their steps, flecks of glitter marking who had helped where until the stage was back to a base of brown boards with bare bones behind the curtains. The audience had long since gone home by the time (Y/N) made her way to her dressing room, deigning herself to shed her Odette costume at last. 

Sitting at her vanity, she spotted Odile's tutu hanging on the rack behind her. The black jewels gleamed. around the onyx feathers, sending shadowy rainbows over the long tulle skirt of the human Odette dress. Her toes went numb just looking at the black pointes strung up next to Odile.

(Y/N) was going to miss her, too.

The last look at swan Odette came in the form of the costume being strung up on the padded satin hanger, laid against the plain wood of the dressing room door. The tutu sparkled even under the low lights, matching the stray shimmer that stuck to (Y/N)'s skin. She hoped she would have a hard time ridding herself of the sheen. 

A knock came on her door, jostling her costume. The tutu flounced at the contact, a small smile drawing on (Y/N)'s features at the sight. Just like when she twirled and jumped. 

"Yes?" she called, pulling Odette off of the small hook embedded on the door.

As expected, Harry was unveiled as he pushed open the door, a shy smile on his lips. "Doing alright?" 

"Yeah," (Y/N) chirped, her own features twisting into a smile. "I'm not crying anymore, if that's what you were wondering." 

Harry cooed at her, his smile turning upside down into a sympathetic frown. "Love, that's making me sad. Don't say that." 

"I'm sorry," she laughed, bagging up the outfits just as the costume department requested, "But it's true. I think I'm all done, though. I'm going to miss it but at least I have all the videos and things to look back on. Maybe in a couple of years I'll try to convince Ms. Ariel to do the show again." 

"I don't think that'll be very hard," Harry mused, holding out his hand as she approached him. "Do we need to take those anywhere?" he asked, jerking his chin towards her costume rack. 

(Y/N) shook her head, looking forlornly towards the covered outfits. "Lea said we could leave them wherever tonight." 

Lacing his fingers with hers, he matched her gaze with his lilypad eyes. "Did y'want to get out of here, or do y'want to take one last look around before?" 

Brightening at the suggestion, (Y/N) peered around him out to the empty backstage. "Are we allowed to do that?" 

He shrugged, "I have a key." 

As if that proved anything, (Y/N) thought. Nonetheless, she eagerly nodded at his idea. 

With their hands twined, Harry carefully guided her over the stray set pieces stacked on top of one another, ropes and cords and light fixtures being avoided as well. Until they were stepping out on stage. 

The house lights were still on, leaving the rows and rows of seats exposed. All empty. Though it appeared someone tried to clean up the stage, there were still lone feathers and flakes of fake snow stuck in the grooves of the wood. 

Without the sets, the stage didn't look all that important. Without her costume and the watchful eyes of her audience, there was the facet of being the prima (Y/N) no longer had. 

But that feeling in her chest hadn't changed. It wasn't hard to call forth those memories in her tutu with admirers watching every lithe move of her body and strong push of her legs. It felt wonderful—full of wonder, to be specific.

"So this is what y'see every night," Harry mused at her side, gaze cast far out to the back of the theater. "How do y'do it?" 

(Y/N) hummed, bright smile on her lips. "I usually just kind of focus up there. It makes it a lot easier." 

Pointing to a specific balcony, (Y/N) waited as Harry followed the line of her hand. It didn't take long before pink was staining his cheeks and the tops of his ears, a bashful smile on his lips. 

"Every night?" 

"Every night." 

She wondered if Harry was realizing just how many faces she saw each evening while spinning and twirling on her toes. How easy it would have been to pick a new one each time to focus on, beam her smile or direct her frown to. Instead, she always came back to him. Even before their time together became something tangible. 

Using her grip on his hand, (Y/N) tugged her towards him, growing antsy under the silence after her small confession. "Come here. Dance with me." Harry blanched at her request, earning a bubbling giggle from her. "You've seen the show enough to know the dance," she pressed, already hooking his hand over her ribs the way Kingston did earlier in the night. 

"I don't know, (Y/N)" he countered though he didn't stop her from moving his hand wherever she wanted, "We don't even have the music. We'll lose count." 

"I'll hum it for you, it's fine." When he didn't look particularly convinced, she fluttered her lashes up at him. "You said you wanted to be Kingston sometimes, right? Here's your chance." 

Unsurprisingly, Harry blushed at her poking, though it did seem to work with the way he solidified his grip on her. "Um, is this before or after y'jump off the cliff?" he murmured once (Y/N) hummed the promised song. 

"After," (Y/N) laughed, dropping her hands to his shoulders, "This is the epilogue." 

Despite the small panic that was brewing in his eyes, Harry did let a small smile slip. "I do like the epilogue." 

"Really?" she asked, leading them in rudimentary steps that had them spinning in a slow circle. Without pointes, some of the moves would be impossible, but hopefully Harry wouldn't mind the difference. 

He nodded. "Y'look the happiest then." 

(Y/N) held that thought with her as she let her features mold into a grin. Harry allowed her to lead them as they moved across the boards in clunky steps. It was far from the scene critics raved about, but it may be (Y/N)'s favorite rendition she'd ever been a part of. 

Harry held her close, keeping her steady as she got ambitious and split her leg up high behind her. The form was wobbly through her sneakers, but he still looked at her in awe as she barely twirled. 

"Ready for a big one?" she asked, twirling back into his chest. 

"What big one?" 

"The lift, remember?" (Y/N) could only laugh when the color seemingly drained from his face. "It'll be fine, just hold me." 

Though he needed a bit of instruction on where exactly to hold her—tight around her waist, high enough that he could feel her ribs under his palms—he did as instructed without a qualm. On a three count, Harry lifted her over his head, leaving her to do as Odette with her legs extended into a split. It lacked a bit of the drama that the fluttering skirt reserved for Odette's afterlife had, but it worked fine enough in her tights. 

She continued to hum the song for Harry, even when she peeked down at him, only to find him looking up at her so adoringly. She hadn't been aloft for very long before Harry was carefully lowering her to him once more. Her body brushed along his with the slow movement, the thin cover of his black button up doing little to hide the ridges of muscles that blocked his abdomen. The strength in his hands, muscles corded up his arms and strapping across his shoulders kept her steady, even as she wrapped her legs around his hips once she was level with him. He didn't stop her as the soft of her thighs closed around his middle, ankles crossed at his back. He only pulsed his hands around her waist, the green of his eyes deep enough to suck her in when she dared to meet them

The song died in (Y/N)'s throat. This was a different number, one not performed on the stage for others to see. One that she didn't perform with Kingston—not with the way her breath grew a bit more shallow. 

Her hands on his shoulder shifted until they were coasting up the sides of his throat, thumbs touching the hinge of his jaw. Harry's own hands moved until he formed a bar with his forearm across her back and another hand rounded under her thighs. She didn't direct him into any other moves despite the both of them knowing this was far from the production's choreography.

Harry's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze dropping from hers only to land on her lips.

Surging forward, (Y/N) had a stray thought hoping that he didn't mind the taste of her stage lipstick. If she had known this was how she was going to spend the prelude to dinner, she may have actually wiped her makeup off. Though she didn't let that stop her from letting Harry suck her bottom lip between his two, getting a taste of her mouth. 

There was something more urgent to this contact that hadn't been there the other times they'd locked lips. Harry pushed that much harder, pressing into her lips as if wishing to leave his indent. He didn't care when the tip of his nose smushed into her cheek or grazed the bridge of his own when he canted his head just right. Puffs of breath fanned between them the few seconds they broke apart. Moving distractedly, (Y/N) ran her fingers through the waves of hair framing his face, pushing back the baby hairs that tickled her skin. 

Without thinking, she curled her fingers in the strands, pieces getting caught in the fray until a light tug was delivered to the roots. A low, rumbling moan escaped Harry, dripping over her mouth. 

(Y/N) sucked in a breath at the sound, thighs pulsing around his middle. Had he always done that when she ran her fingers through his hair? Or was this new? 

Before much more jumbled contemplation could occur, Harry pulled away. His typically pink cheeks were branded a warm red, lips swollen and spit slicked. He loosened his hold on her, signaling her to land safely on the floor. 

"We—um—we should get with the others," he said, the suggestion coming out uncertain. 

She lagged in response. Dinner was quite possibly last in line of her needs at the moment. Though this prioritized need was new—added to the list only within the last handful of minutes as she felt the stretch of his body against her own—it felt terribly important compared to everything else. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) nodded her head, knowing they both had a responsibility to show face at this dinner. 

"Right," (Y/N) muttered, sounding just as unconvinced as he was, "Right." 

Harry's hand stayed tight in hers as he escorted her out to his car. 

—————

"Ms. Ariel, can we do Midsummer's Night Dream for the summer production?!" 

Kingston's tipsy outburst had come after prodding from many of the swans, who were also on the same level as him if the empty drink glasses were anything to go off of. (Y/N) watched in amusement as Ms. Ariel peered down her nose over to where Kingston was standing up from their table. 

"Maybe." 

(Y/N) was sure that when Kingston groaned and fell back into his chair, laughter from the dancers around him erupting, that this had been just the reaction Ms. Ariel had been going for. As stoic as she could be, she had a had time biting back her smile with her own margarita half drunk in front of her. 

"Is that the third time he's asked for a different show?" Harry murmured into (Y/N)'s ear, too quiet for the rest of the guests at the table to hear. 

"The fourth," she corrected, turning until her lips were level with his ear, "I'm pretty sure we are doing Midsummer's Night Dream though. She has to be messing with him."

Harry let out a soft laugh at her whispers. "'M sure of it." 

Leaning back in her chair, she watched the rest of the show move on around them. She and Harry had been the last to arrive to the dinner reservations, leaving them to catch up to the room that was already buzzing with post-show energy. Gone were the weeping and tear tracks, now was the time for speculating about the future and raving about the time had on and off stage during the Swan Lake  run. 

Once butting into their saved chairs with the rest of the swan wedge and Kingston, (Y/N) had soaked it all in, feeling a sense of deja vu to a night so similar to this ten weeks ago. Though this time, she was much more sober and Harry hadn't had to be dragged to her side. Instead, she had stuck right with her the whole night, keeping a hand on her knee even as he was pulled into different conversations with members of the cast and crew. 

