#along with 4 scented candles

[soupkiddo]

meet my new son timothee, who I make smoke weed

[hoseoksluna]

LIFE | jhs

pairing: military!hobi x f. reader (ft. namjoon)

genre: slow burn ; tension ; converse high trope / smut, tiny fluff

word count: 8.6k

summary: hoseok has always had a secret thing for you and once he learns you're single, he doesn't waste time and knocks on your door. 

pinterest board: life / playlist: listen / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: mutual pining, hobi is a feet guy, mentions of a partner giving you a cold shoulder and silent treatment, strong tension, praise kink, petting, nipple play, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, slight dd/lg, raw and rough sex, size kink.

note: SHE'S BACK. HOSEOKSLUNA IS BACCKKKKKKKK. HELLO, MY BABIES. I MISSED YOU ALLLLL SOOOO MUCH AND I MISSED WRITING SO MUCH THAT THIS IS SOMETHING I WROTE IN MY YEARNING TOWARDS THE END OF MY HIATUS. fuck, this is way too hot. and i, again, had to take breaks to do something :D actually, i was inspired to write this at 4 am when i landed in my country after my vacation in dubai and got the weverse notification from hobi. :) yep. he ruined me, destroyed me, and i had to start writing. ENJOY THIS FILTHHHHHH. i missed writing abt dd/lg, too.... hehe. let me know what you think. and if you mayhappsss want part two? I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

Hoseok, at your doorstep bringing in the moonlight before the midnight hour, was not something you quite expected to see when you heard the bell ring. You were lounging around on your couch, clothed in your new silky pajamas that you bought to heal your wounded heart a little, along with a peachy Korean face mask, a banana vape and a vanilla candle that you lit up as soon as you exited the shower. The creamy white sheet is what you were still wearing on the planes on your face when you stood there, taken aback because the man, clad in his military uniform, was certainly not your friend that visited you often. 

Hoseok was a mutual friend. A friend of your best friend Karina… and a friend of your now ex-boyfriend Namjoon. A friend that hated your guts—a friend that could not stand you. 

A friend that would let his eyes linger a little while longer on you upon seeing you on regular night outs and then ignore you for the rest of the event. A friend that would lock his gaze on your intertwined hand with Namjoon’s before narrowing it and scoffing in a private way that you invariably saw through. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what his deal was—it’s only that you couldn’t do anything about it. You were Namjoon’s for eight wonderful months that were splotchy with the depth of poetry. Words from his heart that would give your life meaning, keep your head up above the surface. You needed those words as you spent your whole girlhood drowning in the sea of FOMO, rowing your arms through the waves of life that never got you anywhere. Seeing the little beauty of day and night of Seoul with your friends paled in comparison with what Namjoon showed you. You always believed that your life would begin with a man by your side—you prayed for it, you waited for it and it became reality. 

But it was not the reality that your body sought in the long run. 

Yes, the sex was great. Significant to your mental development, especially to your female one as you truly did become a woman in his hands, letting the lush girlish version of you die in his palms. As well as the museums, the hikes, the dinner dates that let you in on the complexity of Namjoon’s intellect that you found so profound and full of beauty. 

But as you nearly reached a year with him, your body began to seek more. The flowers beyond the box of your relationship with him—and you knew that those petals carried the scent of Hoseok. 

He liked you. You saw it in the extremity of his purposeful ignorance towards you, in the forced hatefulness he put across, and in the distance he set as a boundary. You saw it, too, in the way he would entertain other women in the bars and glance at you every now and then to make sure you’re seeing what he wants you to see. And it excited you, his interest in you that he kept at bay. 

It was a forbidden fruit that you smelt and smelt, but could never bite into—and it drove you insane. And when he got enlisted in the military, it drove you off a cliff. 

Missing him made you search for him. Not in Namjoon, but in other men. Privately, in your soul. And it cost you your relationship. 

Namjoon was a jealous, possessive man. He would fight with you if you looked at a guy for a beat longer than is necessary and if a half of a smile crept up upon the corner of your lips, he would give you the cold shoulder. An action that cut through you deep enough to make you bleed and you had to put a stop to it. 

You thought talking to him about it like an adult would straighten the road you were walking upon, but like the intelligent man Namjoon is—he knew that what he was giving to you was no longer what you needed. He threw it back at you, using the poetry of his words, and all you could do was be honest with him. Nod your head, tell him he was right, that you were seeking something more. And what surprised you was that Namjoon wasn’t willing to go the extra mile. 

He didn’t consider it. Didn’t mention it. 

He nodded his head, too. And you parted your ways as friends who loved each other and lived an artistic life together. 

And at that moment, a door to your mind opened and Hoseok stepped in. Made a bed, fluffed the pillows, and rested. 

It seems now he has awoken. Rang your doorbell, bashed his fist against the wood and narrowed his eyes at you in his normal fashion. 

An action that weaves a rhythm into that flat, bruised heart of yours. 

His military jacket is slung over his arm. His two black dog tags, hung by a silver chain around his long neck, rattles as the breath of the fresh, autumn evening breezes past, scattering goosebumps along your chocolate-buttered skin. You notice, within the brief silence while you look at each other and exchange words long overdue, that his hair is way shorter. Not buzzed anymore like Namjoon showed you on Hoseok’s first day in the military six months ago, but tousled and sticking out in different directions as if he raked his fingers through the strands a million times over. Your own itch, wrapped around your vape, his beauty heightened by his evident newly-gained manliness washing over you like an icy stream of water. 

You shiver, blaming it internally on the wind, and not on the lightness of the attraction that you feel sinking beneath your skin, overpowering you. 

And that small movement of your body propels Hoseok to speak, at last. 

“I come home to find you single,” he scoffs, his voice deep and raspy, marked possibly by his job in the military. And you feel it marking you just the same, opening windows in the house of your body for that wind to blow in and exhilarate you, help you breathe. “He’s drunk out of his mind, crawling on Jungkook’s lap and you’re here. In your pajamas with a fucking face mask on.” 

Briefly, you furrow your brows, not understanding the meaning of his words. Is he bashing you for not crying your heart out? Or is he bashing his brother for doing whatever it was. Your heart turns halfway, painfully. Those days are gone—those you spent in bed while that broken muscle wept while your body used that time to repose from all the stress it went through, being in an environment it grew out of. 

You sigh, weary of the recollection of that peculiar pain, and show no sight of the turbulence happening within you. “Jungkook must be happy about that.” 

Hoseok chuckles, humorlessly. A chilling noise that erects your bare nipples beneath your pajama button down. Awkwardness slinks down your sternum and you shift your weight on your other foot as Hoseok deepens his gaze down on you. 

Tension settles between you and you use it. You use it, wholeheartedly, as you should have all those months ago. The only thing you ever took advantage of were the touches Namjoon graced your skin with. You’d grab his hand, while Hoseok watched, and bring it underneath the table. Part your mouth, pretending he was touching a sensitive, private place while he was merely drifting his fingers along your thigh. Hoseok would gulp, but he would keep his gaze locked on yours, very much like he’s doing now. It’s the only form of intimate interaction you ever had, save for the heated debates about different things you two did not have in common. 

All else remained hidden in the silence shared between you. 

And it no longer shall. 

If he came all the way here, unannounced, then you shall let fate, one that is enamored with your body, have her way in your life. 

“If you came here to talk about him, then I’m not interested,” you say, letting go of the door and slipping off your face mask, ignoring the hurtful pinpricks along the perimeters of your heart. “If you came here for me, then the door is open.” 

And with that bravery, you pivot on your heel and walk back into the living room, not expecting him to follow you and not expecting him to walk away. You let fate do her thing, and you begin to tap in the essence of the peachy face mask into your skin with quick, gentle slaps. 

You toss the sheet, along with the packaging, into the trash, your hair clipped away from your face whooshing around you with your movement. Kicking off your slides, you hear them bump into something stable, and when you turn around to seek that strange sound, you see Hoseok standing by your armchair near your couch. 

So he did come here for you. You tremble in a different manner, filled with sparks of excitement, and, turning around to sit on the couch, you flush, smiling happily to yourself. 

But all those feelings turn to dust when Hobi kneels by the edge of your couch and fixes your home slippers. Aligns them rightly in front of you so you can comfortably slide your feet into them once you get up. 

Your stomach drops and your fingertips tingle, all of your nerve endings set on blazing fire by that one act of service. 

The first kind thing he’s ever done for you. 

He throws his military jacket over the backrest of the armchair, where he nestles himself. Legs spread, elbows propped on his knees. His long dog tag chain swings back and forth in the sudden, atypical calmness of the atmosphere that you cannot adapt to fully. Not when your mind creates an image of that chain hanging over your face, your neck and your chest when you’re bare and ready for him, laying on your back, all for him to take. 

You bite your lip, tracing the band of your sleep sock with your fingers, and Hoseok’s eyes fall to it. You quickly lift them, sheepish. Distract your mind by opening a package of eye patches and placing them on your dark circles that just won’t leave. His gaze skims over each motion, studying it, wordlessly, and you can’t take it anymore. 

You can’t be the only one who’s brave this evening. 

You take a puff of your vape, inhaling its sweetness, and stare right back at him. A smile, a foolish girlish smile quivers upon your lips. One that you dislike because you did grow out of it, but it seems as though the more you swallow the intensity of his shadowed, violent sea-charged energy, the more you transform back into that little girl you were. 

And the process soaks your panties. 

So much is said in the silence, always has been, but you can’t stand it anymore. 

“You should start talking before I go to bed,” you bite, willing your smile to flatten, and Hoseok kneads his hands. His knuckles bear a faint memory of yellow bruises, veiny and strong as they are, and for a moment you wonder how far his ferocity reaches. 

He showed you little of it. You know he’s capable of doing things that would change you for all eternity, give you a new form that would not wither with age. 

And you yearn for it. Have yearned for it all those months without knowing that was the thing your body sought. The thing Namjoon could never give you. 

Violence. Roughness. The licks of an outraged sea. 

You’re a witness to it sloshing in the pools of his darkened eyes as he chews the provocation you uttered his way. And you can bet he likes the taste. 

“Did he break your heart?” he asks amidst the banana-flavored smoke, his knuckles whitening for a split second as he clenches his fist before relaxing—as if the thought of Namjoon breaking your heart angers him. 

It rouses you, and the way your chest lifts with each breath stimulates your stiffened nipples. The candlelight sways, casting shadows on his worn features, and you’d much rather sit on them than talk about your ex. 

“Did you not hear what I said?” you spit, throwing your vape on the cushion of your couch. Hoseok’s façade splits as he smirks, dropping his gaze for a moment before lifting it back to you. 

He leans back, slouching in the chair. “Answer the question.” 

The sedatedness of his tone stuns you. Your heart begins to thump as well as the bundle of nerves between your folded legs. It has been too long since you had your release. Months upon months. And you’re too weak to not get carried away by these new feelings you’ve shamefully forgotten about. 

The veins from his knuckles travel all the way back to his arms and your brain empties out. Too, too fucking long. You should’ve fooled around with every guy you found attractive, use them for orgasms, make the best of your womanly years, but instead you dwelled at home—in and out of your misery. And now, now it feels as though you’re a virgin, alone for the first time with an older man that enlivens your body. 

And you might as well give him what he asks of you. 

Sucking on your vape for a puff of bravery, you don’t blink as you stare at him through the smoke. You elongate your legs, placing them on the coffee table next to him, your toes facing his outstretched knee, and his eyes, once again, plummet to them. 

“He didn’t break my heart, I broke his,” you say, your words shrouded by that white mist curling out of your mouth, and you watch as his eyes widen en route to yours. 

He didn’t expect that. 

Something about that satisfies you. Selfishly. 

Hoseok runs the pad of his finger across his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side a little bit. “It was about time you did.” 

The searing heat that rushes forward in your cheeks forces your gaze away from him, begs you to look away, but you don’t. A bead of perspiration trickles down your cleavage, one that is visible to him as you couldn’t be bothered to do all the buttons after your shower. But Hoseok’s eyes don’t flick to it. No, he can’t miss this. He can’t miss the gravity of the moment, of the spoken confirmation of the fact that what went on between the two of you for so long is real. You squeeze your thighs together, the thumping in between unbearable, and the longer you bask in his brave words, in the masculinity of his initiative, the more your own poetry begins to rise in you.

If it drags, it’s not meant for you. If it’s fast, it couldn’t wait to meet you. 

And Hoseok notices. It is only when you let out a little, barely hearable sigh that his eyes do travel down to scrutinize your bodily reaction. To your nipples poking through, the shine of your sweat in between your bare breasts, to the friction you’re rubbing—the miniscule grinding movements that you make in order to alleviate yourself of the ache of desperation that you feel. And because you’re baring yourself out for him, he does the unthinkable. 

He lets you see his true face, his façade collapsing at his big, sock-clad feet. 

Hoseok lifts his hips, hides behind the pretense that he’s just making himself more comfortable, but in reality he did it to turn your attention to his lower region. His length, semi-hard yet still long, stands out, protruding from the camo of his pants and you’re hot, hot all over. 

The thumping worsens—and you need him, all of him, to make it better. 

Perceiving that he’s succeeded in his strategy by the way you just won’t stop ogling him, he blushes and hides it, in vain, with outstretched fingers spread across his face. As if he was doing his signature idol move. It’s a riveting sight to behold, a seemingly cold person growing warm from you gaping at that private part of him. 

And you want more. You want to see more places of his body that are flushed. And you want it now. 

“It was about time you and I talked alone, don’t you think?” you ask, following on from his previous statement. All that pining, those stolen glances, that distance—all that tension advances forward now, stronger than ever.

Hoseok can feel it, too. At your words, his manhood grows harder and his breathing quickens. He tries to stabilize it, but he fails. He fails even when he returns to his original position with his elbows propped on his knees. That chain of his swings with more momentum, teasing you, and you place your legs even closer towards him, and upon witnessing the light flash in his eyes, you realize that you teased him right back. 

The man likes feet.

You draw in a sharp breath when he fists both of your feet in one hand, brushing his thumb over the tips of your toes. The first touch in this lifetime, the first time upon your new virgin body, so intimate, private; he might as well have wrapped a blanket around them with how warm his hand is, secure and trustful. Goosebumps flood your skin, bringing in the iciness that you felt when you took in his beauty against the background of the trees and the moonlight. And its beams must be stitched around his fingers because daintiness clasps you close, the notion that you’re taken care of, in good hands, descending upon you like the most delicate feather tickling you, and you let it—you let it consume you. 

And you let his following question consume you just as much. 

“Were you in love with him?” 

It’s a question you never had the bravery to ask yourself in the two months you’ve been single, but it is here and you welcome it. You hear it whisper to you the hint of your answer and your body is smart enough, capable enough to figure it out. 

No need for long nights of overthinking. 

No need for long hours of listening to your heart crack.

“No, I was used to him—that’s different,” you hush out and the moon lowers herself, spilling through your windows, bathing you in a milky light that feels as welcoming, as right as your confession. And maybe, just maybe it’s the way the shining stream submerges in your neediness that drives you to be bratty. And briefly, before you do, you ponder over the fact how in your life shared with this person drives, moves forward. There’s never a still time—and you find that mesmerizing. Enough for you to simply brood in greed. “What’s it to you?” 

Hoseok flinches. Parts his mouth. His chain rattles and his fingers squeeze the balls of your feet, coaxing a hum out of you that is immediately silenced by his sudden outburst. 

“What’s it to me?” 

There it is. Another plot point. Your heart hammers. 

Hoseok lets go of your feet and you lament the absence. Stands up and towers over you, the moonshine soaking him in divine light that causes your breath to hitch in your throat. A faint layer of sweat has coasted along his hairline and settled there—and you long to swim in his bodily fluids. In the persona of his, in the tumultuous sea of the tension locked within him. 

“You’re genuinely asking me this question?” he pressures, lifting your legs in order to step in between them, and the unthinkable visits you once again. He props his hands on either side of your head and those two dog tags swing in your face. 

A wet patch forms in the center of your pajamas. Your breath mirrors his—hasty, deep and strained—and you can’t take it anymore. 

How far into this road of bravery until the moon averts its opaque eyes away from your sin? 

You arch your spine, hook your fingers on his dog tags and pull him a little closer. Breathe his air, breathe in his masculine, musky scent that intoxicates your senses to the point that there is absolutely nothing stopping you from getting dragged in the natural flow of this situation. 

“Yes, Hoseok. What’s it to you?” 

He pants. Glides, delicately, his fingers along your arm until he winds up at your small fist, clutching it in his as if it was his. And that warmth, you want to dip your head in it. 

“I had to watch you sit in that chair and not crack a smile. Sit next to him like an obedient girl, not allowed to speak. To me,” he grunts, tightening his lips, and that anger of his seeps into you, becoming yours. “He didn’t deserve you. You’re not a pretty toy. You’re a person.” 

He straightens but, panicking, you draw him right back by that chain. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.” 

He seethes and you feel your essence trickling down your thigh. That sea, inching forward, you whimper. And then he spreads that warmth over the crown of your head, rubbing your hairline just once with his thumb before he peels off your eye patches that you have forgotten about. 

And this is when your brows curl. This is the time that says there’s no going back. 

“I talked to you. We fought, don’t you remember?” 

He sweeps that digit over that soaked dark circle of yours underneath your eye. “What do you think would’ve happened to you if I talked to you nicely?” 

Cold shoulder. Uncomfortable time of forced aloneness, filled with the abyss of guilt that you had done something wrong. A toy that didn’t move its lifeless limbs right by his will. 

“I’ve known him for far longer than you. I know how he treats those he thinks he loves. I brushed it away with the others, but with you… I couldn’t. You were so full of life that was stuck in you because of him. Because he didn’t let you let it out. And I can’t forgive him for that.” 

What life? The one you searched for all your girlhood, the one Namjoon molded with his own hands until it no longer recognized the once-familiar lines of his palm? The one that yearned for Hoseok instead? 

A film of tears clouds your eyes and as hard as you try to blink them away, they linger, pooling at your waterline like sea foam. You need your vape, you need him inside you—you can’t face the mirror of the reality of that unfair treatment. 

How blind you were; how Hoseok has become that guiding stick. 

“Don’t forgive him,” you utter, grasping his chain tighter, drawing him even closer, making his breath tremble. The first tear that pours out leaks into the print of his thumb and at the sound of your soft cry, Hoseok topples. Kneels on the couch with your legs on either side of him and you pull, you pull him closer. 

“Do you want me?” he asks—a foolish, foolish question. Presses his forehead against yours, cups your face with both hands now while his back shakes and you touch it, you drag your fingernails down those prominent muscles. And he sighs, so desperately, so tenderly. “Do you want me to let out that life in you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper, sliding your hands underneath his black shirt, scratching the lowest part of his warm, warm waist before hooking your fingers on the waistband of his pants. It’s his—it always belonged to him. “Take me. Here.” 

He brushes his nose against yours, your breath and his singular. “You’re so feisty.” Lips nearly touch yours and your lungs give out on you, your air coming out in pathetic staccatos that make him growl, subduedly. Muscles rigid, bundle of nerves devoutly pulsing. Please, please. “But no.” 

The world implodes, the mocking shimmer of that planetary light gushing through—hand in hand with sobriety. 

But Hoseok, the prince of the unthinkable, dips your head back into that darkness. Lifts you by your armpits and sets you down on his lap, his hard length against your core uprearing your need for release. 

A hand sailing down your neck, your sternum, acknowledging itself with your respiration. “Don’t give it to me that easily.” 

Your own cages him there, right at the apex of the fleshiness of your breasts. “Jebal, Hobi.” 

Please, Hobi. You drive, in his fashion, your hips forward—ever so slightly. His eyes round at the mellow variation of his name wandering out of your mouth and wrapping around his neck, as if the gentleness you give him pains him, transforms into a noose around his vocal cords and he can’t speak. 

He sighs, the noise melting into a soft, low-pitched moan. “Don’t beg me,” he croaks out, so terribly strung out. “I’m-I’m—”

You lengthen your spine, closing your mouth over that one spot on the side of his throat that you can reach, silencing him. He doesn’t need to speak—you’re fine with the tacit language of his hands. And the taste of his skin, that fucking warmth dissolving upon your tongue, you can’t help but to moan just the same against him like that, rocking your hips awfully, awfully slowly, driving him to the point of madness that he stood at the edge of for so long. 

“I want you to touch me,” you murmur, tugging his hand lower to the first done button of your silky shirt and it’s him who hooks his fingers over that fabric now. You lick a stripe across the thick vein of his throat, grinding a little harder when you hear him suck in a pained breath. “I want you to feel that life in me and know it’s yours. Jebal, Hoseokie.” 

He grunts, ripping you away from him. You expect his eyes to be narrowed in that typical manner of his, but they’re not. They’re soft, round and glossy, looking down at you, unblinking. A face you’ve never seen before, that feels too, too significant—and you’re not sure if you deserve to get a load of it. Of his pinkish cheeks and downturned mouth, of his fingers agonizingly sluggishly undoing the first button of your shirt. 

Of his sentimentality that you never thought he was so efficient at. 

The sea that has remotely stilled—but you’re still riding the lenient waves, your torso curving with each button popping off as he engraves his warmth into your cold, cold skin. And once he reaches the very last one, he stops. Holds your shirt together, squishing your breasts, waiting for you to lift your head out of the sea water. 

And you do. 

He inches forward, grazing his lips against yours, making you feebly cry out. 

“Did you cry for him?” 

Your cry prolongs, vexation splattering over your arousal, and you’ve had enough of it. You flick your eyes between his, drawing back, flattening your lips in that anger of his that seems to be still flowing in you somewhere. No more, no more Namjoon; no more talk of your past relationship. It’s over, it’s over.

“Stop fucking—”

Hoseok doesn’t relent. Sinks his fingers into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck to make you listen. “Did you cry for him?” 

Your heart wept, but your eyes didn’t. The tear you shed in front of him was the only liquid emotion that spilled out of you since the day of the break up. “No.” 

He blows a heavy breath of relief that oddly validates you—and light opens in your sensitive bosom. “Good girl.” 

And it is now that Hoseok presses his chest, his dog tags against that light of yours and clamps his mouth down on your top lip, hoisting you a tiny bit to sit you right down on his manhood. His strong arm wraps around your back while the other floats down and curls around your bum, growling into the kiss that he deepens. And then he parts your lips with his, slipping his tongue inside, and the dam breaks between your legs—as well as the quick little whines and squeaks that begin to leak out of your mouth and into his. 

The life in you throbs. 

His cock hardens even more underneath you and he pushes your clit against it, his noises and yours growing louder and louder in tandem until he’s breathless, panting so vivaciously that he needs a moment. A moment to focus on the mess he’s created of you, a glowing ball of rosiness, the prettiest of all flowers—and you feel like it, being looked at like that. 

“I knew you were smart,” he coos, peppering feathery kisses upon your cheek, jaw and chin, descending to the base of your neck. You moan out, fisting his shirt below his collarbones, the continuation of his validation for you nesting in your core. “That life in you will always win. No matter what.” 

You believe him—in fact, there’s nothing left for you to do, but to submit, submit and submit. And it feels like entering a dream that is kind, a reality that appears to be a dream, but is better. An existence smeared with clemency, where you can be a little girl again. 

“Touch it, please.” 

Hoseok hums, kissing the cleft between your clavicles. Shifts forward on the couch so you can rest your spine on the backrest, your head against the wall, and he slides his palms upward from your tummy to the apex of your breasts. You whine, torturously, at the contact, and you shudder and double over when he swipes his thumbs over your still stiffened nipples, buzzing shocks of acute pleasure coursing down your body, rooting in your clit that asks for his fingers, his tongue, but he remains where he is. Transfixed, starving, ravaged. 

He kneads your breasts like he kneaded his hands, with overpowering strength that quickens your blood flow, your body submitting to him and flushing like his does. A sliver of skin that your shirt exposes catches his attention—and at the sight of the flesh of your breasts spilling through, his cock twitches, his breath ragged, eyes droopy and so, so drunk. He pinches your nipples, still through that silken fabric, as if he was punishing you for causing him this unfair pain. 

Knead, flick, pinch. Your noises are obnoxious, his heat in you rising and rising, and you can’t take it anymore. The drum in your clit thuds and you push him away, the pleasure too overwhelming, too good and too arousing. 

And he pushes away the fabric, revealing your perky breasts. A glint settles on the edge of his irises and he gives you a coy smile before he smashes his mouth against yours, moving it in a rhythm that reflects the one in your bundle of nerves. And you grind, you grind like your life depends on it, your nipples and your pussy rubbing against him, against his icy dog tags, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm. And you would come like this had he not physically ripped you away from him. 

Heaving, he focuses, all over again, on the ruination he makes of you. The warmth in you flits so invitingly that you have to touch the places he did—your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. And as you do, you watch his gaze darken, you watch him nod his head, and wipe the corner of his mouth clean, catching his drool. 

“You feel it, don’t you?” he rasps, following the invisible traces you left on your body. Your stomach, your sternum, your breasts. “Right here. Life. Beautiful life.” He teases your hardened nub, circling it with the pads of his fingers, sliding it between his knuckles and squeezing, his smile growing with each shudder of your chest, with each response. “It’s time to make you come and let it out, you ready? Let’s take these off.” 

He tugs off your pajama pants, throws it behind his shoulder, examines the large wet stain on your panties that he coos at, raspily, petting it with his thumb—and you’re so turned on that even such faint touch like that brings you pleasure. You hold onto his arms for dear life, depending on him, trembling when the panties and the shirt are next, tossed upon the pile of your pants. 

You’re bare and he’s still fully dressed. Such titillating unfairness that turns you unhinged, maddened by liveliness your body is diffused with. 

Hoseok pins your legs back. Takes one hand and glides his fingers across your entire femininity, soaking them in the dew he has coaxed out of you, moaning gutturally. 

“He never made you wet like this, did he?” he asks, pride dripping out of him like his masculine pheromones, and with his wet fingers he palms himself. “You don’t even have to answer that. I know. I need to taste you, baby.” 