Despite her mind being tugged into the memory of whatever it was that had threaded between them on stage at the theater, this was a welcome distraction. This was all (Y/N) had hoped for when she started sprinkling in her defenses of Harry to the company: for him to be given a chance. Though the taxes of being a social butterfly came with more effort than she was sure he had planned on expending tonight. 

While everyone was fixed on the game being planned between Kingston and Ms. Ariel, (Y/N) leaned across Harry to reach for the glass of wine they had agreed to share for the evening. She pressed her lips to the rim where her lipstick mark—though faint given the fact much of it had been rubbed off not too long ago—taking a sip with the weight of Harry's eyes on her. 

"Hm?" she hummed, bouncing her brows above her head as she caught Harry's gaze. 

With a blink of his dark lashes, Harry shook away the gloss that had formed over his eyes. "Nothing, sorry. How are you feeling?" 

His question came with a squeeze of his hand over her knee, the fabric of her sweats giving against the pad of his thumb. 

"Tired," she admitted, rolling her neck, "I think the last ten weeks are starting to set in a little." 

"Yeah?" he pressed, a furrow in his brow, "Anything hurt?" 

"Not yet, but that'll happen in the morning I'm sure." Nothing quite like finding immaculately colored bruises all over your feet after having the time of your life the night before. She would gladly be taking these next two weeks of break to soothe her limbs.

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?" Harry asked, mouth still in a frown though there was something brighter floating in his eyes as they scanned over her form. 

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth. She had an idea, though it didn't necessarily have much to do with avoiding any aches in the morning. It would make her feel better though—possibly even ready her to see the day tomorrow. 

If he wanted to anyway. 

She had paused long enough that Harry flitted his gaze back up to her own. That brightness she had spotted looked a bit more like a warmth now that he wasn't shying away from her gaze—a smoldering burn behind the moss of his irises. 

"Did you have to go back home tonight?" she started with, a lilt to her voice as if she weren't leading into taking him home with her. 

Surely, he had to have felt the same way on the stage as she did. Right? Otherwise he wouldn't have kissed her the way he did, held her so tight against his body, dent the soft of her waist with his fingertips as if to keep him under her skin forever. 

Harry shrugged. "Not really. Why?" 

A soft smile curled her lips as she gazed at him, her lashes creating a frame around his face. "Did you want to come back to mine instead? We can watch some more movies." 

He let out a laugh at her movie suggestion, the activity growing into an excuse to get him in front of her television before she showed him a movie he'd never heard of from her childhood. 

This time it was him reaching for the wine glass, peering at her from the corner of his eye as he pressed the rim to his lips. Right over the print of her lipstick. He took down the rest of the alcohol, the last two gulps staining the center of his mouth a soft red. 

The sight mimicked the freshly kissed pout she had given him in the theater. 

"I think we could do that," he nodded, glancing at the time on his phone, "Ready to go now, or want to wait a little?" 

Casting her eyes around the room, (Y/N) could see the way everyone was still entrenched in the energy of a newly closed show. So many of the girls were still clad in their swan accessories, some with feathers still drawn in white paint across their cheeks. Even the backstage crew wasn't immune to the fun of the night, specks of glitter and fallen snow having clung to their clothing. The department heads and Ms. Ariel were even in their own eased bubble, different from what the start of the production run did to them. 

It was a perfect night. The right ending to one of the most memorable runs she was sure to ever have. 

And (Y/N) was ready to go home. 

She looked at Harry with a barely stifled grin. "I'm ready." 

—————

(Y/N) sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair. The damp strands were finally free of the layers of gel taming them away during her performance, and the tension headache she was getting had finally ceased. The warm water of her shower had done wonders to loosen her muscles and make her feel real again. 

Finishing with rubbing lotion into her hands, she left her bedroom to find harry just where she left him on her couch. On the television there was a movie playing, though it didn't seem he was paying much attention to any of the scenes. Instead he was wrapped up in a binder clipped bundle of pages splayed open in his lap. 

"Is that one of my manuscripts?" she asked, dumping her used towels and dirty clothes into her hamper. 

Harry, with a furrow in his brow and fist under his chin, nodded his head. "Yeah. This is the one y'were telling me about the other day?" 

"No, that was a different one. I just got that one this morning before I left." 

(Y/N) felt a bit restless as she watched him on her couch. It would be annoying in any other context, but him being sat there with his legs spread wide, his pistachio colored trousers stretched over his thighs. He made himself at home right in the middle of the sofa, taking up space with his broad shoulders. The look on features was tense, concentrating fully on the manuscript in his hands as if it were a thesis paper. She wondered if this was what he was like when he was working, looking over the financials or critiquing art he wanted to buy for the galleries. She wondered if Harry knew that some of the reason people were so intimidated by him was because he was just really hot; it was hard to interact with him normally. 

Not for the first time, she thought about what it would be like to tag along with him to those visits to his properties. She was so used to seeing Harry bashful and letting her make way for him in the world of ballet, she wanted to see what he was like when he was in his chosen environment. When he was the one that held the knowledge and connections and confidence. 

The ghost of his hand on her leg, the way he had held her when taking Kingston's place on stage, the sight of him pressing his lips to the same spot she had sipped from the wine glass—it all lingered over her. There was a pitch in her stomach that tightened and hadn't loosened through the night. It made her skin crawl, every cell seemingly urging her next to him; to convince him to get his hands on her once more, his lips on her own.  

Realizing she had been staring at him for far longer than would be appropriate even if he was her bonafide boyfriend, (Y/N) shook her head, blinking away from him. She took her time heading towards the kitchen and filling her water. She should be too tired to even be thinking like this—to be rubbing her thighs together and spreading her fingers through her hair as if they were as satisfying as Harry's touch. She had just concluded a ten week run in her dream role, she should be exhausted, not verging on needy. 

Clearing her throat, (Y/N) called over her shoulder, feigning nonchalance, "Did you want any water? Or did you already get yourself something to drink?" 

A beat passed with no response. 

"Harry?" she tried again.

"Hm?" he answered, shifting in his spot though a glance in his direction granted only a view of the back of his head. He was still reading. 

"I asked if you wanted something to drink," she repeated through an amused smile. 

"'M alright, love. Thank you, though." 

With her own cool bottle in hand, (Y/N) gave in and crossed her apartment to settle into the cushion beside him. As predicted, the manuscript was laid out in his lap, with a heady amount of pages already turned. 

"Is it any good?" she asked, attempting to peer over his shoulder to see what exactly had taken his attention, "I don't even remember the description of it that the publisher sent over." 

"'S... something," Harry mused, clearing his own throat as he peeked at her from the corner of his eye, "Have y'read it at all, yet?" 

A pinch formed between her brows at the vague review he gave to something he couldn't seem to put down. "No," she started, "Is it weird, or something?" 

Harry rolled his lips between his teeth. "I wouldn't say weird, jus' not what I was expecting from something called"—he flicked to the plain white page acting as the cover—"In The Margains. I thought these people were supposed to be librarians." 

The pinch in (Y/N) expression only deepened at the extra information Harry prattled on about. Sidling up next to him, she got a clearer view of the typed passages open in front of him. 

     Reid hoisted me onto his lap, strong hands holding the swell of my ass tight. He tugged me tight to his chest. The feel of his starched shirt against my breasts was a stark reminder that he was clothed and I was not. I was at his mercy, the twinkling stars I could spot through the skylight were silent observers to my submission. 

     "You like being my whore? Is that why you're so wet, Maggie?" His voice was as rough as his touch as his hips shifted under mine. Goosebumps textured my skin as I clung to him. He took my silence as an answer enough, amusing enough for him to smirk at me. "You think everyone would still think you're nothing but a cute little librarian if they knew you've been letting me in after hours just to fuck you against the shelves?" 

     I moaned. 

(Y/N) stopped reading then, unable to go any further when she could feel the way her cheeks were heating up. This was definitely not what was included in the blurb the publisher had sent over—she would have remembered. 

She felt embarrassed as if she had been the one to write this kind of smut, taking the manuscript from Harry's hands. He let her flick through the pages he'd already passed, spotting much of the same occurring so early in the story. She could only imagine what kind of development was created through the rest of the pages. 

"I am so sorry," she bubbled, frantically taking the pages away with the rest of the manuscripts she was in the process of reviewing and editing. "I had no idea that it was that kind of story. I wouldn't have left it out for you." 

She couldn't help the air of laughter clinging to her words, the sound lacking humor when she felt so awkward. 

Interrupting her rush to reorganize and somehow hide what he had already seen, Harry dropped a hand onto her own. She stilled under his touch, letting him collect her until she was settled once more against the cushions and Harry was carefully holding both of her hands in one of his.

"'S okay," he insisted, a faint smile on his features, "I don't know why you're getting all upset. 'S fine, love; 'm not mad if that's what you're thinking. I don't mind if those are the things y'read, I jus' wasn't expecting it. That's all." 

(Y/N) opened her mouth before closing it before anything could escape. She felt like a guppy, mouth dry and gaped as she tried to speak. 

"They're not all like that," she settled on, mumbling the insistence, "You know that." 

"I know," Harry laughed, clearly not as disturbed by his discovery as she was, "But it would be fine if they were. I don't know why you're all flustered." 

(Y/N) blinked, lashes fluttering as she fixed her gaze on their folded hands. For some reason, being on the boards of the stage, if Harry had picked up on the direction of her thoughts, it didn't feel so bad. She was already so used to performing when she was up there. But here, in her apartment with her full laundry hamper and mismatched—though still pink for the most part—decor, it felt so much more vulnerable. If he knew what was in her head here, it would be real. She wouldn't be making a show of it, using the confidence of a spotlight and predetermined choreography. Every move would be her own doing. 

If he knew that she'd made a bit of a habit of seeing his face as the love interest in her manuscripts, it wouldn't be because of a script or a plot line. It would be because she saw him in everything and wanted those intimate moments with him. 

"I don't know," she got out, a light-hearted laugh accompanying the words though she felt far from light. 