You don’t even get to fill a lungful of the stuffed, vanilla-scented air and he dives in, keeping your legs glued to your shoulders as he seizes your clit in his mouth, sucking on it briefly before he flattens his tongue all over you. He licks you like a lost man finding an oasis, humming into your heat while he tastes your personal slickness, swallowing everything he sowed. You bang your head on the wall, a numbed pang expanding all throughout your scalp by your claw clip, taking it all, moaning so loudly the whole of Seoul must be hearing you. Even Namjoon in his drunkenness, shameful that he never managed to eat you like this in the eight months you were his to consume. 

Your orgasm inches to you quickly. With half-lidded eyes, you watch the candlelight create sublime, eccentric images on his back. And as if he couldn’t handle the warmth anymore, he peels himself away from you just to take off his shirt, adding it to the pile. He doesn’t let you see his muscular body—he plunges back down, tongue outstretched, flicking the muscle on your swollen clit. He pinches your thigh, your mound, your folds, whimpering onto your flesh, hurrying to close his mouth over you to suck your clit. 

And within that divine suction, you come apart. The beautiful images on his back advance, fluttering on his smooth skin, and you hold him to yourself. The life in you explodes, saturating him in a dimmed, soft-hued, colorful light that he himself must be sensing because he moans, loudly, sinking his index finger inside your clenching hole. You can’t speak, you can’t breathe—you can only feel, you can only take. Your orgasm continues on, a ceaseless stream of delight untwisting in every part of your body. 

And when he begins to fuck you with that finger of his and hits that good spot, your orgasm melts into another one. And this time, you can’t take it. 

You shake so vivaciously that you fall off the edge of the couch, but he catches you. Hoseok unclips your hair and lays you down, propping your hips on the armrest instead and when he bends at the waist and opens his mouth, you scream out your disagreement, pushing him away. 

He blinks at you, mouth sopping wet. “I wasn’t finished.” 

Your oxygen is stuck in your throat, one that gets bespeckled with the beads of your dew. “Hoseokie—”

He traces it, wiping it off, holding you there. Presses his hard, clothed length against your bare pussy, rocking slowly, casting a private, affection-filled shadow with the arch of his body over yours. Hoseok kisses you once, a nasty kiss perfumed with your tangy scent, and you cry out. 

“The fact you can’t take the bare minimum personally offends me. He had you all to himself and he didn’t do his job well,” he mutters, squeezing your throat once. Drags his wet hand down your sternum, grasping a hold of both of your breasts, clenching them until they flush, again, like him. 

There it is, the saltiness of his sea. You yearn for the physical principle of it coating your tongue—for his cum to trickle out of the tip of it like your dew is off of his. And his words, his anger towards his best friend because of you—it heals you in a way you could never heal yourself. Another person seeing you and telling you that you deserve better, it is the most pristine form of remedy there is and you splutter on the whole beauty and compassion of it all, too weak to accept it at once. 

“That’s right,” you agree, as enthusiastically as your dopeness allows you, smiling lopsidedly, heart pounding. “Go slow on me.”

He croons, squeezing his eyes. “My little girl.” 

He buries his face in your neck, kissing you there, and along with the life in you—your heart explodes, too. The finality of your detransformation. Tears of joy ache in the corners of your eyes, the rawness of human fulfillment housing in you for all eternity. 

He kisses his way down to your breasts. “I’ll go slow on you,” he promises, darting out his tongue and flicking it over your nub, making you tremble. He straightens and dances his fingers along your thighs—up to your knees. “Do you want to stop here?” 

You shake your head. Place your feet flat on his toned stomach while you feel your dew dribble down your bum. Hoseok smiles, his mouth curving in that way of his that causes your own stomach to drop. He holds your heels, hooking his finger under the band of your socks and yanking them off. 

And his grin blooms at the sight of your dusty-pink toes, an endeared look thawing his eyes. He rubs them like he did at the beginning of this journey, keeps one at his stomach while he lifts the other one to his mouth. 

Your poor heart skips a beat. 

“Do you want me to fuck you like a little girl like you deserves?” 

He kisses the ball of your foot, doesn’t break the eye contact. Watches your mouth part in absolute astonishment and your cheeks deepen in their hue. And when he kisses it again, slower this time, it wakes you up from your stupefaction, and you lower your free foot down to his clothed cock. Hoseok groans, the sound muffled against your tootsie, shutting his eyes at the impact. Your chest flickers with a sense of pride that you made him react like that—and you want it again. You trail your toes across that length of his, but before you could reach the most sensitive part of him, he stops you. 

Sucks in that pained breath of his, red all over. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.” 

You mirror him, the idea of being capable of doing that to him pleasuring you. You leak onto the couch. Your blood boils. 

“That’s so hot.” 

He chuckles, anchoring your foot upon his heart, tapping it with your big toe. “It’s because you have my heart.” 

Your body ceases all work, as well as time. Even the candlelight pauses its dance, concentrating its caressing radiance on that chain of his. 

And you don’t think as you scurry onto your knees and embrace him, his dog tags no longer icy. He plants his nose into your hair, inhaling you, sealing you into the hug with both of his arms. Your heart reaches its own towards his and they cling to each other, too. 

And you’re not afraid to reciprocate his feelings—they’re as clear to you as that very luminescence of the vanilla candle. 

“You have me,” you whisper into his ear, his body not quivering but stable, safe. “You have my life. It’s more of a treasure than my heart.” 

He had you the moment he so evidently disapproved of your past relationship. He had you the moment he was curious to see if you were jealous when he was entertaining other women. He had you the moment he purposefully put a distance between you and him because he didn’t want you to get hurt by Namjoon. 

You just didn’t know it yet, not until clarity arose in front of you in the form of his honesty. 

Hoseok kisses your own ear, lingers there. “I want both.” 

“Then, have it.”

And he kisses your forehead. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” 

You can see in the ivory mist of his eyes that he means it—and so you tug off his military belt as you begin to pepper kisses down the column of his neck because he deserves it, because he cares for you, because he came to you as soon as he heard that you were single. And when you reach those dog tags, the words of his title imprinting themselves onto the surface of your lips, you clasp his cock in your hand. Too big for your small fist, too warm for you to handle—

“Lay back down.” 

You bite into the flesh right above that first steel pendant while keeping your eyes locked on his. “Yes, Sergeant.” 

Hoseok curses. Wrings a sharp gasp out of you when he pulls on your hair, giving you a nasty kiss full of tongue. “Don’t call me that when I need to be gentle with you,” he scolds, sucking on your bottom lip to make it better and you disintegrate. “Right now I would bend you over this couch and fuck you until Sergeant and Sir was all you knew, but I can’t do that. Not when you’re not used to me yet.” 

Yes, the promise of the sea—you convulse from head to toe, pining after it. 

“I want that so bad.” 

He nods, marking you on your neck. You whimper and he groans in response. “And I’ll give it to you, you just need to be good now. Lay down.” 

You comply, but you take him with you—grabbing him by that chain as you arch your back on the couch. He lets you, grins at you like the utmost sunshine, but that expression of delight breaks when a certain realization dawns upon him. 

“I didn’t bring any condoms.” 

You huff out a soft noise. “Good. I want you to come all over me.” 

Hoseok hangs his head low, sighing, on all fours above you. His chain swings, drawing the memory of this very night on your breasts. He looks up at you from this position, his eyes thin slits that cause you to clench around nothing. 

“I’ll give you a big load.” 

You beam like the purest angel, in spite of the context. “Yes, please.” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes back, his façade cracking, and he beams just the same, his mouth widening in the shape of a heart that moves through you. He kisses you deeply, a long peck that breaks you down into a putty, and when he withdraws, you can still see that smile plastered on his glowing face. 

“Good girl. Such good manners.” 

And with that praise, he sheathes himself inside you. You both gasp in union, entering a paradise no other human will ever witness in the afterlife. He stretches you out, slowly, careful not to hurt you as he waits it out, petting your hair in the meantime. 

“I can feel you stretching around me, fuck. You’re so warm, so tight for me,” he rasps, panting, that smile trembling on his lips as he tries to keep it together. He straightens, pinches your nipple and you feel yourself accommodating him quicker at that sudden electricity of pleasure, at the sight of his toned body and that chain. The shine of sweat, the dance of the candlelight, the width of his shoulders and carmine chest as it heaves in desperate hums and groans. You could come just from that—and the sensation is so dizzying that your eyes droop. Hoseok notices, grappling the crook between your neck and shoulder. “Stay with me, baby, you can take this. I’m gonna make you feel so good and you’re gonna come on this cock.” 

Those hums of his cruise all the way to your mouth as he sinks that encouragement into it, kissing you deeply, pinning your hands back above your head and sliding his fingers into a celestial intertwinement with yours. They throb within you, those words of his, where they disperse all around, helping you believe that you truly can take the whole manliness of him. Your mind spins, the pressure of your shared atmosphere ringing in your ears, and he knows, he knows that you’re ready for him.

“I’m gonna start moving now. Talk to me, baby. Tell me everything you’re feeling as I fuck you,” he murmurs, unsheathing himself a tiny bit before he curls his hips forward and upwards, creating a languid, spine-tingling rhythm that replicates the waves of his sea. They slosh to and fro with every slow stroke and he kisses your good spot with the tip of his cock. Your eyes flutter open and close, rolling like those waves, but you can still see the way his jaw is clenched, his gums on full show as he seethes in his self-control, the flush of his neck and the flexing of his abdomen that you can’t help but to touch in your otherworldly daze. He stares down at you, intensely, narrows his eyelids and furrows his brows when he feels your touch, and you discover that the spot, where his V-lines lead to your antidote, is one of uttermost sensitivity. 

He moans, burying himself deep in you, and stopping there. Mound to mound, soul to soul.

“Fuck, baby, you just know where all my spots are, don’t you?” he asks, his voice so terribly strained, torso doubled over, and you grin. 

“I think I was born already knowing them,” you flirt and Hoseok pounds into you for it—a singular thrust that scrambles all your brain cells. Your smile falls, your brows crunch, your throat utters such whiny noise that he himself grunts at the sound of it, and when you lift yourself onto your elbows to see his length driving in and out of you, he pushes you right down by your throat, kissing you hard enough that it hurts.

And he alleviates the lip lock by licking over your tongue, toying with it—all while he, little by little, picks up the rhythm, fucking into you with a force that coaxes your rawest moans out of you. 

“You can’t handle my tongue and I can’t handle it when you flirt with me,” he scoffs, smacking his mouth as he turns his head, claiming your mouth, claiming you. “God, I wanna destroy you so bad.” 

Your cry is cut out by another savage thrust and you claw at that sensitive spot of his, inciting him to do it again and again. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

He pauses, the crown of his cock teasing the beginning of your heat. Sweat drips down his temple and he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes your heart twitch in absolute sensuality and relish. 

“Say that again.” 

Your breath hitches. “I’m yours to destroy.” 

Hoseok curses, driving into you all the way. You whine out, clenching your fists, feeling every ridge and every vein of his cock glide forwards and backwards along your walls. And by tensing your body and focusing on the delight he’s gracing your body with, the build-up of your orgasm announces its presence.

“Fuck, Hobi, you feel so good,” you cry, gripping his forearms as he begins to hold your waist steady. He jackhammers into you so viciously that your vision scatters with a creamy hue of ivory, moaning in ragged staccatos that influence you so much that you naturally imitate them, fading into him, becoming one. 

“Whose are you?” he growls without interfering with the gracefulness of his sadism, moving back only an inch before slamming back into you, bruising your cervix—and you lose all brain cells, the synapses blanking out. 

But only one thing is clear. 

“I’m yours.” 

And the following snap of his hips drives you out of this world and out of this universe. The gravity keeps your muscles tense, confining your pleasure and the closeness of your orgasm within. The ringing grows in volume and you’re on the cusp. 

Hoseok is, too, because he begins to beg. 

“Please, please, baby. Come for me. I’m so fucking close for you. Please, I’m gonna come all over you.” 

And with a scream that vibrates through the walls of your living room, you comply. Your core grips him, your skin prickles and you levitate—your back arches off the couch, aching to be closer to him, and Hoseok whines. 

Pulls out, straddles you, and fist-fucks his shaft with frantic, frenzied motions. Covers you with ropes and ropes of his cum that ripple on your stomach, your sternum and your breasts as you drift in and out of consciousness. Warm, warm essence of his masculinity that is warmer than the rest of him. 

Blood-hot. 

And you feel as though you deserved every drop. 

Deserved to see the beauty of his orgasm. The flush of his lower regions, especially. The sight you longed to see. 

Hoseok lets go of his manhood, his hand shiny and wet, though he’s still hard, reaching the beginning of your parting lungs with how big he is. Bigger than Namjoon, bigger than anyone you ever dated. Their names wither in your mind, decomposing. And they lose all meaning. 

They cease to exist. 

You’re not his best friend’s ex. You’re not anyone’s ex—

“Look at how little you are,” Hoseok comments, interrupting the surge of your maddened thoughts. He smears the puddle of cum on your stomach that his cock can reach and your pussy flutters in constant motions that ask for him again. “So little under me and all mine, aren’t you?” 

His avowal brings a fresh dose of oxygen into your lungs and you breathe it in. Want to breathe it in for the rest of your life with him. 

But Hoseok doesn’t stop there. Once you agree with him by the nod of your head and a dopey, gratified grin that casts an affirming light on him, he bends over you, his fists on either side of your head. 

“I’ll show you what true possessiveness looks like. The world will burn if it hurts you and if people say one bad word to you, it will be the last one they ever said. But they will talk to you and you will talk to them. You will learn about this life of yours. What it holds, what it looks like. And I’ll be standing beside you and I’ll watch over you. Learn it, live it with you.” 

He rubs your forehead with his thumb in a fond gesture. Looks at you with a mute meaning that touches your heart and crawls inside before he kisses you, relaxes his lips against yours, and kisses you again. 

Again and again. 

Again in the shower. Again in your bed when you’re riding him, tasting the life he let out of you, because you blazed up with desire after you washed his body. And the sex is quiet, smothered with those kisses until your mouth and his is numb. 

And again throughout the years you acknowledge yourself with that life and realize that you understand it more profoundly and clearly in the process of getting to know Hoseok than this world. 

Hoseok is that life. 

And you kiss him and whisper those words onto his mouth when you marry him at the altar, years and years later, connecting your life and his forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 4

tw: explicit content. 13k+ words. College AU. Satoru/Reader, past (unrequited) Suguru/Reader and Suguru/Satoru. afab!beta!reader (they/them), alpha!gojo. feral!gojo, feral!reader, i am not sorry

Some alcohol, but no one is actually drunk. oral (reader receiving), sex toys, dirty talk, knots, satoru in rut, satoru is a little gross but only because he's obsessed, you and satoru take turns going insane over each other

childhood friends to lovers. humor. intense platonic love. PINING. so much pining. omegaverse antics. gojo has provider/caretaker!alpha instincts. this fic is more romance than smut so just read it if you want chemistry and yearning with gojo that ends in sex.

Prompt: A beta develops the ability to smell scents and finds themselves losing their mind.

You’d never particularly minded being a beta. Sure, alphas and omegas didn’t have to deal with periods, but considering how awful ruts and heats can be, you think you got the better end of the deal.

In isolation, being a beta isn’t a bad thing, although there’s times you’ve wished you were something else.

Your best friend, Satoru Gojo, is an alpha, and that had never really mattered, either.

Then one day – you wake up, as per usual.

You meet up with him and walk to Jujutsu Technical College together; Satoru lives on campus, but he likes to walk with you. Presumably to snag an extra ten minutes or so during which to be a pain in your ass.

As soon as he sees you, he beams, a spring in his extra large stride as he comes up behind you, throwing an arm over your shoulders.

This wasn’t unusual. He’d done this a million times before. What’s unusual is a – something in the air. You sniff, and Satoru picks it up right away, sniffing along with you.

Whatever you’re smelling, he must not detect it.

It doesn’t smell like anything specific, you couldn’t definitively match it to a food or candle or anything in particular.

It’s a sweet and sour sort of thing, similar to lemonade; it almost makes scrunch your nose, and at the same time your mouth waters as if you can already taste it.

“What is it?” He looks at you from behind those stupid sunglasses that somehow looked awesome on him. “I know it’s not me.”

“Nothing, I just thought I caught a whiff of like… a drink or something. I must have spilled it on my clothes somewhere.” You’re really sure you didn’t, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.

It makes less sense that the smell gets stronger when Satoru leans in towards you – way too close, you’ve gotta yell at him about personal space sometime – and takes an exaggerated sniff.

“You look like a pervert,” Your observation doesn’t stop him in the least. In fact, you think he sniffs even harder. “Have I got crack on me or something?” Satoru snickers at that.

“Nah, I’m actually not getting anything.” He leans in even more, almost towards your neck, “You sure you’re not going crazy?”

“Ugh, stop it, you freak!” You shove him aside, and he lets you with a laugh.

You don’t smell it again for the rest of the walk.

-

You visit a doctor’s office. Nothing has been unusual between your legs, and god knows Satoru would have teased you about it immediately if he’d smelled anything different.

But the doctor tells you why you smelled something he didn’t; alphas, especially young ones not yet out of their teenage years, were generally blind to their own scents, as most people were.

What you’d been smelling had been Satoru.

Sudden onset scent sensitivity. Real tongue-twister of a name, but it was real, and you’d looked it up after they told you about it.

It’s funny, because you’ve never had a very strong sense of smell; Satoru had always been utterly baffled by it.

Especially after presenting, he was floored at the fact that you couldn’t tell that his jacket smelled like him, to which you’d asked him (very seriously) if he had ever heard of a washing machine.

Washing with soap did typically remove the scent from articles of clothing, but it was common for an alpha or omega to run their hands over fresh laundry, or toss a clean-but-scented blanket into the dryer for a quick tumble.

Scenting stuff. You’d never really gotten the idea behind it. All humans were born with scent glands, and their secondary sexes develop those glands – along with their genitalia – in different ways.

A beta like you had no secondary sex hormones, and consequently didn’t develop any secondary sex characteristics. While betas do have scent glands, the scent they produce is weaker, and they don’t emit pheromones at all.

However, human bodies and developments were as diverse as they were weird. It wasn’t uncommon for individuals to produce a specific hormone or group of hormones, developing part of a secondary sex’s characteristics without actually presenting as one.

Turns out your body produces a hormone linked to the ability to smell pheromones. The doctor said it had probably started happening during puberty, and over the years, it eventually led to your newfound sensitivity.

That didn’t make you an alpha or an omega, but it did clue you in to something that only they could sense. A whole new world of conversations and invisible signaling going on, pheromones, scents –

And, as you learned in a painful, awkward stint past Satoru’s dorm room at the college – there was no good way of saying this – cum.

Good old whiff of cum while you walked by, so profuse it almost kind of gagged you, head racing with confusion and alarm at what the fuck this new sensation was.

But very quickly you catch on to how your heart picks up, how your thighs clench. Alpha cum has pheromones in it, after all.

And a peek into his bachelor pad later reveals a trashcan full of tissues you wouldn’t have glanced twice at before. Maybe not even once.

Just beside them is a seemingly innocuous crumpled up sock and your nose is saying yUP. THE SEXY IS ON THE SOCK.

Okay, so it’s cum. And you know it’s cum. And you’ll know it’s cum every time you visit, and every time Satoru is even a little bit messy with it, which is always, because he doesn’t know that you can smell his cum.

Cool, cool, okay, cool.

But that was fine. Totally fine, right? It’s not like you thought Satoru was a monk or anything. So, your best friend jerks off sometimes. He’s a teenage boy, it’d be weirder if he didn’t!

It’s hard to look him in the (extremely pretty) eyes that day, though.

It isn’t a gross scent, exactly, it’s just very… distinct.

Satoru’s cum does still smell a bit like him, that tangy, mouth-watering scent, but with an unmistakable undertone that your brain can only register as horny.

But like. You know what it is! You’re forced to know! And even if you’re just a beta, you can’t help how you react to the knowledge.

Even if it’s weird, though, in a (deeply awkward, uncomfortable) way you’re glad.

You were close friends with alphas and omegas, and those friendships were just like any other, really, but there was this type of communication that you couldn’t understand.

Omegas and alphas would just get certain things about one another, a natural sort of empathy that only came from shared experiences.

A party that you weren’t invited to, a bunch of inside jokes you weren’t in on, a language you couldn’t understand.

Satoru was your best friend, but you didn’t think for a second that you were his.

His best friend was a fellow alpha, Suguru Geto. You’d met in high school, years ago, and you’d been crushing on Geto for a while before he presented. You’d already presented by then and you were sure he’d be a beta, just like you.

Even though Satoru had been telling you for weeks that he’d be an alpha. Said he could just tell. He just knew. Boy, it was annoying when it finally happened.

Alpha-beta pairs aren’t the rarest thing in the world but they’re not that common, either.

You’d been hopeful about it for a while, until you see how the two of them got along, understood each other so seamlessly, connected even during their not-so-uncommon arguments.

(Satoru had always gone to you, after those, to complain. As if you’d take his side over Geto’s! Even if you weren’t infatuated with the guy, he was way more reasonable than Satoru. High school Satoru was a menace.)

Even after Geto left for a different college, there was always this layer of distance that you felt between you two after he presented.

Satoru didn’t seem to know it existed at all, but you felt it, every time he or Geto or anyone else referenced these feelings that only alphas or omegas experienced. Feelings you couldn’t understand.

“Eugh, I’m in pre-rut, it totally sucks…”

“I told you, Satoru, order one of those online rut kits. The included toys work really well.”

“Whaaaaaaat? I thought you were gonna ask out that omega guy from Chemistry!”

“Don’t remind me, I almost wish I had. God, if I did, maybe I could spend the next rut with him…”

And it was bad enough that you kept being reminded of it, that your crush was an alpha and his dream partner would always be an omega.

That you’d never be what he wanted, just what he had, even if you got together.

What was worse was how touchy they got, even after presenting. Casually slinging arms around your shoulders, both of them, hugs to say hello and goodbye, the sudden familiarity and physicality you could only attribute to them presenting as alphas.

It was apparently normal for alphas or omegas to want to scent their close friends, and you were always stuck between the two. Some kind of pack behavior stuff.

Satoru constantly took your stuff, made plans with you then cancelled later, showed up whenever you were trying to make new friends to scare people off.

Like all your free time should belong to him, even if all he wanted to do was find an omega to bang. You were young, and dumb, and Satoru was your closest friend, so you let him get away with it.

He’d always been possessive like that. There weren’t a lot of people who could get close to Satoru, and even fewer people who stayed there.

He was needy, demanding, and capricious all at once, just as likely to leave you on read than to spam you with twenty messages in five minutes.

So hot and cold. Geto got most of Satoru’s attention back in high school, and when he could be bothered to hang out with you, Geto was usually there too.

Geto was less of a raging whore than Satoru, but they talked about it casually enough for you to know they both got around. Like it was some badge of pride.

Dumb alpha crap. Even when they didn’t want you, they had to be weird towards you.

They’d steal your clothes, try to get you to wear theirs, fussing over seemingly meaningless trivialities, like which colors you liked better, whose lunch you wanted a bite from, where you sat during movie night.

Exchanging looks while you glared at them, like they were speaking in a language you didn’t know. Satoru’s arm around your neck while Geto leaned into your side.

But you could tell what was going on between them. Bumping into each other, shoving one another’s shoulders and laughing.

The casual competition that extended to everything – sports, grades, social connections – not just you. How Satoru started spending more time with Geto, hanging out without you.

Nothing was more important to Satoru than finding someone who understood him.

He’d been utterly heartbroken when Geto left, and if this was how he reacted to losing a best friend who he insisted he didn’t have feelings for, you dreaded how he’d react to an actual breakup.

For his part, Satoru had gotten better. You got better at establishing boundaries, making other friends, and telling him directly that he made you feel like shit sometimes. Slamming the door in his pretty face had never felt so good.

If you’d known how easy he was, how that was all it took to get him crying and whining and scratching at your door, then you’d have kicked him to the curb ages ago.

Satoru had tried hard to understand you from then on, to respect your boundaries; borrowing things instead of stealing, keeping his commitments, be the friend you deserved, and not do weird alpha posturing crap.

But now you could detect some of the things that they could. You had a little look into the world he’d been living in, of scents and pheromones and irresistible arousal...

And you’re just as confused as before.

Confirming what you’d always thought; you’re a beta, he’s an alpha, and nothing in the world could ever bridge this particular gap between you two.

There’s so many weird things, so many mixed signals, it honestly doesn’t make any sense.

It has to be something an omega would understand, something Satoru or Geto’s ideal partner would just get, that you… couldn’t.

You start smelling Satoru’s scent in a lot of places, not just when you’re around him.

Somewhere in your closet. Okay, that makes sense, you remember him getting something out of there one time. When you look, you find the source of the scent – a scarf.

Satoru had bought a matching version after seeing it on you; it was something he’d done before. Shown up with an identical article of clothing, crowing about it totally looked better on him. You couldn’t roll your eyes hard enough at him.

He must have dropped it and thought it was yours. You’d sworn your copy of this scarf was in this closet, but you can’t find it, so maybe you wore it and left it somewhere else and forgot. Or maybe he picked up your version –

No, wait, he wouldn’t have. Satoru was supposed to be mostly blind to his own scent but he could smell yours, at least a little.

And scent blindness didn’t apply to objects or people that were actually scented… or maybe they did? You’d have to check it out. Just more alpha things you didn’t understand.

Besides, you were being pretty careless with your laundry lately. There’s an extra sock that appears in your wash, making you think that maybe he really did just leave his scarf and yours is still lying around somewhere, but the sock is nowhere near his size.

Sometimes you think this new scent sensitivity is just driving you crazy.

There’s more, too. Like a pen of yours that suddenly reeks of him; you recall having seen him put it in his mouth when staying over for a study session, but you’d assumed it was his own back then.

He would still help himself to your things these days, boy-prince that he was - he just made sure to repay you later, always with something nicer than what he'd taken. And he never took anything important.

Saliva was so strongly scented that even Satoru would have had to smell it, and he just did that to your pen? Eugh!

And how he leans into you when you’re walking side by side sometimes. An arm over your shoulder.

Now, you realize that with the way he rests his stupid lanky ass body against you, your hair often gets tucked into his neck, right where his glands ooze his electric scent all over you.

But Satoru’s weird, he’s always been weird. Probably a bit possessive, too – you remembered him and Geto doing this crap in high school, it’s just that you’re only now noticing how obvious it is to anyone who can smell it.