Harry shifted in his spot, his grip on her hands moving until he was using it to tug her into his lap. (Y/N) moved pliantly, eager to be in his arms and hide her face against his throat. He may be able to feel the heat emanating from her cheeks that way, but at least he wouldn't be able to see her face and the open book her expressions were. 

He smoothed his hand over her drying hair, toying with the ends while his other arm created a bar around her back. He held her close to his chest, so similar to the way he had back at the theater. Though this time, the thin bed shirt she wore was little protection as her breasts squeezed against the planes of his chest, the buttons of his suit jacket denting her softened skin. 

"I thought it was nice, you know," Harry prattled, his voice a low mumble the same volume as the quiet movie on screen. "The book." 

(Y/N)'s features twisted up where she was hiding in his neck. She felt him laugh more than she heard it, surely able to feel her reaction. "You think so?" 

"That part was a little intense," he clarified, "But the rest of it wasn't so bad. They seemed very in love at least. He took care of her." 

The rumble of his chest against her was a surprisingly comfort that had her limbs loosening. She could equate it to the roll of a car coasting down a straight shot, leaving her to daydream out the back window and settle into the upholstery. 

She did the same in Harry's lap. Her thighs bracketing his hips curled tighter around him, holding her closely as the knobs of her spine relaxed. She fell against him, her body conforming to his own. 

"You think so?" (Y/N) mumbled into his neck.

His hand on her back ran up the length of her spine, fingers gently denting the flesh. He hummed, another calming feeling that had her burrowing closer. "I do." He paused, throat bobbing next to her face. "She kind of reminded me of you a little." 

"Really?" 

"Mhm. She was sweet," he mused, his hand returning to her hair as he tucked through the strands to graze the back of her neck, "Took care of her friends. Talked a lot,"—that was said with amusement, enough so that had (Y/N) laughing into his neck even as she scolded him with a Heyyy—"I pictured her as you." 

A smile lingered on her lips even as she registered what he was saying. Harry had cutely pictured the main character of the manuscript as her. Did that include the more scandalous pages he perused? 

The idea had that tightening in her stomach returning with all of the force that had waned as they talked. She hoped he didn't notice the way her thighs pulsed around his hips. 

While (Y/N) couldn't quite see Harry as that particularly main character, he was a regular in her casting calls for these books. 

Grateful for her hiding place, she let the words fall out. "I've pictured you before. For my books." 

His hand in her hair stuttered. "Yeah?" 

She nodded against his throat. "Yeah. For most of them, actually." 

A beat passed. Harry's chest rose against hers in a heavy breath. 

"Even for—um—books like that?" 

If his murmured question wasn't enough, the shifting of his hips under hers made it abundantly clear what Harry was going for with his line of questioning. Through the threadbare material of her bottoms, she could clearly feel the outline of something more pressing against her from Harry's lap. More than just the square of his phone or the stiff form of his zipper. 

(Y/N) couldn't find words. Instead, she nodded quietly into his neck. 

His hand coasting through her hair found the back of her neck once more. Instead of a grazing touch, he gently cupped the nape and pulled her away from his own throat. He peeled her off of his chest just far enough to look at her clearly, even if (Y/N) could only manage to make eye contact with his nose. 

"(Y/N)." 

"Hm?" 

His hand on the back of her neck tightened just enough, a pulse on the soft skin. (Y/N) flicked her eyes up to his finally. Blown pupils and a thin ring of forest green met her head on. 

"What were y'thinking when we were back at the theater?" 

Her breath caught. He wouldn't be asking if he didn't already have an idea. That was why he didn't look much surprised when she shared one word: 

"You." 

"I kind of hoped so," he smiled, dipping his head until their foreheads rested against one another, "What about me?" 

The way he looked at her felt akin to an adoring audience member, waiting for the show of a lifetime. The kind of breathtaking moments that would linger with him for much longer than the duration of the show. Just like the way he had up in his balcony. 

"Um," she started, tapping into a small reserve of that spotlight confidence to keep her form completely clamming up, "Just you. The way you were holding me. I could feel a lot of you when you helped me down, and it was... I liked it. Being close to you like that." 

His hand on her back turned steely, pushing her heavily against his chest. His nose bumped hers, something that had her core tightening instead of an affectionate smile blooming on her lips.

"Like this?" he prodded.

While (Y/N) was used to feeling strength and lithe muscles on her fellow dancers, specifically the male ballerinas that were trained to lift her over their heads and to launch themselves over the stage in barreling moves. But this was different. Harry didn't have to worry about his muscle mass limiting his flexibility. He was able to be strong and hard, with cut lines and sharp edges. 

It was nice. Very, very nice. 

"Yeah," she breathed, her eyes hooded as she tipped her head just right. 

The full of her lips had only a moment to graze against Harry's before he was finishing the job. That same urgency that had filled their kisses on stage had returned, filling the indents and ridges of her lips with his own. She could feel the way they swelled some against his kissing, only for his tongue to swipe out and soothe the irritation. 

She didn't hesitate to part her lips for him, feeling his tongue sweep through her mouth. It was far from the first time they had made out like teenagers, but there was something more to every pressing and parting of their mouths. Heavy breaths fanned out between them, too busy tasting and trying each other to pull apart for air. The soft smacks of their lips meeting and departing filled the quiet of her living room. 

(Y/N) wound her arms around Harry's neck, shuffling her that much closer to him. There were only mere inches of her body that weren't feeling some part of him. She could feel the hard lines of his body, the way his muscles moved under his skin with the express purpose of holding her. 

Between her thighs and under the heat collecting at the apex, (Y/N) could feel that hard ridge she had only grazed before. His cock pressed against the flimsy middle of her sleep shorts, the material beginning to soak as she had forgone underwear when readying out of the shower. (Her past self had such good hindsight, Present (Y/N) could have cried had she not been busy). 

Before she was aware of herself, she was rolling her hips against his. His hand on her back and her own arms around his neck had her torso stationary against his, leaving her hips to move as she so pleased against him. The angle of his cock was just so that (Y/N) felt the ridges of his zipper hitting her clit.

The sensation was enough to have a breathy moan falling from her mouth. Harry eagerly consumed it, kissing her that much harder as he let her have her way for a moment. 

His nose knocked into hers as he pulled away, his lips trailing over the apple of her cheek and down the line of her jaw. He couldn't get enough of her, even when his chest was heaving, searching for air. 

"(Y/N)?" he crooned. A wordless nod of her head told him she was listening. "Wh-What do y'want tonight?" 

"You—" 

"I know, love," Harry pressed, drawing away to meet her eyes once more, "I know, but what from me? I-I don't want to do anything y'don't want." 

It took her a breath to tap into her rational brain. What did she want tonight? 

(Y/N) guppied before him, mouth opening without a word before falling closed again. 

A soft smile took Harry's swollen lips. "Can I tell y'what I want?" 

She nodded, fingers curling against his back.

He didn't drift his eyes from her, even when a soft flush covered his neck and worked up his features. "It's been a while since I've done anything... like this. ‘M worried I don't even remember how." 

Despite the breathy laugh he let out, (Y/N) face twisted into a frown. "Don't say that," she whined, "You're doing perfect. I'm having a great time." 

That was enough to have a bright laugh filling his chest—dimples, bunny teeth and all. (Y/N) couldn't help but to match his beaming smile as he tightened his arms around her in a clinging hug. The innocent contact grounded her as he spoke. 

"That's good, love," he said, pecking a kiss to the bridge of her nose, "I jus' want to take care of you, 's all 'm trying to say. If 'm a little lost, forgive me, but I promise 'm trying."

(Y/N)'s lips fell into a pout as she listened to him. That wasn't at all what she was expecting him to say. Almost at the very bottom of the list of options she could think of. 

"Harry," she cooed, craning her neck to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Stop." 

"Stop what?" he laughed, chasing after her kiss. 

"You're going to make me cry, and that's not sexy." 

Stealing the kiss he had chased, Harry shrugged around her. "Depends on who y'ask actually," he mumbled just before pulling away, "But I don't want to see y'cry right now. It'll make me sad." 

"You're just cute, that's all," (Y/N) insisted, gentle smile on her lips, "I'm happy with anything you want. I trust you." 

Those seemed to be the exact words Harry wanted, his eyes softening as he gazed down at her. One of his hands slid over her body until it was cupping her cheek, the pad of his thumb running over her cheekbone. 

"I trust you too, love. Thank you." 

He dipped down then and smeared his lips over hers in a drawing kiss. (Y/N) gave into him without a thought, barely registering the way he was careful moving her over his lap until she sat with her legs on either side of one of his. 

Harry shifted underneath her, his thigh coming up to press heavily against her core. (Y/N)'s breath stuttered, her legs tightening around his own. A part of her didn't really understand why he had moved her so; she had been right over his cock before, what was the point of being moved away. Before she could thread together any coherent thought, Harry dropped a hand down to her hip and started egging her on to move against him. 

Her shorts did little to protect her as she was slowly dragged over the firm muscle of his thigh. The seaming of her bottoms pushed directly against her clit, with the heavy material of his trousers dragging against the sensitive inside of her thighs. It was a lot for being so little. 

She clung to Harry, letting him get her started on grinding down on his thigh. It didn't take long for her to start taking over, moving her hips at the pace that felt the best. Harry's hand stayed a perfect anchor on her hip, but she was the one keeping herself so crushingly close to him, that rutted against him without much coordination. If not for the way he captured her mouth in a searing kiss, she would have slumped against him as a whiny mess with nothing to keep her upright. 

"Harry," she murmured against his mouth, her hands gliding over his form until they were skating through his hair. 

"'M here, love," he crooned, buttoning his mouth to hers as a languid moan bubbled from her throat. He bounced his leg under her core, the motion bringing her high against his chest with her clit smushing headily against him. "I've got you, 's okay." 

"B-But," she started, only to have her voice go out when he rocked his leg once more. Rutting against his leg felt dangerously good given they were still in their clothes. True to his word, though, Harry kept his grip on her hip, his hand on her face looping around the back of her neck to keep her face titled against his lips. "But," she tried again, "But, you. Wh-What about you?" 

He shook his head. "I told y'what I wanted," he murmured, decidedly a bit breathless even without his own pleasure being the forefront. "I want to take care of you. This is what I want." 

"But—" 

Using his hand on the back of her neck, he pulled her mouth to his once more. Their noses knocked, (Y/N)'s lips parted with a moan as Harry licked into her mouth. It was a wonderful distraction—the kind that left her with swollen lips and a jumbled head. All while he kept her moving against his thigh, even when her own movements lagged in distraction. 

"This is what I want," he said again, this time the words dripping over her mouth, "Let me see y'feel good. I know you're gonna be so pretty when y'come on me, love. Let me see that." 

She would get him next time, she thought. She'd take care of him tenfold the next time. But right now, if what he wanted was to see her come and feel good all from the few touches of his thigh against her pussy, she was going to give him that. 

Their murmured words devolved into breathy sighs and moans that Harry swallowed, tongue tasting each of her cries of pleasure as if the sweetest wine. His mouth never strayed far from hers, though he didn't hesitate to drip his trail of kisses over her cheeks and jaw, down the curve of her neck. 

"C-Can you—" she panted, cut off by a messy kiss pressed to the center of her lips, "Can you do that thing? Please." 

She didn't have to see him to feel the lopsided curl of his lips. "What thing?" 

(Y/N) shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. "You know. The thing—when you—against me." 

It was disjointed and breathless the way she talked. Words weren't coming to her as easily as the pacing of her hips. 

Harry drew back from her just enough to gaze up at her, his eyes dark and wide. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, the skin already flushed from the time spent pressed against hers. His cheeks were a warm red under his spray of freckles. 

Before she could whine about the space he was putting between them as he laid back against the cushion of her sofa, Harry bounced his leg between her thighs. It was just what she had been looking for, though he didn't stop with just the one. He made a rhythm with it, her clit hitting the corded muscles of his thigh, the material of her shorts completely soaked through and straining the harder she ground against him. 

"This?" he finally spoke, his hand on her hip wiggling its way under the hem of her top.

She frantically nodded her head, hands sliding down until they were braced against his shoulders. "Uh-huh." 

(Y/N) rocked against him with the added wave of his leg under hers in a near-frantic rhythm. She could hardly find her breath as she sat over him, thighs straining around him. From under the sound of her desperate breathing, the softest wet sounds came from between her legs.

"Harry, I—" she blubbered, eyes cinched shut. 

"I know," he crooned, his hand working up the hem of her top until he was touching the bare skin of her midriff. "Keep bouncing on me, love. You're close, huh?" 

"Yeah," she nodded, a moan forced out as a pit in her stomach opened up. It filled her middle, taking her breath away and sinking every coherent thought right into it. It only made her work herself harder against him, her clit surely swollen hidden behind the confines of her shorts. 

"Like a bunny," Harry prattled, words leaning into a slur. His eyes were wide as he looked at her, hands drifting up her side. "That's the first time I saw you, you know that?" 

"Wh-What?" she blubbered, a pinch between her brows. Did he expect her to have all cognitive function right now? When she had her head thrown back as he rocked his leg particularly hard under her. 

"Y'were a bunny last year. In the show," he elaborated, sentences broken and heavy as his hand grazed the swell of her breast. "All sweet with your little tail and ears. Y'were so excited every night. I couldn't stop thinking about y'for months." 

It was then that (Y/N) was able to recall a memory of herself prancing across the stage as Snow White's rabbit in last year's production. A grey tail had been pinned just above her bottom and ears were smoothed into her head. It wasn't an impressive role, leaving her time to join the ensemble and spend some time backstage even. But (Y/N) distinctly remembered how excited she was to be in her first role with the company, happy to be there every night even if she was on stage for less time than it took her to get her hair and make up. 

"Y-you remember that?" she breathed, grip on his shoulders tightening with her nails scratching into the material of his suit jacket.

"Of course, bunny. Y'became m'favorite thing in the world right then." His dark eyes flashed up to hers, entranced with the way she moved over his thigh. "And now I've got y'right here. Bouncing like a bunny right on m'lap. You're m'bunny now, right?" 

At that, he bounced his leg underneath her with his hands on her hips pressing her against him. The contact was enough to take her breath and send her eyes fluttering to a close. The pit in her stomach had finally found a bottom, where every bit of fiery want was being fueled. 

It only needed a bit more kindling, a touch of kerosene before the whole thing was going to blow. 

"I am, I am," she bubbled, using her grip on his shoulders to force him against her once more. She needed to feel him again, the weight of his body and the blocks of his muscles. She needed to know he was here, that this was Harry on her. Harry that she trusted and cared for and, god, was she in love with him? Or was she just so incredibly close that her eyes had changed to the shape of hearts? "Please, H." 

He didn't waste a second to have her wrapped up in his arms once more. He hugged her to his chest as her hips stuttered before dragging heavily over his thigh. That was all it took then. 

The pit in her stomach closed up and expelled every singe of pleasure that had devoured her. It was consuming her, tightening her muscles and squeezing between her legs. Her thighs around his own tightened until she was barely able to rock herself through the fireworks. She could vaguely hear him murmuring something to her as she shook in his arms, but she would have to ask him what he said later. She was too busy feeling every brush of her skin against her clothes, the press of his thigh against her pussy, the stitching of his trousers between her legs. 

Her world began to broaden first with the sound of Harry's voice registering in her ear. 

"You're so pretty, bunny, so so pretty," he murmured, lips pressed to the space before her ear, "I've got you, yeah? You're m'bunny now—I'll take care of you." 

She was slumped into his arm, unable to hold herself up and steady now that everything of her had gone into the fireworks shooting through her veins. "Harry." 

A smile bloomed across his lips then. The curls remained even when he drew away just far enough to match her shuttered gaze. His nose knocked hers as he pressed his lips to hers again. 

The urgency was gone now, leaving behind only sweet affection. (Y/N) happily sank into the kiss, hugging him just as tightly as he did her. 

"Back?" 

She gently nodded against his kiss. "I'm back." 

Another soft kiss was pressed to her lips. "Good. I was starting to miss you." 

A quiet laugh fell from her then, the sound fanning between them. "Sorry." 

"'S alright," he assured her, carefully repositioning himself on the sofa with (Y/N) still in his arms. "'S what I wanted, right?" 

Her breath hitched when he shifted his leg underneath hers, way too sensitive to feel any more, even if only a graze. The way he had her moved, she could feel the lump of his cock pressed to her thigh, the ridges of his zipper still straining. Drawing back, (Y/N) matched his eyes as best she could through her hooded lids. 

"Are you... sure?" she asked, dropping her gaze between their snuggled bodies, "About not—?" 

The smile he gave her was affectionate, soft and swollen with the traces of her kiss written all over it. "'M sure. Today was your big day, wasn't it?" 

"I guess so," she laughed, suddenly remembering that this wasn't the only major event of the night.

What a day she had. She had finished her run as Odette and within hours of the show's close, she had become Harry's bunny too. 

He let her lay against him as he ran his hand over the planes of her back. It was a soothing motion, enough so that she couldn't help the way her eyes fell into a close, her cheek smushed against his shoulder. She would need to get up and clean up soon, she knew. At least change out of her shorts and get something for Harry to wear instead of his sodden trousers. But now wasn't the time, she decided. 

Now was for listening to the pacing of his breathing, feeling the soft touch of his hands over her body. To bask in the feeling of being adored by someone she adored just as much. If not more. 

"Are you staying tonight?" she asked, voice muffled by her squished cheek.

"Y'want me to?" 

She hugged him that much tighter then. "You know I do." 

"Then, I'll stay."

—————

(Y/N) practically crossed her apartment in record time after dropping her phone to her bed. Her tied back hair flopped over her face as she stumbled through unlocking her door. 

"I'm so sorry," she bubbled before she had even pulled it open, "I just saw your text. I didn't think you'd be back so fast, so I put on my headphones and everything." 

"'S alright," Harry laughed, arms laden with take out containers. She could smell their breakfast inside, arms watering. "I was there for only a minute, 's fine." 

"Still," she insisted, locking the door behind her before prancing to the sofa to meet him there. "Thank you for going, though. Was it busy?" 

Harry shook his head, laying out their meals with peeks into the boxes. "Not really. The drive was longer than the wait." 

Snuggled into the corner of her couch, (Y/N) couldn't wipe the smile from her face. With her eyes trained on Harry, she felt the familiar beating of butterflies wings heading through her stomach and pumping of her heart's missed beats. He was always entirely too gorgeous, but this morning he was just so much more. 

Maybe it was the borrowed clothes—a set Kingston had left behind after his weekend long excursion at her apartment when his was getting renovated—leaving him so soft and casual compared to the times she usually saw him. Maybe it was the mess of his hair on the top of his head. Maybe it was the pillow creases still denting his cheek from when they woke up next to one another. Maybe it was because she had spent such a special night with him, lips still swollen from the tastes she couldn't get enough of. 

Maybe it was just because it was Harry and she was ninety-eight percent sure she was in love with him. 

"What?" he asked, cheeks turning a bashful pink as he took her space next to her.

"Nothing," she crooned, snuggling into his side without a second thought. "I'm just happy you're here. Thank you." 

Harry answered simply with a kiss to the top of her head, his arm coming around her to squeeze her to his side. 

"Before we eat," he started, reaching for another bag still packed at his feet, "I want to give y'something before I forget again. I wanted to give this to y'last night, but we got pretty distracted." 

A small smile crossed her features as she watched him dig through his bag. It wasn't before long that she had a silver wrapped present in her lap. A card with a crudely drawn swan was on the front. 

"You're getting better, I see," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his as she carefully tore the taped card from the top. 

"By next year, I think you'll be able to tell what they are without me telling you." 

(Y/N) let out a boisterous laugh, slipping her finger under the edge of the wrapping paper. Harry watched her intently until she had unwrapped a picture frame. The frame itself was painted in hues of watercolor pink and blue, a shimmering white sparkled in the morning sun. 

Inside was a framed ticket to the company's Swan Lake production. The date showed it was from opening night—the show that had launched off the positive reviews and the videos (Y/N) would forever be able to look back on. Next to the ticket was a slice of the playbill, showing off her name next to the role of Odette/Odile.