Then, one day hanging out in his dorm, you start to smell something different on him. His sweet and sour smell practically burns in the air like ozone, overtaking your head from the first sniff just like a shock.

Satoru doesn’t even notice you being weird about it, either, he just gets all huffy and tells you to come sit next to him.

Wait. Is he… is Gojo…

You look at him, making a face you’ve seen about a million times before, eyes glancing away as if bored.

One breath in and your senses scream horny. Horny, horny boy, horny jail, Satoru might as well be blushing and grabbing his crotch from what your brain is suddenly screaming at you.

This isn’t the scent you’d smelled before, when he had – oh god WHY do you have to be thinking this – just finished jerking off.

What??? What is it?? What is going ON? He hadn’t been watching porn or something before you came in, right?

“Satoru?” You say his name and his head instantly turns to you, like he’s standing to attention.

Something more trickles into the air just for a moment, a happy burst of pheromones reminiscent of a tiny little firework.

…He didn’t just, like, cum or anything, right?

Your name interrupts your thoughts, “What is it?” Big blue eyes looking at you. Pretty as ever.

There’s an inexplicable fondness that rushes through you, a rush of comfort, and reassurance, like you can tell him anything and he’ll help you.

“Uh, just – are you studying for Calc II? I have a test coming up.” Satoru isn’t in Calc II, what were you talking about? Why did you even ask?

“Yeah, I took it, let me get you my notes from last semester!” He shoves the chair back quicker than you’d expect, a grin creeping up his face, “Say thank you senpai~” He says in sing-song as he waves a notebook at you.

You roll your eyes. “We’re both sophomores.”

“But you’re behind me in this class,” Always so smug, “Don’t worry~ You know I’ve always got you, hm?”

Something feels too warm inside you for him to smell this horny. And why is it getting to you like this? What’s getting to you? Is this some kind of alpha thing? Does he even know he’s doing this?

You almost open up your mouth to ask him, but think better of it.

It’s not something you’d get anyways. You’re a beta and all.

“Yeah. Thanks, Satoru.”

He actually leaves you to study in peace after that. He takes the bed, claiming he just needs to review some stuff, and lets you sit at his desk and write answers.

Every now and then, you find your voice asking for help out loud with uncharacteristic meekness. Like you’re afraid he’ll tease you more instead of helping (the teasing, you expect, but surely you know he’ll help you anyways).

But Satoru darts over with an equally uncharacteristic attentiveness, looking over your shoulder, explaining the problem right away from beginning to end, patiently covering each part and answering your questions.

His face feels so warm next to yours. You know his neck – his scent glands – are digging into your shoulder where he’s looming over you, arms reaching around your side to point at different parts of the problem. Satoru doesn’t realize you smell it, but like this, his scent is overwhelming.

It leaves you flushed, tugging at your collar and swallowing dryly.

“Oh, you thirsty? I was about to get snacks!” He chirps before practically prancing off.

Satoru sounds weirdly excited to do it. It isn’t that weird – he loves study treats, “A little reward for working so hard~” – but his scent exudes a weird eagerness, a satisfaction, like he’s doing a really good job at… something.

What is this? Some alpha thing? You use the opportunity you get when he prances off to fan yourself. Take a deep breath or two.

There’s nothing weird about this, Satoru is acting the way he’s always been acting. He doesn’t know you can tell, now.

No way are you letting go of this advantage, after all that time he must have lorded it over you. In high school his scent was probably even stronger, and he and Geto rubbed it ALL over you!

Something catches your eye, though, or rather your nose. It’s on the corner of his desk, at the very edge. It smells like Satoru everywhere in here (you’d begun to learn that teen alpha boys, much like regular teen boys, absolutely reeked) but this scarf doesn’t. In fact, you think you recognize it.

Picking it up, you can smell your own scent on it, just faintly. Betas don’t smell like much, but this was something you wore often, and you can catch the faint vanilla sugar aroma that’s supposed to be peaceful and calming, like betas apparently are.

This was it, the same scarf that had gone missing in your closet. This one being yours – it still had your scent on it, somehow, even with how much Satoru reeked – and the one in your closet, as you suspected, was his.

The little thief! What was he doing with your clothing? Did he lose his scarf and decide to nick yours?

But… how could he have lost it in your closet? You were pretty sure you’d left yours in your closet.

From what you know about Alphas, they’re not supposed to like foreign scents in their “dens”, even from a mild beta. It would be immediately obvious that this doesn’t belong.

Maybe, being blind to his own scent, he didn’t notice your smell, but if he’d used it, even for just a couple hours, your scent should be totally gone from it.

So why’s it just sitting here, away from his bed or anywhere else the scent of you on it might be disturbed?

Satoru must have swapped them out intentionally. Or – why would he? If he took yours and just didn’t wear it, then that would explain it, too, right? Maybe the one in your room was yours, and he’d just swapped them back after wearing it. But why? Satoru would probably borrow your toothbrush if it saved him a trip to the convenience store, he didn’t care.

Your mind spins and spins until Satoru comes back, a couple bags of convenience store treats and drinks in hand, grinning and preening so hard – “Aren’t I just the best partner? Study buddy? You’re wel~come~” – if he were a dog his tail would be wagging wildly behind him.

Whatever. You’re just going crazy. Betas aren’t even supposed to be able to tell any of this stuff. It’s weird, you wouldn’t get it.

But Satoru gets you – has your back, like he always does. You leave his company smiling, content, like you always have.

-

After you ace the test the next night, you run at him beaming with excitement. He catches you in his arms and spins you around and you smell a pure and genuine joy in his scent as he teases you.

“Of course you aced it! You doubted my teaching?!”

“Never, Satoru-sensei~”

“Hehe. What a promotion from being your senpai!”

“I never admitted that!”

(Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. And you’ll hand it over with a smile, too, because when have you ever been able to say no to that pretty face?)

Just – you’re friends. You celebrate each other’s accomplishments, nothing weird there.

-

You see your scarf again after a night of drinking.

It’s so stupid. Satoru knows he’s a huge lightweight. He turned twenty right before finals so he’s not technically underage, but still!

So why was he drinking? You’d heard there was some kind of big get-together (Nanami was there, after all), but Satoru wasn’t a social drinker or anything. It was some kind of celebration after finals being over or whatever. Still, the Satoru you knew never drank.

Then you get a text from him, begging you to pick him up from the bar. Why? You’re a college student, you don’t have a car! He can text you, but he can’t get a taxi? He can’t be that wasted.

And you know it’s from him because only Satoru would beg for help while also making it sound like it was an honor for you to help him. Ugh.

The worst part is, even when he’s tipsy and stumbling, he’s well over six damn feet tall and easily sends you stumbling whenever his steps waver. One arm wrapped around you like you’re some kind of living crutch.

“Awh~ Came to pick me up? You really do like me, huh?” He crows, like he hadn’t pleaded with you over text. He smells like fruity vodka and – someone else. Must be an alpha he hung out with at the party.

“Someone has to.” You grumble as you deposit him into the car seat, shoving at his shoulder when he doesn’t move over right away.

He pats on his lap, head tilted back, eyes dreamy and half-lidded as he giggles. Three times, before you scoff, slam the door, and go around the other side to sit next to him. Dumbass.

The ride to the dorm is less annoying than you thought it would be, mainly because Satoru… isn’t actually that drunk at all?

Just tipsy enough to tease you to sit on his lap, apparently.

“Come ooooon! We never cuddle anymore!”

“We haven’t cuddled since we were nine, and you said I had cooties.” It was pretty normal, of course, but it had hurt at the time.

“It’s been over ten years, won’t you forgive me?” He complains, “What, you don’t love me anymore?”

“I’d love to smack you,” You mutter to yourself.

Satoru must overhear you wrong, because he wiggles happily in his seat, reaching out to pull you against him. You let him sit like that for the ride as he rambles on about his night.

It’s cute. You’re a huge homebody – Satoru knows that – but it sounds like he had fun, connected with some old friends. Shoko, Nanami, and Haibara – names you haven’t heard in ages.

By the time you get to the dorms, you’re chatting animatedly about Nanami’s choice of major and whether or not it suited him (You really can’t believe he just went into Accounting like that. Why wouldn’t he go for Literature? He loved the book club you were both in! Satoru insists he was only doing it to get girls, though).

He starts clinging to you again in that weird way (he is totally not drunk enough to need it), where he rests some weight on you but not too much, at an awkward angle since he’s so stupidly tall.

It’s just enough for you to stagger with him to his dorm room, shoving the door open while he snickers at your fumbling – “Thanks for the help, Satoru.” “You’re welcome! Aren’t I just the best?” – like some prince on his throne.

You shove him in, utterly impatient, and groan when his hand finds your arm and pulls you in with him.

Satoru spins around once like the pretty princess he is, laughing to himself, smelling like ozone again as the arousal hits your senses. But he must not notice the surprise on your face, because he reaches out a hand towards you, beckoning while you back towards his bed.

Maybe he is more drunk than you thought, if he was this turned on –

Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait wait. WAIT!

Your mind is racing ahead, thoughts flooding your synapses, eyes wide as you inhale again and detect the same thing.

The scarf. It’s there, in the corner of your eye.

It doesn’t smell like you anymore. It’s crumpled up in a corner, unmistakably dirtied.

He jerked off on it. He totally fucking jerked off on it. The scarf is literally crusted with his cum. THE FUCK???

It wouldn’t have been weird, just gross, but this isn’t Satoru’s scarf and Satoru knew that. There was no way he’d missed that it smelled like you! It might have even smelled like you when he was jerking off into it!

Did he – why would he –

If he wanted it to smell like him, why jerk off on it? He could just wear the damn thing! Actually, he had one that already smelled like him! And he gave it to YOU! Why???

The uncomfortable feeling in your chest churns harder.

You’re insane. You must be going completely insane.

The sock. No fucking way. There’s no fucking WAY. That would be so gross. Your insides are churning, hot and roiling with something and you just. There’s no way.

That’s the only explanation, because when you open your mouth, you actually say.

“Gojo did you – did you steal my sock? And my scarf?” Your voice gets higher in pitch, “And then jerk off on them?”

You’re definitely going insane, because the Satoru giggles like a kid caught with his hands in the candy jar. Maybe he really did get totally fucking smashed at the get-together. Maybe he’s been getting smashed these whole past few fucking weeks!

“Haha, yeah! I’m in rut, you can’t blame me,” He whines like he totally expects to be excused of this one little slip-up, like jerking off into an article of clothing that smelled like you was just boys being boys or some crap from high school, “And – hey! Don’t call me Gojo!”

He’s – he’s in rut? Had that been why all this weird shit was happening to you? He was just doing some weird alpha crap, and it was getting to you because you could smell it?

A groan escapes you. “Satoru.” Why does he light up when you say his name like that? Why does your chest feel so fucking – “Go sober up and pass out. I’m going home.”

You need to get out of here, before this shit gets to you any more. Satoru doesn’t know he can affect you with this. It’s never affected you before.

Your face is hot. So, so hot.

“Don’t leave.” The words sound like a whimper, like a wail, so impossibly morose. He’s on his knees already in front of you, pawing at you with both hands, clinging. “Don’t leave. Stay with me.”

Crystal blue eyes gazing up at you, wide and tearful. Cheeks still flushed a little pink. Moonlight from the window filtering over his lovely features. Lust in the air, radiating off him, seeping into you with every breath.

He’s so pretty. Satoru’s always been the most beautiful person you know. He’s in rut, and he wants you to stay, and it shocks you how a thrill runs through you at the thought. Desire molten in your chest, dripping down to your core.

“You’re in rut, and you’re drunk – ”

“Even I’m not drunk off one strawberry daiquiri,” And though you’d like to deny it, if Satoru’s sober enough to snark at you, he’s probably not that drunk. Which means this is all his rut – “And god, I’ve wanted you so fucking long. Rut’s just made it worse.”

The words should feel like they’re shattering you. Like decades of friendship are teetering on the balance, on a tightrope over one stupid night of drinks.

Instead you just feel hotter than ever. Every breath tells you what it had been telling you from the beginning, what you were just too blind to see. Desire. Lust. Want.

“I thought we were just friends,” You say quietly, like it’s some confession.

He stands up so he can cup your face, tilt it so your gaze meets his. “It’s okay if you don’t – if you’re not – you know. If it’s too much right now. I was too pussy to say it for a long time, I just scented you, and hung out with you, and whatever else you’d let me, but…”

“How long? I know you didn’t like me in high school.”

“I fucking loved you in high school, I was just a huge dick. You know that.” Those pretty eyes look down, only for a moment, “Back then, I didn’t want to fuck you. Doesn’t mean I didn’t love you to death. Still do.”

“But you want to – ”

“Yeah, I super wanna fuck you now.” He looks back at you with that stupid pretty face and that stupid charming grin, way more cheerful than it has any business being, “But you know, you’ll always be my best friend, right? My number one. If I need to spend a hundred years convincing you that I’ll be the best boyfriend ever, that’s fine.”

A hundred years? You’d dare him to last a hundred seconds without whining for what he wants like the spoiled brat he is.

But his eyes are so bright, and you can smell how much he wants you. He wants you that much and he says this.