"For you to remember," Harry murmured next to her. 

The quickly cooling breakfast on the table and glimmering picture frame was forgotten in favor of (Y/N) collapsing into Harry. She hadn't realized there were tears in her eyes until she sniffled against Harry's throat. 

"Don't cry, bunny," he crooned, hand on the back of her head to keep her cozy next to him. 

She shook her head, nose grazing his throat. "I love it. Thank you." 

I love you, I love you, I love you.

"'S the least I could do, (Y/N)," he answered earnestly, "Really. You've done so much more for me than I think you'll ever know." 

I love you, I love you, I love you, "I love you."

Harry's arms around her stiffened for a breath. For a heartbeat, she wondered if he had heard her thoughts. That he hadn't wanted to hear what he did. 

But that was before he was curling around her, holding her tightly to him with gentle hands. His lips landed on her hair, the tip of his nose grazing the crown of her head. 

"I love you, too, (Y/N)." 

The words she had thought she'd been repeating in her head had actually fallen from her lips. Harry knew she loved him. And he loved her back. 

It was in a rush, the way she pulled her head from her neck and pushed her lips against his. It was clumsy and off center, but (Y/N) didn't mind. Not when she could feel him smiling into her kiss. 

"I love you, bunny." 

She drew away enough to catch the light in his eyes. Something so bright and joyous in his gaze that hadn't been there when they met. 

"I love you, too." 

She kissed the tip of his nose. 

—————

the bunny made snow white's companion in the classic ballet, magic mirror.

that's it wooooo bunny h lives! thank u sm for reading, so sorry for any mistakes nad please let me know what you want to see next!

[kingedbishop]

"That's still no excuse to start emulating their behavior."

Granted, there were times he would have liked bashing Markus' head in with his own hands, but Nines' attitude didn't help making him like the plan any more than that.

Bishop watched as his mechanical double stood his ground on the matter. If only he still had the empathy to side with him.

"You shouldn't have developed a conscience. It will only get in your way."

The hostile glare he got was worth the risk of getting his own head bashed in. As for the androids who wished to going back to being mindless machines, he had no sympathy to spare for those hindered by their own emotions.

Rook was far more humane.

"Serves him right! And no amount of yelling could make him look less of an idiot after getting a tire to the face. Should have respected the king of tires."

It didn't change the negative effects that incident might have had, but it was still good to dunk on that man and joke about it now. Ellis seemed to prefer it that way anyway.

"I'll come back to hang out some other time." she promised.

They were getting along so well, it'd be a waste not to. Willow was of similar intentions, though it wasn't surprising after she received a sweet snack for the trip back. It was nice but not unexpected after promising Dan to respect his preferences in communication. Making things convenient really costed her nothing, especially after all the work they had done to help them in their quest.

"My original duties weren’t that different from yours. Adjusting the way I'm to hold a conversation is really no trouble at all." Willow reassured, "I appreciate you telling me, as I do everything else you have done so far. Now, I shall collect those stuffed toys while the others handle the rest."

Although there was another matter she had to tend to before doing that. Willow decided to go up to Nines then, staring him up and down while Bishop wrestled with his copycat as he attempted to throw him out like a trash bag.

"It would be best if you were to ignore the exchange you just witnessed." the cyborg said calmly, "Such matters would only get in the way of your current investigation."

She wished to remain on good terms with the android population. Having to discourage the one of a kind detective the way Carthage usually did would have needlessly complicated things.

Rook shrugged, being well used to Willow's way of asking things to people. "Whatever. Let's go help Strasky's friends."

A portal was opened and duly positioned so they could leave that place behind to go back to sorting out the pocket dimension.

Bishop didn't acknowledge the smile, seeing no reason to waste his energies on appearances. His counterpart was doing enough of it with the way he was glaring at both.

"You aren't any better than those humans who brutalize androids."

Of course, that didn't mean he had anything resembling empathy. But it was a sign that perhaps the matter hit close to home for his copycat.

The agent didn't appreciate the irony of it.

"It wasn't right." Rook repeated, "I'm glad he couldn’t bend you in the end. You're a fighter and a survivor, but I guess we already knew that. I bet you have some stories to tell."

They weren't the happiest stories, she was sure, but she knew what it felt like to deal with a person bent on tearing her apart without any chance to get away. Rook definitely saw a bit of herself in Ellis, much like the reason why Willow likely felt so inclined to help Kelvin out.

The same sentiment didn't fully extend to Dan for the cyborg, however, though it was nothing personal.

"I see." Willow tucked her hand behind her back. "While I don't mind chatting as my current form allows, I don't think I could ever accept fully giving up this form of communication. It comes natural to me, even more if multiple subjects are involved."

Either way, she was happy to take the brownies with her. Willow carefully collected as many as she could fit in the container. They would last her for a good while.

"I will however stick to verbal communication in the future, if that's what you're comfortable with."

"Sure, we can help out with that." Rook replied, "But first, let me get one annoying twat out of your hair."

Bishop looked over as Rook marched over from the kitchen.

"Come on, Bishop, say goodbye to your new weird friend so we can go home." Rook briefly looked at the copycat. "You know, we killed the guy who made you."

Bishop almost looked happy to hear that, the android not as much.

"That isn't going to last."

"I know, but it felt nice." She gave a shrug, "Hurry up, bitch."

"How frightful. You're letting a little girl boss you around?"

"Don't think I can't twist your bolts too, tin can!"

Bishop smirked as he stood up. "Well, I better be on my way now. This was an interesting experiment for certain."

[alvfr]

Karma - Part 1

paring: andrew pope cody/stripper!reader tags: 18+, starts in s1, erectile dysfunction, lap-dances, second-hand embarrassment, slow burn, implied age gap, no use of y/n. reader has fake names, a large family, and a past (that is catching up). no smut for this part. wc: 7.5k an: this is basically my coping mechanism when rewatching animal kingdom and wanting pope to have a friend/get a happy ending. idk, this concept has probably been done before, but I'm having fun with it so...

summary: Who says you can't meet the love of your life in a strip club dressing room after his brother paid another girl a thousand bucks to wish him a happy birthday? Okay, so he's a bit strange and he might be stalking you and his mother is terrifying and you're really just trying to make enough money for rent and tuition without getting into any kind of trouble, but on the bright side, at least he's not a cop.

Karma - Part 1 - [AO3 LINK]

“…I’m not doing it, the guy creeps me out…”

A strip club was no place for privacy, and the dressing room even less so with half a dozen girls in various stages of undress crammed in at any given time. Some doing a costume change, some taking a snack break, and others sipping, smoking or snorting whatever they could to get enough of a buzz to make it bearable to go back outside. It reeked of hairspray, perfume and weed, with a heavy layer of face powder floating in the air like a built-in grain filter. One girl sat by the sink, blatantly touching up her bikini line, while another tried to pop a pimple on yet another girl’s butt cheek. There were no secrets in a strip club dressing room and it was probably the worst place for private conversations. 

Bless Jasmine’s heart, though, she was still trying. Speaking in hushed tones behind the heavy velvet curtain that separated the prep area from the bathrooms. There used to be a partition wall, but the manager never got around to replace it after some girls tore it down during a fight. At least that’s what Pepper told you when she gave you the tour of the backstage area a few weeks ago.

“…just call security and…”

“…bad business, his brother’s a regular and…”

You tried to focus on fixing your makeup — you weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but not even the muffled tunes from the stage could drown out the intense whispers from Jasmine and Trixie. What was Jasmine even doing in here? A statuesque sultry redhead, she was one of the more popular girls in the club. And one of the lucky few who had their own private dressing rooms.

“…do me a favor and…”

“No way. No! I can’t, I got one of my regulars coming in…”

The curtain tore aside, and you tore your gaze back to the mirror, staring at your own reflection like your life depended on it. You had only been here a few weeks and did not have the time or energy to make enemies, especially not now. Trixie, with a jet-black wig and already in her six-inch-heels, strode back to her spot that was next to yours and shook her head while Jasmine was close on her heel.

Jasmine clutched her short silk dressing gown with a white-knuckled fist. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Either give him the time of his life, give the money back,” Trixie suggested as she leaned towards the mirror to put on more plum lipstick, and Jasmine looked sick at the thought, “or find some other girl to do your dirty work.”

Still staring fixedly at yourself in the mirror, you almost missed how both their gazes fell to you. You did, however, catch the way Jasmine kissed her teeth and cocked her head to the side.

“Hey, new girl. Wanna make five hundred bucks?”

----

And that was how you found yourself here, trying to get your breath under control just outside the door to Jasmine’s dressing room. This was insane. This was literally insane. This wasn’t you. You didn’t do this. You weren’t like this. Okay, sure, that was what you had told yourself when you first started dancing, but with dancing, you still had boundaries. They could look, but not touch, and security had your back, and it was a far cry from flashing your tits at some sweaty business men to literally have sex for money.

And yet, you had accepted Jasmine’s offer. She had made it sound so easy.

“The guy’s just back from Pakistan or whatever and he looked pent up like crazy, so he’s probably a two pump chump at most. Easiest and fastest money you’ll ever make. Just remember to make him wear a condom, and it’ll be fine.”

And when you expressed your concerns about not knowing what to do, Trixie had chimed in with advice:

“You know when you give a private dance and have to swat their hands away a few times before they get the message? Yeah, just do that, but don’t swat his hands. It’ll be easy.”

Speaking of hands, you rubbed your clammy palms on the limited real estate of your outfit and wished you had covered up somehow. That you had borrowed Jasmine’s dressing gown to make some kind of slow and sensual reveal instead of waltzing inside dressed as a literal stripper. It felt tasteless somehow, as if being paid money to fuck someone was not.

“You can do this, you can do this, you can do this,” you muttered under your breath, trying to remember all the reasons you had agreed to this. You needed those five hundred bucks by tomorrow. It was the whole reason you had picked up an extra shift tonight, hoping you would get lucky and catch the eye of some high roller. The way the night was going though, you would be lucky to break even. Desperate times called for desperate measures, right? You just needed to get in there and get it over with and deal with the psychological fallout later. It was just sex. Everyone had sex. And lots of people had sex for money. Prostitution was the world’s oldest profession, wasn’t it? Besides, it was just this one time. You needed those five hundred dollars. 

The other way to get it by tomorrow was risky — too risky.

Before you could psych yourself out anymore, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath to get into your stage persona, and turned the door handle.

Not sure what to expect — the poor guy could be sitting in there buck naked for all you knew — you opened the door carefully and slipped inside. The loud music from the stage faded to nothing but the bass track when you clicked the lock shut behind you. You had never actually seen any of the private dressing rooms before — it was roughly the size of a shoebox, with two armchairs and a small table crammed in with a vanity and some lockers. Rows and rows of shiny tassels hung over the large makeup mirror and momentarily distracted you before your eyes fell on him. 

Him, who sat like a statue on the very edge of the seat of one of the worn-down armchairs. Him, who looked like a still-life painted by someone who had mastered the basics of anatomy, but not human behavior. Him, with short-cropped hair that looked glued to his scalp and a tight scowl on a slightly shiny face, his taut muscles stretching from his down-turned mouth all the way to his rigid collar-bones. 

“Who are you?” 

His voice caught you off guard. It had a strange lilt to it, like a grown man having minor flashbacks to puberty, teetering between raspy hard and soft every other syllable. You could not decide if he sounded angry or indifferent, and tried to give him a seducing smile to break the ice.

“I’m—”

“Where’s the other girl?”

He pulled on his words somewhat. You couldn’t say if he was blending the r’s or elongating the vowels or had a slight lisp, but it was not in a drunken slur, more as a last remnant of a speech impediment. His lip lifted in something between confusion and contempt and you swallowed, doing your best to avoid flinching at his harsh question. Shit, you knew he would ask that and had even expressed your concerns to Jasmine. She had just waved her hand dismissively and said he would not care which pussy he got as long as he got pussy.

Except he looked very much like he cared. He still sat in that fixed position, back straight, and his knees spread with a hand perched on each one. Not resting, not even remotely close to resting, and not moving anything else than his head and neck as he talked. 

“She had to go,” you mumbled and licked your lips, tasting the dryness of your lipstick. “I’m—”

“Go where?”

Again, his question seemed almost juvenile in nature. Like a child that had yet to learn the social cues of communication. Demanding attention and answers at whim, and disregarding the dynamic nature of a dialogue. Or maybe actively disregarding it, treating it more like an interrogation than a conversation. Like a cop?

“I don’t know,” you mumbled again, but this time you hurried to continue before he could bark another question. “Something about a family emergency.”

The guy closed his mouth that had been halfway open in question and slunk back a fraction, skepticism written all over his face. His scowl did not clear at all, and you noticed the way he flexed his fists still settled on his knees. It was becoming obvious why Jasmine had backed out. You had expected some greasy drunkard who had just gotten his tax returns and wanted to splurge on something nice. Not this ticking time bomb whose body language screamed that this was the last place he wanted to be.

Yet, here he was, and he looked both old and capable enough to leave if he so desired. So you just had to assume that he still wanted to get his money’s worth and get on with it.

The brief silence helped ease you back into character and you dropped your voice to a lower octave. “I’m here to take care of you instead.” 

The glare he sent you should have sent you running for the hills. Only his eyes moved, staring up at you from beneath his dark brows, and you did not feel naked as much as literally exposed. The very definition of the word. Uncovered, unconcealed, and unprotected. Sure, you wore a skimpy outfit that did not leave all that much to the imagination, but you could have worn a whole-ass duffle coat and it would not have made a lick of difference.

“How ‘bout some music?” you suggested, mostly because it gave you an excuse to turn away from him. To give yourself a small break from the intensity of his undivided attention. You sauntered over to the vanity to find the music box Jasmine had told you about and caught sight of your own reflection. There you were, in your tall heels and revealing costume. With the heavy makeup and clip-in extensions, you looked really frickin’ hot and, most importantly, you did not look like yourself. Because this wasn’t you, was it? This was your alter-ego that spent the nights showing her body off to strangers and she could do absolutely anything she wanted. Including this.

You needed this money.

With that fresh boost of courage, you hit ‘play’ on the device and the room filled with the slow sensual beat that was Jasmine in musical form, perfect for a lap dance. Which was no big deal, you thought, and started moving your hips to the rhythm. You’d done plenty of private dances. No big deal at all.

Just keep telling yourself that, you told yourself as you ran your hands over your curves and tried to imagine being on the stage. You hit the dimmer by the door as you made your way back to the guy, hoping the increased darkness would help both of you loosen up. 

The guy did not appear to have moved a single muscle in your absence. He sat so rigid it looked physically painful and you unwittingly tried to keep your touch feather-light as you placed your finger-tips on his shoulder in case you hurt him somehow. In his defence, he did not flinch at your touch, but it was like he made a very conscious effort not to flinch. Only his head moved, twisting on his neck like a cobra to stare at your hand where it laid on the very edge of his shoulder, hardly the most conspicuous location given the theme of the night.

Holy shit, this guy was hot. Yeah, you’d obviously noticed the way his biceps and pecs filled out his shirt, but you were not prepared for the way his skin burned. You could feel it almost simmering underneath his nondescript black t-shirt as you did a walk-around. Trailing your fingertips from his shoulder and to his back, spreading your hands out over his traps like you were giving him a massage, but not daring to apply any pressure. The muscles flexed and bucked beneath your hand anyway, while the freckles on his bare arms danced in tune.

“Relax,” you murmured from behind him, running your palms over his rigid back, like a horse-whisperer trying to calm an irrate mustang. “I’m only here to make you feel good.”

No answer, not that you had expected one, and you went ahead with the dancing. There was an art to it, as you had learned when you started working. Especially the private dances. Giving an illusion of intimacy, flaunting and teasing, making the client think there was going to be more than just fun and fantasy. You knew other girls sometimes did stuff during the private dances, but you had always abided by the club rules and maintained the no-touch-policy from the stage. Some guys tried, obviously, but quickly subsided when it became clear it was either just a dance or nothing. 

Except now it was supposed to be everything.

Remembering Trixie’s advice, you kept dancing like normal and made your way to stand between the guy’s spread knees. You writhed and twisted to the beat that filled the whole room and ran your hands over yourself in lieu of burning yourselftrying to touch him, however platonically. Normally, you would maintain eye contact as much as possible, reeling in your catch slowly, but this guy was too intense, and you let your eyes close instead. You dragged your fingers through your fake hair, down your throat and over the swell of your breasts. Not stopping there, but going further down, caressing your stomach and hips, dipping to your thighs before going back up. 

You bit your lip, losing yourself in the music, feeling sexy as hell. Your heart beat along with the bass and your skin prickled with the energy rush you always got at this point. Muscle-memory took over and before you knew it, you were popping the clasps open on your top, one by one. You kept it in place with your hands, squeezing your breasts together teasingly, knowing that the reveal mattered more than the prize. 

Of course, that was when you made the mistake of looking at his face. He still had not fucking moved at all! Seriously, he was still staring at you from beneath his brows like you had pissed in his beer instead of giving him a lap dance.

The intensity of his expression had you spin around again instead of taking off your top. At this rate, it would be the slowest five hundred bucks you would ever earn. And you still had to earn it, you reminded yourself as you absentmindedly wiggled your ass in front of him. What was this guy’s problem? Nerves? Too drunk to function? Not drunk enough?

You forced yourself to take a step back — it was easier when you didn’t have to look at his face — and pushed yourself into him. Still dancing, you bent your knees and spread your legs until your head was closer to his and gave him a sultry look over your shoulder. “Can I get you anything? A beer or…” 

Something stronger? Jasmine definitely had something in here somewhere, and she could definitely spare some to help this poor guy get his money’s worth. Anything to help him relax.

“No.”

The word came out hard and decisive, travelling from his chest into yours, and it would take all the relaxants in the world to make you argue with him. 

“Okay,” you said softly and licked your lips again. The silence and his rigidity ate away at your nerves and you found yourself talking while you ground your ass closer and closer to his crotch. Just waiting for him to put his hands on you so you could take things further. “So, what’s the occasion? You just get back from a tour?”

Jasmine had said Pakistan, and while you assumed she meant Afghanistan, you did not want to be wrong in front of this guy. Maybe that was his deal? PTSD or something? The guy had soldier written all over him.

“No,” the guy repeated in the same flat tone that bordered on angry. Again, he did not flinch as you threw your arms up and back around his neck, but you felt the way he swallowed hard. “It’s my birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday,” you practically purred, relieved at the semblance of a normal conversation. You twisted your hips side to side, feeling the harsh denim of his jeans dig into your lower buttocks, almost searching for a tell-tale hardness that would give you an entry point to finish this. 

“And I just got out of prison.”

If this had been a movie, the music would have scratched and halted. It didn’t — it kept on playing as before — but you couldn’t help the way you froze on the spot, stuck in the awkward position. Your back pressed against his hard chest, your ass digging into his crotch, and your arms still looped around his neck. 

“Oh,” you said, like a complete idiot, but could not will yourself to move. Every alarm bell was going off at the same time and you resisted the urge to downright bolt out of there. “What-what did you do?”

The silence dragged on way longer than it should have, and your legs shook with the effort of staying still.

“Robbed a bank.” 

“Oh.” Your knees finally gave in to the strain and you plopped down in his lap, perching on him like he again perched on the chair. “Oh, that’s good.”

“That’s good?”

You did not see his incredulous look, but you sure as hell felt it.

“I mean, not good that you robbed a bank or went to prison for it,” you had no way of stopping the freight train of your blabbing, “but robbing a bank’s not that bad. It’s a pretty straightforward crime, when you think about it. Nothing to worry about.”

Somehow, your body began to move again. Completely on its own, though. Full on autopilot, just like your mouth was.

“There’s not a lot of analysis needed to why someone robs a bank. Don’t need a whole profile or anything. You rob a bank, it’s just about money.”

His voice rumbled close to your ear and in your chest. “Then what’s a non-straightforward crime?”