“I’ll be so good,” He purrs, arms wrapping around you and bringing you closer to him, “The best. I’m pretty, you know. And I’m rich. I’ll go out on dates with you all the time, my treat, and kiss you, and hold your hand, and you can wear my clothes, it’ll be so great – ”

Satoru starts stepping backwards, dragging you with him towards the bed as he moves.

You chuckle. “Thought about this a lot, have you?”

“Every minute of every day. Half of it I’ve been doing already.” He reaches the bed and turns you so your back is facing it. Pushes you gently to sit.

Satoru gets on his knees in front of you again, and your heart skips a beat. You’re starting to think it’s a good look on him. But his eyes are wicked, his grin feral, pheromones suffocating you in the next breath before he speaks.

“I know you want me too. Let me eat you out.” He’s already taking off his shirt, like he knows what it does to you when you see him shirtless.

Even in high school, that lean, swimmer’s body had left you flustered. Satoru’s always been like that, so effortlessly perfect looking, so unashamed at being seen. He grins at the feeling of your eyes on him, you think he’s even posing a little bit, the diva.

“Yeah, you like that? ‘Course you do. Best alpha around.” His gaze peeks up at you through lowered white lashes, “I’m something special, aren’t I? It’s all yours, baby. All for you.”

God, he’s so beautiful. You’re so weak for him. That hopeful smile makes your heart tremble. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, ethereal with his white hair and shimmering blue eyes and lean, muscled body, and it’s all for you, all yours, baby.

“Satoru…” For a moment, you truly can’t believe this is actually happening.

And then a large, warm hand finds its way into one of yours, threading between your fingers, an easy smile on his lips as he looks up at you. This is him, your best friend. Satoru. Your Satoru.

He nuzzles his head against your legs, digging underneath your pants with impatient fingers, “Say you want me, just say it. I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Why – why are you asking all the sudden?” Your will to resist him is dropping exponentially and you’re pretty sure he knows it. “Why now?”

“Why right now? I’ve been dying for you since my rut began, and finally got myself a dose of liquid courage.” He brings your hand up to his face, kissing over your knuckles. “But if you want to know why I want you… It just happened. Woke up one day wanting you and it never went away.”

“Wanting to fuck me, or wanting to date me?” You’d never thought Satoru would want you. It just seemed so impossible. “I’m a beta, it’s not like I can help your rut.”

Your hand is pressed against the front of his pants, unbearably hot, bulging outward. His fingers trapping your palm against it. It’s like you can feel him pulsing through the fabric. A knot big enough to break you.

There’s a part of you that’s thrilled at the idea, that makes you clench and think I could take it, makes you want to try and shove it inside, but you fantasized enough about Geto and his knot in high school to know. It would be sexy for about three seconds, and then it would just hurt.

Not the good kind of hurt. The kind of hurt that leaves you hyperventilating, snot and tears crying as you panic over the possibility of an embarrassing ER visit, wondering if you’ve actually ripped something down there, it hurts that much.

“It’s all for you, babe, whether or not you want it. It’ll always be for you.” Satoru purrs, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath on your face, “I’d take your hands over any omega’s pussy any day. Fuck, please, just spit on it, I could cum from that, you know?”

You giggle, bewildered and unreasonably turned on. “You sure you’re not still that stupid horny alpha boy from high school?”

Satoru leans forward so his chin rests on the edge of the bed, looking up at you from between your legs. You become explicitly aware of the wetness growing against your panties.

“Nope. Stupid horny high school me didn’t know shit. This is your modern Satoru Gojo, older and wiser and better than ever.” His eyes sparkle at you. Hand squeezing yours. “Let me? Please, please, let me?”

“Yeah,” the word leaves you like a sigh, from you and from Satoru, “You talk a big game, Satoru. Just try and make me cum.”

You don’t know why you make it out to be a challenge. It’s not easy to make you cum, but it’s not this impossible task either. He’s a clever boy, he can figure it out.

Step one he’s clearly got down perfectly, tugging your pants and panties down in a move so fast it tugs into your knees. You don’t have time to move for him before he lifts your legs for you, dragging your clothes entirely off in one swift, merciless movement.

Oh. You are wet. Your face heats up, and it doesn’t get better because then he grabs your thighs and tugs them apart, spreading you and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, where his face is.

“Okay baby,” He whispers against your cunt, breath hot against you, “One last time. Show me how you touch yourself, show me what you like.”

One last time?

God, you should have known this idiot would need pointers. Even if it was a perfectly reasonable ask.

“Sure, since you need it so much.” You mutter, mostly at the heat on your cheeks, the wiggling feeling in your chest at the way his eyes roam over you, following your hand down between your legs.

Something hot and slimy meets your fingers as soon as they get close, and you nearly yelp –

“Just helping,” Satoru’s got that awful self-satisfied look on his face, and he licks your fingers again, like he wants to suck on them, “Get you nice and wet, first, should never go in dry baby.”

At least he had that much sense. It’s hampered by the fact that he’s talking to you like he knows shit.

“Excuse me, this is still my pussy,” Covering your mortification at touching yourself to an audience with words, you dip your fingers into your entrance just to wet them up some more.

“Not for long,” He grumbles. What? “Just show me how you like it.”

“I’m trying!” You press against your clit from the side, rubbing against it indirectly, leaning into the sensation until you feel pleasure pooling from each press. “No thanks to… the peanut gallery over here.”

Satoru does shut up for a moment, and you try not to think about how it’s because he’s staring intently at your sex, like he’s about to take notes on it or some shit.

Fuck, fuck, he’s so stupidly pretty. You can feel yourself getting wetter at the thought of those beautiful eyes on you. Curse your terrible fucking taste.

You focus on the presses, speeding them up just enough to not be too much, increasing how far you press in, just a little more, moving your hips to nudge yourself into it –

“Okay, enough.” A larger hand snatches your wrist, pulling it away. Your huff is nothing short of indignant and half-disbelieving. But then again, what had you been expecting? “I got it. No more touching yourself.”

The way he says it, blue eyes darkening, sounds a little more serious than it should. Voice a little lower. Scent dusting the air with something powerful, authoritative, distinctly alpha.

He doesn’t mean…

The thought is interrupted by the sensation of his mouth, warm and wide and open against you, so sudden that you cry out with the heat of it. Wet and welcoming.

His hair threads through your hands. It’s soft, so soft. Like feather down, fluttering at your fingertips. In the pale light pouring through the dorm window it shines like starlight. Something heavenly and pure and right there for you to hold.

Even when your hands fist in it, Satoru just moans, rumbling against your cunt as he lapped against it, drawing you dangerously close to the edge.

Those lips, those pretty, pouty lips, pressing tight against your clit while his tongue works over you. Smooth muscle laving over slick flesh, slipping through your folds.

A naughty dip into your entrance that makes you squeak, just exploring. Tracing along the edge, darting in to sample.

When he pulls away, mouth sinfully wet and shiny with strings of arousal, Satoru meets your eyes directly, deliberately. You watch him raise his two index fingers to his lips, open that awful, sultry mouth, and stick them both in.

The way he does it, tongue hanging out and pooling saliva, then laving it over his fingers, you almost expect him to start moaning like a pornstar.

He’s too dumb to do that, though, and instead closes his mouth around his fingers, sucking on them, and pulling them out with an exaggerated pop!

Yeah, that’s your Satoru. Dumbass. You’re horny and amused, and a little bit mad at yourself for it, too.

He catches it when you roll your eyes at him, and sneaks his warm, wet fingertips right up into your entrance while he latches his mouth onto your clit.

The fingers slide in almost too easily, but his are long. It doesn’t take him long to start curling them, dragging them along your walls inside until that, combined with his suckling at your clit, has you whimpering breathlessly, grasping his hair for dear life – it only makes him moan more, and that only makes sparks of pleasure dance up your already tight, throbbing core.

And it’s annoying, so annoying and so hot and unbearably fucking sexy how he looks up at you right when you’re at the edge, like he knows.

Free hand tightening on your thigh like he’s got to keep you from running away from him, pressing his tongue into your clit.

Rubbing it tightly like he fucking knows exactly how hard it sends you spiraling, panting and wide-eyed as you stare down at the beautiful man eating you out like you’re his last meal ever.

You can barely breathe for the way it takes you, hard and fast, flooding you all at once. Blood soaring with every heartbeat, pressure unfurled into ecstatic currents that ripple out from your core, through your whole body.

Satoru suckles on your clit gently, somehow in perfect time with the waves of pleasure that rush over you, making each one crest just a little bit higher than it should.

He never takes his eyes away from yours. He stays like that, softening, letting up as your climax abates and your clit starts to tingle, oversensitive.

Of course, when he pulls away, he looks invariably pleased with himself. You’re not going to say this out loud (regrettably, it looks like he knows anyways, somehow, he just knows this shit about you) but he absolutely should be.

It was a rush that went through your whole body. You felt like you were flying, breezing freely through the air with Satoru keeping you light.

“What, you want a medal?” It doesn’t have much bite to it with your voice all low and breathy and sated. Satoru just grins.

You move to lay back, but Satoru catches you, straddling you on his knees so he’s not sitting on you, pulling you forward against him. The bulge at the front of his pants rubbing up against your abdomen.

“If you’re offering a reward for my skills, I know just the thing~” Satoru sings.

Utterly cheeky of him, to spring this on you while you’re still in the afterglow. “Satoru...”

"Can I put it in? Please please let me put it on, I promise I'll be so good – "

You smack him upside the head, even though his whimper makes you feel both guilty and horny. Extremely horny, actually. He looks really cute, pouting like that, lips pursed like you really hurt him oh so bad. Like a dog that’s been scolded for something it doesn’t understand.

And maybe he is, with the rut in his brain. Stupid and horny and helpless to refuse you because of it, filled with nothing but the need to please you – every thought flowing through your head starts trickling between your thighs.

"No fucking way Satoru, you know I'm not built for that."

Then he whines, wide eyes looking up at you pleadingly, and you actually feel yourself dripping, clenching, ready for him again when you just came moments ago. Cunt aching for the warmth of him.

God, leave it to Satoru to turn you on so much your dumb ass is willing to even entertain the idea of knot training. He’s in rut. You’re just horny and too dumb to have learned your lesson about pining for alphas in high school.

"Not this time. I need practice." You feel yourself flushing even though it's your own suggestion.

He grins, all teeth and hunger. Eyes bright with something that makes your heart flutter.

"Not this time,” he agrees, “I'll train you. Stretch you nice and slow. Over and over and over again until you can take it without hurting. I’ll train you until you are made for it, made for me, won’t put it in until you’re begging. My omega.”

When did you say he would be training you? And why do his words send liquid fire running through your core?

“Not an omega, Satoru.”

“You’ll be mine.” Triumph laces his voice, “I’ll treat you so nice, I’ll make you feel so good, you’ll never want any knot but mine.”

Now he’s just going full alpha brain, “I didn’t want any knots in the first place!”

“You’ll want mine.” He says it with an utter confidence only Satoru Gojo can possess, “You’ll love it. I’ll make you love it. I’ll be so good for you, I’ll be the best alpha, you’ll never have to make yourself cum again.”

And god, good god, how can he go from puppy dog eyes to proud alpha crowing in the blink of an eye? You just told him you didn’t want his knot! And you only half meant it! God!

“We’ll see about that,” Grumpy, flushed, that’s all you manage, and you’re not even that upset about it.

He rubs up against you like a cat, purring, “I’ll make it good for you, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

Then you should take care of him, this time.

“Go get your toy, Satoru.” You tell him like you’re telling a dog to go fetch.

And he does, all eager and grinning as he darts towards a shelf, tugging a toy out of the drawer. It’s literally huge, enough that you might not be able to encircle it with two hands.

“Not as good as you,” He whines as he grabs the lube. You roll your eyes because he’s had none of you yet, “Wouldn’t be as good as you, any of you. You’ll use it on me yourself, at least, right?”

“Yeah, I’m using it on you, dumbass,” You fix him with a look, and he holds your gaze with a pout, “And get used to the idea.” God, you’re flushed again, this is all just so… eugh. “…Cause… you know. We’ll have to go through a lot of knot toys with me, so…”

There’s a spring in his step all the sudden, thrilled at the thought. Brightening as soon as you say “Yeah” – God, was Satoru always this easy?

He lays the toy on your lap like he really is a dog going to fetch, the awful terrible idea you were thinking of comes into shape.

It’s so embarrassing, just the thought makes you feel so… presumptuous, like you’re assuming so much about something you barely understand.

But he wants you. He said he wants you. So you do it.

Flushed, reaching between your legs (the audacity of him to whine and try to tug your hand away), you gather up your own slick and cum and other fluids, cupping them in your fingers.

Satoru’s eyes dilate, face blank with his staggered breath, as he watches you smear it all over the toy, particularly at the entrance. You squirt in a portion of the lubricant, too, reaching in and spreading it with your other hand. This should feel gross. This is super gross.

You’re so fucking wet. You could put even more on it. But something tells you Satoru would prefer that elsewhere.

“Come on, then. You bragged about it so much.” You look at him, eyes half-lidded, lips curled upwards as you loom over the fleshlight. “Show me the goods, alpha.”