“You know, something a bit more complicated in terms of motive. Like, say,” you grimaced, wondering why you could not just shut up, “killing prostitutes or something.” 

That earned you a low amused snort, and he sounded a bit more relaxed when he said, “Yeah, not really my thing.”

“Good to know.”

The hint of humanity he displayed flooded you with relief. So much that it made you dizzy and stupidly brave again. You turned around to face him, your barely restrained tits practically up his nose, and he instinctively leaned back to give you room. Which you used to throw your leg over his lap and your arms over his shoulders, straddling him with your knees on either side of him in the armchair. 

The close proximity sent his warm breath over your face, but you were too close to get a good look at his expression. Which was fine by you and you gently swayed with the music, noting how his hands fell to the side, still not making any effort to touch you. 

Conversation had loosened him up slightly last time, so you kept going. “How long were you inside?”

“Three years.” He did not shy away from eye contact, but his jaw rolled when you leaned in toward his face. “And nineteen days.”

No wonder he was so tense. Again, he did not flinch when you brushed your lips against his cheek, hoping against hope that you could make him warm up. You placed small, almost platonic pecks along his jaw, a glaring invitation for him to kiss you if he wanted — he just needed to turn his head a fraction — but of course nothing happened.

“Three years is a long time,” you murmured into the shell of his ear. It was a long time and you would have thought he would at least be a little bit hard by the way you were practically riding him over his clothes. “But I thought armed robberies gave you six. You out on parole?”

“Who said I was armed?”

His voice grated on your insides, the husky and deep texture pushing some hitherto unknown buttons. You pressed yourself even closer to him, drowning yourself in his heat to escape your own nerves. He smelled nice, you idly thought. Clean. 

“Unarmed are two.” 

“Why do you know that?”

You sensed more than saw his surprise and shrugged. “Half my cousins are either inside now or have been at some point.”

“Yeah? What for?”

“Stupid shit..” You kept riding his lap, hoping to elicit some kind of response, feeling stupider by the second. “Drug charges most of them. Petty theft. Couple of assaults.” Why the hell were you talking about your cousins’ prison sentences right now? You stopped moving mid-ride and used his neck as leverage to keep you aloft so you could look at him. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyebrow twitched as he shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“Is this, uh, doing anything for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The dancing,” you clarified and waved your hand at the space between you, “and the, uh, dry humping. I can switch it up if you want; try something else? Or is it me that’s not doing it for you?”

His scowl seemed to have deepened during your questions, but there was a flicker of uncertainty somewhere on his face. “It’s not you. I can’t remember the last time I had an erection.”

“Oh.” You were not winning any awards for eloquence tonight and you gently lowered back down into his lap. Again, you tried to stay in character. “I can fix that.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” you asked, absentmindedly noting how rigid his neck was under your hand. He was so blunt you had no ideahow to continue, except in the worst possible way. “Are you on medication or something?”

Wrong question, wrong question, wrooooong question.

“No.” His nostrils flared. “I’m not.”

“I didn’t mean—” 

Internally, you screamed at yourself. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with you? Yeah, sure, insinuate to the seemingly mentally unstable ex-con that he should be on medication, that’s gonna go down well.

“I’m sorry, we just recently did a class on this. Common side-effects of prescription and over-the-counter drugs. It was stuck in my head. I really didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Class?” His face had an almost feline quality to it and he looked like a disgruntled alley cat when his lip lifted in confusion. “What class?”

“I am,” still in his lap, which was a really awkward way to conduct a conversation, “taking classes to get my nursing associate degree. And then I will take the NCLEX exam to become a registered nurse.”

You added the NCLEX part to give some weight to the fact that you were actually studying to be a nurse and you hadactually covered some of this in class. 

“Which is why I’m here,” you continued, because the way he stared at you made your insides tighten weirdly, “trying to earn money for the tuition.”

“Tuition,” he repeated as if tasting the word. 

“Yeah, like a school fee—”

“I know what it is. How much do you need?”

The guy really did ask questions like a kid. Or a cop. No nuance, no filler conversation, just blunt and straight to the point. 

“Uh, well, with books and equipment,” you still sat in his lap, holding on to his neck, not sure how to proceed, “it’s roughly ten thousand dollars.”

The guy tilted his head in recognition before he looked at you again, this time more amused than angry. He sounded almost condescending when he said, “There are lot easier ways to earn ten grand. Faster too.”

Riskier too.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’d make a good bank robber.” 

You expected a smile, but he just shrugged, as if to say ‘you never know’ and remained silent.

“You want me to,” you gestured at your awkward position, “keep going? Or should we try something else? I can turn the lights off all the way, if you want. Or on, maybe? Should I touch you or do you wanna touch me or I can get a wig or… I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before. Give me some pointers here, man.”

The hurried admission came without your intention, and you could not exactly blame him for not getting immediately turned on from your clumsy attempts at seduction. 

He snorted again, and his lips twisted into something resembling a bitter smile. “Bet all the guys love hearing you say that.”

“Say what?”

“That you’ve never done this before.”

“I-I wouldn’t know,” you stuttered and practically felt how the power dynamic between you shifted. Before this, you had been in control, somewhat, living vicariously as your stripper persona. But somehow you had brought the real you into this. The girl who took night classes and dreamed of becoming a nurse. And you were still in the lap of a literal ex-con somewhere between ten and fifteen years your senior with obvious worldly experience, despite his awkward way of conversing. “I really haven’t done this before.”

“Then why are you doing it now?”

You could not wrap your head around the way he asked you stuff. It was not a hostile question, just genuine curiosity wrapped up in a gruff tone and incredulity.

“Well, Jasmine said she would give me five hundred bucks and I really need the money, so…”

Feeling idiotic, you made a move to get off him, but jolted at the sudden heat coming from him gripping your waist. The first time he had touched you since you came in here. It stopped your disembark, and you felt more like a deer caught in the headlights than ever before as he made a point to stare into your eyes.

“My brother paid her a thousand bucks. You’re getting ripped off.”

He held your stare for a second longer to drive in his point and then removed his hand. Stuck at processing that information, you remained in place. 

“So not only am I a whore, I’m a cheap one too, is that what you’re trying to say? Sorry, that was a bad joke,” you hurried to add when his face twisted into a deeper scowl again. “In my defence, I really haven’t done this before, so I wouldn’t exactly know the ratio of pay between pimp and prostitute. Maybe fifty-fifty is fair.”

“Why? You’re doing all the work,” the guy pointed out slowly.

“I’m not really doing anything right now, am I?”

“You’re talking to me.”

“That’s usually on the house.”

The guy did a half-shrug, but said nothing. 

“Sooooo, your brother paid for this, huh? Makes sense. Can I ask,” you spoke slowly, trying to find the right words, “if this was a birthday gift you actually wanted or one that was… forced upon you, so to speak?” No reply, and you narrowed your eyes at him. “Am I forcing myself upon you, is what I’m trying to ask? Do you want me to…” You gestured again to where you sat, not really sure which direction you wanted to indicate, and he still said nothing. “Yeah, you know what, I’m just gonna—”

Making up your mind, you pushed off his lap and stood up, which of course caused your already loosened top to finally fall off. At this point, you had practically tried to screwdrive yourself into his crotch, so having your tits out in the open didn’t really bother you that much except for the way he reacted.

If possible, he froze, somehow solidifying even more from his already unmoving position. Nothing moved except his eyes that dragged down towards your exposed chest and you could feel the way your nipples tightened at the newfound attention. Unwavering attention, to be honest, and a rush of excitement spread to your core. Maybe there was still room to salvage this? Make it a good experience for him? The music still rolled in the background of your darkened room and you tried to get your breathing under control again where you stood between his spread knees.

“You know, you can touch me if you want,” you said softly, but refrained from touching him this time. His eyes flickered up to your face for a second, before focusing further south. “I’m yours tonight.”

You practically held your breath, waiting for a reply. Or a reaction. Anything, really, that would help you navigate this situation. And part of you cheered when he raised his hand. Slowly, tentatively, but still deliberately reaching up to run his fingers down the side of your breast. You had to fight to remain still, especially with the scorching heat emitted from his fingertips, but at least this was known territory.

The guy caressed the soft flesh of your breast, grazed his fingertips along your straining nipple and—

And then dropped his hand down and proceeded to glare holes somewhere that was neither your face nor chest. Did he look redder than before? Embarrassed? Embarrassed men usually turned angry, but this guy’d been angry from the get-goso you had no idea what to do here.

“Okay,” you said, as if telling him it was okay. “Not the reaction my tits usually get, but okay.” You ignored the way your skin buzzed from the brief contact and picked up your top to pull it back on. Taking your time with the buttons, you tried to keep your voice light. “We don’t have to do anything, you know? I’ll get you your money back.”

“Keep it.” At least he did not sound angrier than before and his eyes eventually found your face again. “For your tuition.”

It was a truce of some sorts, but it definitely marked the end of anything even remotely sexual.

“This is for rent, actually.” 

You kept your tone conversational, almost desperate to not make a big deal of this, to make him feel okay about it, to make this weird tension between you disappear. You walked normally — as normally as you could in these heels — over to the vanity to turn down the music. You also picked up a couple of beers from the small fridge by the door and handed him one that he gave a moment’s consideration before opening. 

“My roommate split yesterday, leaving me alone with the rent that is due tomorrow. Or, really, it was due today, but I jumped out of the window so the landlord couldn’t corner me in the hall and harass me about it.”

The guy took a sip of beer, clutching the bottle like a robotic claw. “Shitty roommate.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you muttered darkly and plopped down on the other armchair. “Before she left, she decided to wreck the place and steal anything remotely valuable. Cleared out my whole stash too, everything I’d already saved up.”

The guy tilted his head and gave you another glare. “Then you should’ve hidden it better.”

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the lack of sympathy for your situation. Then again, he did not exactly seem to be the coddling type. “Yeah, that’s on me, I guess. What can I say, I’m an optimist. I like to believe most people are decent human beings.”

He considered this. “They’re not.”

“They can be,” you countered and leaned back in the chair, adopting an unladylike position while he kept his back and legs perpendicular to the floor. Now that the tension was gone, you ventured to study him further. The freckles, the lines to his face, the sharp angle of his jaw and the solid muscle under his t-shirt. Probably not much taller than you — and definitely not taller than you in these heels — but he struck you as the kind of guy who didn’t need size to be intimidating. 

“Got your hair cut in prison?” you found yourself asking before you could think it through. Anything to keep the conversation flowing instead of the awkward silence. “My cousins all rocked the same ‘do when they got out.”

“Yeah,” he said, dragging the word out, and then rubbed a hand over the goofy buzz-cut. “It’s shitty, I know. I’m growing it out.”

His voice still fluctuated between hard and soft, almost reminding you of chain smokers who had to force their words out through strained vocal chords. Maybe he was forcing the words out. It would fit with how tense he was otherwise.

“What’s your name?” he suddenly asked, while tilting his head slightly down to stare up at you. Like a lion exposing his throat to indicate friendliness. 

“Karma,” you said.

Something twitched on his lips, reminiscent of a smile, but not really. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s my name in here,” you countered with a shrug, referencing the club. “What’s your name?”

“Andrew,” Andrew said without hesitation, giving the room at large his attention. “But people call me Pope.”

“Pope?”

“Mhm.”

“Why? Alright, alright, just asking.” You held your hands up as defence against the look he gave you that showed he would not be answering that question. “So, listen, do yo—”

“Are you gonna be able to go back to school?” Pope cut you off, and the genuine interest of his question momentarily stunned you. “Pay your tuition?”

“Uh. Sure, I guess.” You shifted when his stare did not relent, apparently not satisfied with that answer. “Well, I tried to do the math and lucky me, I’d already paid the advanced deposit so I’m only out five grand. If I pick up a couple more of the week night shifts here — the cash flow isn’t as hot as the weekends, but the house fee and tip-outs are lower so it evens out — and put in a few more hours for my day job and find a new roommate by the end of the month, I should in theory manage to pull through before the semester starts.” 

You grimaced at the thought of working away the whole summer instead of experiencing anything this city had to offer.

“In theory, except that I need at least seven hundred by tomorrow to cover the whole rent and it’s been sort of a slow night before this, so I might have to hide from my landlord one more day.”

“Or you can get the full grand from your,” Pope gave you a pointed look, “friend.”

“I doubt Jasmine’s gonna be happy about that.”

“Fight her for it.”

“Uh, no. One, I’m ninety percent sure Jas is banging the manager, so she can get me kicked out of the club. Two, I’m not up to speed on my tetanus shots, and she looks like she’s a biter.”

Pope snorted, and you smiled, happy that you managed to amuse him. “Then how are you going to pay rent?”

“Go out there and shake my ass, I guess. Unless you have any last-minute tips for robbing a bank?”

“Yeah, I do,” Pope said without hesitation. “Don’t get caught.”

You laughed, only vaguely noticing how he didn’t. “That’s great advice. Thanks, I never would have thought about that. Guess I should find a bank robbing mentor who didn’t end up in prison, huh?”

Pope shrugged. “I only got caught once.”

The instinct to laugh died in your throat this time. Was he joking? His posture and tone remained the same, and he was meeting your eyes evenly. Almost daring you to call his bluff — or lack thereof. You just blinked at him and took a hasty sip of beer to hide your confusion. 

“We’re finished here,” Pope eventually said. It was not a question, and he rose from the chair in a fluid motion. You had been right, he wasn’t particularly tall, but he carried himself taller somehow. “I should go.”

“Yeah, we’ve been in here a while,” you agreed from your spot in the armchair. “Any longer and your brother’s probably gonna think I’ve roofied you and taken off with the cash.”

Pope’s eyes flickered to his beer bottle.

“Oh my gosh, I haven’t!” You stumbled over your words to get them out as fast as possible. “No, no, just another bad joke, sorry.”

“How much do you make?” Pope asked, yet again giving you whiplash with the sudden turns in the conversation. “Per night.”

“Depends on the night. Usually I’ll clear around three hundred bucks for a regular shift. Maybe twice that on the weekends, but I don’t like weekends all that much. The crowd’s bigger, but so’s the competition. Tonight’s a slow night, though. Maybe a hundred, hundred-fifty.”

Pope nodded as if he was processing this information as part of a bigger picture. “Three hundred a night. Does that go for all the girls?”

“Well, uh… I’m a relatively popular dancer on my shifts,” you admitted slowly, almost to remind yourself that you were pretty hot even if you hadn’t managed to arouse Pope, “so I probably earn above average for dancing alone. But there’s a lot of girls who’s got regulars that spend a lot on them, and then there’s a lot of girls who’s extra… service-oriented and they earn more, obviously. And again, weekends are usually way better.”

Pope nodded again. “How much is the house fees?”

“It’s not that bad here. Flat fees are twenty bucks for a weeknight, fifty for a weekend. Then there’s a five-dollar charge for private dances, ten if it’s busy. And we gotta tip a percentage of our earnings to the DJ and security.”

“How many girls?”

“Anywhere from ten to fifty. Event nights, after big games and stuff, are the busiest. And most profitable. Managers usually raise the house fees to at least two-hundred and you’re lucky to get a spot on the poles without having to fight your way there. Private dances go from five to fifty a pop.”

Pope seemed to consider this. “That’s a lot of cash flowing around.”

“I guess,” you said and shrugged again. “This place does okay, but the real money’s made in the cities where all the finance bros go to blow their stock earnings. The gentleman’s clubs and stuff. I used to work there before, didn’t have to worry that much about rent then, I’ll tell you that.”

“Then why leave?”

You drank more beer, suddenly realizing you had over shared way more information than you had intended. Risky, risky, risky. “It just didn’t work out, that’s all.”

That vague answer seemed to satisfy him, and he placed the bottle of beer on the table. Right next to the unopened pack of condoms. So much for your grand debut as a prostitute, you thought idly and had another sip of your own beer. Then again, some girls got killed after their grand debut, so this wasn’t that bad, really.

The rustling of paper made you look up, and you realized Pope had his wallet out. He flicked through a large wad of bills and pulled out a hefty stack, offering them to you.

“No,” you said on principle, because that looked to be at least a thousand bucks.

“No!”

“Take it,” Pope rasped, but more impatient than angry. “Consider it a bonus.”

You made no motion to accept the money. “For what? We didn’t even do anything.”

Pope looked unbothered. “For a nice conversation.” Again, there was nothing to indicate he was making a joke and you could do nothing but stare at him. “This’ll help you cover the rent and give you a head start for your tuition stuff.”

“And what do I owe you in return?”

“Nothing.”

“Free cash, huh? Yeah, right. Thanks, but I don’t need your money.”

“Yeah,” Pope looked puzzled as he glanced at the room like you had forgotten what had started all of this, “you do. Take it.” His eyebrows rose and his whole face had smoothed out from any frowning, immediately taking years off his appearance. “Go on.”

Brows furrowed, you hesitantly reached out, almost expecting it to be some sort of test. Like he would yank back his hand at the last moment, having confirmed your greed and ingratitude, and would now beat the living shit out of you as payback.

Of course, nothing happened. You took the money and Pope put his wallet back in his pocket.

“Hang on, I gotta walk you out,” you suddenly remembered and rose from your chair before he could leave. “You’re gonna get your ass kicked if security finds you wandering back here on your own. Do you want me to play it up when we go out there?”

“Play what up?”

“Like,” you had a full inch on him in your heels but felt a foot shorter with the way he looked at you, “pretend that we did more than we did, you know? Make your brother think you rocked my world? I can mess up my hair and make-up or something.”

“I don’t care what my brothers think.”

With that, he unlocked the dressing room door and pushed it open, leaving a gap for you to follow. The loud music and smell of beer and perfume hit you full on and sent you right back into character. 

You planted a satisfied smile on your face and hurried to grab onto his hand before he could march off. Leaning into him — he was still running hot as hell — you half-whispered, “I kinda have to play it up anyway, sorry.”

At least he did not push you off, but let you lead him back to the general club area where you paused. Feeling other men’s eyes on you both, you made a show of dropping your hip on one side and twirling the extensions that fell over your shoulder. One table with several guys and plenty of girls seemed particularly interested in watching you and you figured that might be his brothers, even if none of them looked anything like him.

“Thank you for your service, soldier,” you said in your best seductive tone. You had no plans of trying your hand at anything more than dancing tonight, but it never hurt to maintain the illusion. Men could spend a lot of money lost in that illusion. Tottering on your heels, you bent towards him to give him a slow kiss on the cheek and took the opportunity to whisper in his ear. “Thank you, Pope. And happy birthday.”

You winked at him, not even bothered by his apparent indifference at your efforts, and sashayed your way to the bar where you had spotted Jasmine. 

“Any trouble?” she asked as you leaned back against the bar top and signaled Henry for some water. She sent Pope’s back a wary look where he was walking resolutely towards the table with his brothers. Oh yeah, that guy had definitely been to prison, you thought. He had that walk and everything. 

You watched as his brothers — four of them? — laughed and patted his back in typical guy-fashion when he returned and how his body language looked as rigid and uncomfortable with them as it had with you. Small comfort, at least.

“No trouble,” you said with a smile and held your hand out to Jasmine, who grimaced and reached down into her garter belt for the money. “I’ll let it slide this time since we agreed on five hundred, but don’t try to screw me over like that again. Save the hustling for the Johns, okay?”

A venomous frown marred Jasmine’s porcelain features, but she did not have time to reply before the club manager sidled over.

“Hey, Karma, the south pole’s free the next song. You up for it?”

Even with Pope’s so-called ‘bonus’, you still had some ways to go before you were covered for the semester. So you finished your water and smiled. “Sure.”

“Break a leg,” Jasmine called after you, but you did not pay her any attention.

“And here’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” the DJ announced over the music as you trailed your heels over the podium and caressed the pole like a long lost lover, noticing how Pope was not at his table anymore, “she goes around and comes around. Please give it up for… Karma!” ------ I admit, I posted this because I need to connect more with other Pope-girlies. Come scream with me in my inbox. Please.

Other than that, if you like my writing and want to see more? Reblogs and comments make me write faster 💕  Thank you!