With a fast breath he nearly rips his pants and boxers off, cock springing free of its confines and – oh. Oh. Yeah, you were definitely not getting that inside you tonight, not in any universe. But the thought of it makes your thighs clench reflexively.

It’s a pretty cock, too. All red and flushed, dripping and swollen at the tip. Long, unreasonably so, even with the heavy knot at the base. And this is before it’s expanded.

No wonder the toy’s so big.

You scoot back on the bed, legs spread wide, and you pat between them. Satoru’s taller than you, bigger than you, and you quickly realize this isn’t going to work with you sitting behind him, even if he wriggles happily when his chest presses to your back.

(You file this information to use against him one day, though. Satoru would probably melt if you let him be the little spoon.)

Spinning, you move so that you’re straddling his lap. Satoru seamlessly scoots back, giving you enough space to rest yourself on his thighs and trap his cock between the two of you.

You look at his (unfairly pretty) face. Back down at his dick. At his face again, where he’s smiling an awful, conspiratory sort of smile. All but vibrating with excitement.

When you spit on his dick he moans like he nearly is going to cum, and your cunt clenches at the sound. He wasn’t joking, was he?

Your hand darts down between your legs, and Satoru’s eyes darken at the sight, growling. The same hand quickly wraps around his cock, slick with your arousal. Satoru gives a shuddering gasp at the sensation, hips jerking into it. Everything he does has you getting wetter, it’s effortless for him.

And he knows it, too, smells it, because even while he’s catching his breath he gives you that terrible charming smirk that has you burning in the pit of your stomach. So annoying. Your hand tightens and he makes the most pitiful whimper.

You’re hit with the sudden and very real desire to take a bite out of him.

Pretty boy. Pretty boy, all for you, naked and bare in front of you, aching and whining for you to do with him as you please. You think you even see him drooling a little.

You take his lips instead, face tilted upwards as you press your mouth into his, like you can drink him up if you stick your tongue far enough into his mouth.

He’s sweet, because of course he is. A little strawberry, the faintest touch of alcohol.

Your teeth close on his lips, tender, soft, yielding. It’s so easy just to clench down, hard, while your hand pumps his cock some more, and it throbs, violently, as the taste of blood fills your mouth. He moans into it, tongue sliding, dancing against yours like he wants to lick you up.

He’s panting, still, when you pull away. Lips red and swollen and bleeding.

Satoru grins at you, bent over, eyes glittering. Wiping blood from the corner of his lovely mouth.

 It’s not enough to bite him. You want to devour him whole. You want him to be yours. You want to see him cum.

“Say my name.”

You hear it.

You fit the toy on top of him, and his hands dart towards you, grasp you with deceptive firmness, like you’re all that can anchor him. His nostrils flare as he slides into the toy lubed up with your own fluids, taking in the scent of you.

He’s probably smelling how wet you are. You slam it down, all the way to the knot, to wipe that stupid smirk on his face.

It works. Now his eyes are wide with shock, mouth gaping open, a noise like a squeak emerging from him as he squeezes his eyes tight, hips squirming uselessly to fit more of himself in.

Delight, wicked and thrilling, lances through your chest at the sight of him. Face flushed, eyes squeezing as he fights to keep them from closing, lips in a wide “O” like some kind of pornstar. God, he’s just too fucking hot.

Without thinking you bring your other hand to his lips, and Satoru closes his mouth around your wet fingers and moans. His half-shut eyes flutter at you, like he’s trying to tease you. Tongue threading between your fingers, cheeks going hollow as he sucks them clean.

His hips thrust up, eager, and he whimpers again. “Say it again.”

Your name, again, warbled around the fingers in his mouth as you twist the toy around him. You press it against his knot just for a moment.

“This is for me, you said?” You pull your fingers away, pull the toy up, and he whines at the absence, like the drama king he is, “You’re hard just for me? A beta?”

When he opens that unthinkably sexy, sultry mouth of his, you slam it back down again. It hits his knot and you bear down, “Ah – hahhh – ahhh~”, and god, your heart is racing and he’s only halfway in.

“Fuck,” He sobs, “Fuck, yes, please – ”

It’s hard to pull it up after that, his knot swelling and throbbing and Satoru squirming like some kind of desperate whore. Clawing at your shoulders as you pull the toy up again.

He keens when your hands leave him, only to brighten visibly as you tug your shirt and bra off. Oh, he’s lost all coherence but he can still cheerfully ogle you, huh?

One of his hands reaches for your breast, mindlessly squeezing. It’s so large he can hold it in his entire hand, and you watch his eyes dilate as he tries to buck up for more stimulation.

You reach back, pumping him again, and you keep pressing it down against his knot, shoving it a little further each time. His words are senseless, mumbles and mutterings, and his eyes don’t leave your body for a moment, like he’s drinking you in.

When you reach the widest part of his knot he actively wails, seizing you at the waist and digging his nails into you, and it burns like hot lines of pleasure over your skin. He’s shuddering now, all lean muscle and powerful form turned to a shivering mess before you, for you.

“Just a little more,” You breathe, “Almost there, baby. You’re gorgeous, so fucking beautiful,” a heavy SHOVE and Satoru cries out as his knot finally slips in.

The breath he lets out is pure relief and yearning tied in one. It’s harder to push down now with him lodged in it. His hands loosen around you, gaze going unfocused, and he mumbles something you can’t quite make out. His hands paw at you, like a blind man groping in the dark.

He’s really, really pretty like this. Needy, teary-eyed, desperate like a dog.

While you work the toy in short strokes, your other hand reaches up to his well sculpted chest, to the supple flesh of his pecs where you dig your nails into, just to hear him whine. To watch a streak of red mark where you draw your nails across him.

When you scratch across his nipple he whimpers again, hips shuddering so much it’s hard to keep the toy on him. His face flushes even harder, eyes trembling, grasping at you with quivering hands.

His abs, perfect like the rest of him, tighten, clenching up. His thighs clench up, too, and you see him actually thrust up into the toy, eyes wild with need. Satoru finally gets a grip on you, and he leans in, too, shoving his face into your neck.

It takes you a moment, pumping to toy to make sure he doesn’t lose his peak, for you to realize he’s smelling you. Taking long, deep breaths of your scent, shuddering like a man who’s found his paradise.

You lean your head to the side, just a little, just to meet his eyes. He looks up at you, he smells you; enraptured, delighted, desperately aroused by the sight of him.

“Say my name,” You beg him, “Satoru, say my – ”

He cums with a cry of it, a wail, and you realize what he’d been mumbling before. Shaking in your arms.

There’s something feral in your chest, something about him in this state that drives you absolutely mad. You keep pumping the toy, even just a little bit, hard friction against his swollen knot, the cum that must be hot and packed against him now.

He wheezes, delirious, and you think for a moment he sounds like a dog toy. You think you want to make him your dog toy. Squeaking while you squeeze him, with your hands, your mouth, your cunt.

He’s too pretty like this, too perfect. All yours, he’d said, and now he’s crying on your shoulders, shuddering with the strength of his climax.

“My alpha,” You coo, breathless, “Only for me.”

Satoru nods dumbly, pretty lips wedged apart, eyes bleary. Pressing a kiss to your neck, licking mindlessly at it. His skin is hot, like all the rest of him, flushed from his release.

You want to give him more. You want to mess him up. You want to fuck him up, take a bite out of him for everyone so everyone sees a piece missing, a piece that belongs only to you. You want to see him cry.

So you pull away to get a better look, but he clings to you. When you push him it feels like trying to tear your own heart out, so you let him kiss and suck against you until he’s kissing up to your lips.

Pretty white lashes fluttering while he nips at your lips, gentle as a kitten with tearstained cheeks.

Then he pulls back on his own and grins at you, so cocky you forget he cried at all.

The toy can’t come off him, locked where it is until the knot goes down, but that doesn’t seem to stop him in the slightest.

“I can smell you,” He pants, “I can smell it. You’re ready for me? Got so turned on by fucking me with that toy, huh?”

There’s heat in his eyes, a wicked smile tracing at his lips, but you meet his gaze with your own fire. “So turned on. You looked so pathetic and pretty, whining and bucking into that toy like a desperate whore. If you’d moaned any sluttier, Satoru, I would have creamed my panties.”

His laugh is almost a howl, “Hahaha! Yeah! Just for you, baby.” He leans in to steal a kiss, “A slut for you. Let me show you just how slutty I can be, I can fuck you so so good baby.”

Your laugh is cut off by his fingers prodding at your mouth, “Spare some spit for your slut, yeah?”

The look you give him, like you’re telling him off while trying not to laugh, sends a shudder of emotion through him that you can’t identify.

You use the moment to open your mouth wide, letting your tongue loll out. Transfixed blue eyes follow your tongue dragging up his fingertips, how you drool on them, moving down and then drawing it up again to wet them.

Satoru makes a little noise and twitches and you know the toy has just milked another little squirt of cum out of him. Maybe knots are kinda cute.

And then he looks back into your eyes. Quick as a whip, closes his mouth around your fingertips, rolling his eyes back with an exaggerated moan, and he’s so fucking stupid and you’re so turned on you actually feel yourself throbbing. Your hands dart down to feel it.

Well, you’d known you were wet, but this was just embarrassing. Worse, since he could smell it.

 “I’ve got you. Let me have you, I’ve got you. Leave it to your alpha.”

“Really big words from a guy who was crying when I pumped him with a fleshlight.”

Satoru doesn’t balk, he only grins. With teeth. “You bet I did, baby. Fucked me so good,” he purrs, rubbing up against you again, moving you so you’re sitting on the bed once more, “And I got you all hot and bothered, didn’t I? So let me take care of that for you.”

God, he really knows no shame at all. No wonder he didn’t bother to smother his moans. He knew what they did to you. He always knew what he did to you.

Except, you suppose, with the pheromones that are telling you right now to lie down and let him eat you into oblivion.

Your fingers draw up to your clit, gently pulsing again at the hungry look he’s giving you.

He bats your hands away from your cunt, “I told you I’d take care of you. Spoil you so good. You’ll never touch what’s mine again.”

“What’s yours?”

“You are, baby, all of you. Shouldn’t touch my cunt unless I say you can, that’s my job. Don’t tell me you think I can’t make you feel good?” His eyes sparkle in challenge, teeth bared in a grin.

That’s like, an under-negotiated kink or something. He totally doesn’t own you. He definitely can’t tell you not to touch yourself.

God, it’s such a fucking turn on. Every word has your cunt throbbing harder. It’s probably just dirty talk. Right?

“What,” You drawl, but your breaths are getting shorter as his fingers find their way inside you again, “Can you take responsibility for that, huh, Satoru?”

“I’ve never wanted to take responsibility for anything more in my life.” His fingers delve deeper, thumb rubbing over your clit.

You choke out a laugh, legs quivering. “Not a high bar.”

“It’s okay,” He steals another kiss before he falls off the bed and onto his knees again for you, “I told you, I can do it. You don’t need to touch yourself ever again. I’ll do it all. You shouldn’t have to rely on anyone but your alpha.”

“Ah,” Fuck, you really can’t speak at all, but – but every word is turning you on more, pulsing, pulsing, blood flowing down to the throbbing mess between your legs, “Ah – f-fuck! You don’t mean that, Satoru.”

Another breath, and then you continue, “What, are you really going to drop everything just to – to get between my legs – whenever I want to cum?”

Satoru groans like a broken man. “Please.”

His thumb is replaced on your clit with his tongue, just the right heat and slickness you were craving. Every lap sends your tender nerve endings throbbing. Thighs shaking. Close now.

“If I – if I ever want to touch myself, I just call you, you’ll come racing? Make use of that pretty face – hng, whenever I want? If I ever want to shut you up, I just sneak my hands beneath my panties – ”

The sound that comes from him sounds like it could be a sob, his hands wrap around your legs, seizing them in place as he abandons everything that’s not sucking your soul out through your clit, and fuck, fuck, how is he so perfect at this –

It comes, knocking the breath out of you, leaving you gasping. The heavy tug between your legs finally overwhelming your senses until everything just feels so good.

You reach out, groping numbly until you feel his soft hair in your hands, no strength left to squeeze.

Heat rocks through you, racing up your spine, swelling and swelling until you’re just warm everywhere, limbs tingling with a pleasant, blissful sort of numbness.

A hand settles over yours, large, heavy, and unbearably tender.

Every breath is orgasmic on its own, air flowing through you, heat radiating outwards until you feel it dissipate away gently.

Satoru’s moved you, slid you to lay on the bed while he sits over you. You don’t know when he did that, didn’t feel it.

It doesn’t matter. His hand threads through yours, and you watch him raise it up to kiss it again, lashes fluttering, lips still wet with your cum. There’s this look on his face, reverent and desperate, like he still can’t believe he’s gotten this lucky.

Finally, you see the toy slipping off, and with it, a gush of cum, sticky and trailing from his wet, stinging cock. He hisses at the exposure to open air. You’d honestly just tell him to put it in you if you weren’t worried he’d knot you in his sleep.  

Satoru settles beside you, arms wrapped around your form, face buried in your neck.

“Love you.” You feel it more than you hear it, mouthed against your neck, “Love you so much.” A drop of wetness on your throat. “Love you, love you, love you… never leave me, please, never… love you so much.”

His fangs glance over your throat, where no mark they leave will ever stick.

Your heart spills out of your chest a little, through your mouth.

“I love you, Satoru,” You murmur, “I’m a beta, I can’t give you what an omega can, I…” Old wounds, all healed over and aching. “But I’ll give you what I can. If you want it.”

Arms squeezing you. His teeth turn into a kiss, up, up, up your jawline until he’s face to face with you.

“I want it,” He says, eyes shimmering as he leans in to claim your lips. “I’ll always want it. Always you.”

-

Hours ago

“So are you guy still friends?” Suguru asks, sipping his beer, “You were such a bitch about them in high school. I almost thought you wanted to date them, but with them being a beta and all…”

Satoru groans. “Don’t remind me. I mean, I get how I was in high school, but they liked you, didn’t they? So they’re definitely into alphas.”

“They were. Maybe we permanently turned them off,” he snickers, drawing another groan from Satoru, “What changed, anyways? Why do you want to get with them now?”

“I dunno, man.” Gojo sips at his drink. “It was like one day I was walking them to campus, and they were showing me this picture of a white cat with blue eyes. And they were smiling while they said It’s you, Satoru! and I was about to tell them to shut up but my chest just… exploded.”

“No way. That’s what got to you?” A smile plays on Suguru’s lips, “Do you still have the picture?”

 “Shut uuuup. Anyways, I thought about it later and I thought, I want to walk with them every morning for the rest of my life. I want to never go a day without talking to them, or hanging out with them. Want to crawl in their silly little beta brain and live there rent free for the rest of my days.”

Satoru never paid rent to live in anyone’s head, and he lived in everyone’s. ��Who’s to say you don’t already?”

“Not like I want to. I want them to think about me all the time, like I think about them. I want them to feel like they’ll die if they don’t see me every day."

His eyes shine with something dark and blue. "I want them to be all mine and no one else’s. I want them to think of me whenever they want something, come to me for everything.”

It’s as good as a love confession, coming from an alpha. Satoru doesn’t have to say it – Suguru knows what it means.

“So… have you told them?”

He startles when Satoru bangs his head on the table. “I wish! It’s like there’s nothing I can do to get them to look at me!”

"So... you haven't said anything, and you're just complaining that they aren't throwing themselves into your arms?"

"Exactly!" Satoru huffs, "I can tell I've gotten to them a little recently, too! We spend like, every waking moment together, and they let me. Why won't they just ask me out already? It's been months, I don't want to spend another rut alone!"

That actually is impressive, coming from Satoru. Back in high school, he would never spend his rut alone, until he and Suguru got close.

Suguru’s chuckle is nothing short of sinister, “God, you’re such a whiny bitch. Can’t believe you didn’t present as an omega.”

“Oh, fuck off.” He snarls, taking another swig of his fruity cocktail. Suguru wonders idly if he knows how much alcohol is in that.

“Sometimes I honestly thought you liked them back in high school, you were so damn clingy all the time. Total omega behavior. I would scent them for five seconds and you’d throw a total fit.”

The glare, the sudden sharp spike of angry alpha pheromones catches Suguru off guard. “You didn’t mean it, though! They had feelings for you and you knew it, and you didn’t like them back! You think I’m just gonna let you fuck around with my friend like that?”

“Hey, hey,” He shakes his head, like that can get the scent out of his nose. “I would’ve dated them, you know, treated them nice. They were cool, I would have given it a shot with them even if they were a beta. But they were so worried about your feelings, they couldn’t even confess.”

“Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve,” Satoru mumbles into his fruity drink, slumping forwards. “They would always side with you in arguments, too.”

“That was because you were an idiot. Godzilla couldn’t take on an Evangelion in a fight and you know it.”

“Dude, the cable! Literally all he’d have to do is cut the cable! I said this a million times! They were crushing on you, that’s why they said you were right.” His nose crinkles in that unbearably cute way. “The fuck was so great about you anyways? I’m way prettier.”

That makes Suguru laugh out loud. Satoru would know. “I honestly couldn’t tell you, Satoru. You’re pretty even when you sulk.”

“Shut up, asshole. You didn’t deserve them, anyways.”

“Yeah,” He sighs, “I guess I didn’t. You didn’t, either, in case you were wondering.”

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask.” Satoru sounds so pouty that he laughs again.

He gives Satoru’s shoulder a good-hearted slap, drawing out a growl from his friend. “We were a pair of fucking jerks back then, you know that. They should’ve ditched our dumb asses the week we presented.”

“You were a jerk. I never led them on, and it’s not like they noticed the scenting!”

“Heh. God, we got away with so much shit because they were a beta and didn’t know what was going on. Got into a pissing contest over a beta we didn’t even want to fuck.” Suguru sighs with a smile, leaning an arm on the bar. “I guess they were just that good of a friend, huh.”

Satoru bites his lip, resting his face on his crossed arms, laid over the table. “Yeah. The best. The one person I never wanted to lose, no matter what. I was so pissed off that you were stealing their attention when you didn’t even like them back.”

“Yeah. I know why you didn’t follow me when I left.”

Satoru snorts. “Don’t sound so morose. I was upfront with my plans from the beginning, you were the one who chose another path.”

“I thought we were friends, though?” A smile plays over Suguru’s lips. Nostalgic.

“So did they. You ditched them, too.” He glares at Suguru out of the corner of his eyes. “Sure, they were too cowardly to confess to you, but you could’ve said something. You never even told them you could smell it when you turned them on.”

“Ha! Neither did you.”

“Why the fuck would I? That shit pissed me off. You’re not that hot.”

Suguru grins at him, “I’m not? You know, I can smell it when you get hard, too – ”

“Oh, fuck off!”

“If it wasn’t for me, then it must have been for them.”

Surugu knows damn well how many times Satoru got a boner because of him. It gets Satoru all cute and irritable.

“Go fuck yourself, Suguru. You can change the subject all you want, but you still ditched both of us. You think I should’ve ditched them along with you?”

He looks down, at his almost-empty beer. “You think they wouldn’t have followed you, if you followed me?”

Neither of them says anything for a moment. Satoru takes one last drinkof his fruity cocktail. His cheeks are flushed a faint pink; painfully attractive, even now. Prettiest alpha he’d ever seen.

He can’t even deny you deserve an alpha like him.

Beautiful, confident, loyal Satoru, who adored Suguru all throughout high school, but wouldn’t leave you for him.

Satoru who cared way more about protecting your feelings than acting on his own. You who cared more about Satoru’s feelings than your crush.

That’s not the kind of friendship you can get just by being similar, by understanding each other. It’s something you raise by hand. Feed it, shelter it, tolerate it when it throws a fit. Learn with it, grow with it, care for it even when it’s shitty. There’s married couples who don’t try that hard.

If friendship is love, then you and Satoru had been in love for years, and Suguru was just the best friend.

“I texted them.” Satoru blurted out. “They’re picking me up tonight.”

“Oh?” Suguru gives him a sly glance. “You telling me after all these years, you’re finally going to shoot your damn shot?”

A scoff. “Nah. I mean – I told you. I really didn’t have that sort of feeling for them back then.”

“Oh, I know.” He rolls his eyes, “But I figured it was going to end like this when you didn’t follow me. If you weren’t willing to leave them for me, then who would you leave them for?”

“Cut the shit, Suguru. If you love someone you don’t make them choose. Whatever you felt for me, your plans for the future were more important than that.”

Suguru stares at his hands. “Why do you think I didn’t ask you?”

Satoru looks away.

They both know why he didn’t ask.

“Still… you’re not going to shoot your shot?”

The blush on Satoru’s cheeks seems a little redder.

His heart aches, because once upon a time, that look was for him. Little stolen moments in locker rooms or during movie nights. A ghost of a heart that was once his.

“I dunno, man. They’re a beta, and I think our bullshit from high school still has them kinda fucked up. Like, they probably think I’m only into omegas.”

Suguru snickers. “You gotta admit, it’s pretty fucking funny. You’ve crushed on everyone except omegas.”

“It’s not like that! You and them just happened to be an alpha and a beta!” Satoru’s words are impassioned – like they get when he’s tipsy, “I just – I just liked you. And now I just like them. Doesn’t matter what they are.”

Three years later, he finally has a confession. It’s a liked rather than like, but at least he’s got the words out of Satoru’s mouth.

You’ll get more than that, he knows. Satoru would move heaven and earth for you.

You’ll get a confession and more, a lot more than a few stolen kisses or heavy petting session here and there, as soon as Satoru’s finished being a huge pussy.

Suguru gets up, glancing at his friend slumped over the counter. Satoru is too busy groaning to see the wistful look on his face, but he does hear his parting words.

“Good luck, Satoru.”

-

You settle into his arms. Warm, fuzzy, sated. Satoru wraps his arms and legs around you like some kind of koala.

He nestles your head under his chin, pulling you tight against him so you can feel his purrs rumbling against you, light and soothing.

The air is full of contentment, the scent of an alpha pleased and purring, every breath warming you down to the bones – even if his body pressed against you does a good enough job of that.

“Mmm…” It’s hard to think, hard to form any words when all you want to do is relax into blissful slumber, “Satoru?”

Your answer is a squeeze, a moment of tightness that leaves you breathless, just for a little instant. No ability to move at all, and even less will to. You’d laugh, if you had the breath for it.

Instead, you hum, “You smell good.”

He purrs harder at that, happy pheromones, a compliment any alpha would be pleased with. Breathing deeply against you, like he wants to take you directly into his bloodstream.

And then, for a moment, he pauses.

“Oh… Hey,” Satoru asks lazily as he snuggles into you, “How did you know about the scarf and the sock?”

He’s going to remind you of how gross and needy he was while you’re all sticky and tired and stuck in bed with you? Typical Satoru.

“Mmmh.” It’s hard to talk, warm and cozy as you are, all nestled against him, “You reek. Probably because of your rut, too… could smell your cum a mile away.”

He hums in acceptance, and settles against you, ready to doze off.

For a moment, he’s silent, leaving the both of you to drift peacefully –

“EEEEHHH??”

[houseofhyde]

“aemond, i’m out shopping…”

pairing. modern!aegon targaryen x fem!reader synopsis. ...but you’re under aegon and he’s not stopping. ( read part one here ) warnings. modern au, best friend's brother!aegon, drummer!aegon, fuckbuddy!aegon, references to alcohol & drug usage, smut ( aegon is giving switch vibes ngl, f oral, fingering, m masturbation, pussy pronouns bc aegon straight up talks to it like it's a sentient being independent of the reader, exhibitionism, hair pulling, sweat kink?, spit as lubrication, cum tasting, one single slap, mentions of sex toys & tribute pictures, dubcon but only bc the reader protests even though she doesn't mean it ) word count. 5.2k hyde’s input. my modus operandi is making a silly smut fic ( that involves aegon or aemond fucking around with their brother's love interest ) and then ( quite some time later ) writing a part 2 that accidentally trips and falls into a whole load of plot that simply must be further explored, and then oh no! a series is born! the horrors! read on ao3.

Aegon Targaryen is no stranger to waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.

It’s an occurrence that’s marked his formative years, truly. Drinking hard, partying late. Crashing harder, waking later. Last night's clothes strewn across the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen floors, an arm gone numb with the weight of the head that rests upon it. Hair of black, blonde, brown, red, blue tangled on the pillow next to his own. He’s never been picky with who he takes to bed. A warm body is a warm body, and Aegon Targaryen is but a creature of cold blood searching for some reprieve.

This, however, is new to him.

Awakening to unfamiliar walls still dressed in last night’s clothes and laying completely alone. There’s a pounding in his head that beats at his skull, harder than his foot kicks a bass drum. The smell of cheap liquor sticks to his skin — vodka, or tequila, or rum; he can’t pinpoint which he drank more of. The spot next to him is empty, cold to the touch as a hand stretches across the mattress, searching for some sign of life.

Last night is a blur of nicotine in his lungs, glitter in his hair, and far too many broken drum sticks. He needs to stop snapping them over his knee at the end of every solo. The band had been playing at some new bar, that much he does remember. Then, their set finished, and the drinks began to flow, and more than once he was called into the bathroom for a sniff of snow.

When things can’t get worse, they often do.The scream of an alarm clock, somewhere to the left of him and completely out of arm’s reach. With a groan and a grimace, Aegon’s rolling over, tangling himself in floral sheets and, there he finds the damn noise-maker, sitting pretty on a nightstand, living in the space between a pile of well-read books and a scented candle burnt down three quarters of the jar it lives in. An ashtray filled with trinkets, and earrings, and necklaces, and a single cigarette butt, sits right next to a phone, a glass of water, and two unlabelled white pills, one simple note attached. 

Went 4 run. Don’t burn down apartment.

Aegon can’t even get offended by the comment. He once set Helaena’s carpet on fire, with nothing but a bottle of nail polish remover, a box of matches, and a whole lot of morbid curiosity. More than once, he’s left a pot on the stove and come back to find flames engulfing it. In a world of pyromaniacs, Aegon is a pyro-misfortunate, too typically present when things go up in flames — literally or figuratively.

Right now, the only fire is in his head, and the safety of water lies within a glass. His fingers scramble along the bedside table, grasping at straws to pick up the two pills. As one presses into the palm of his hand, the other slips off the edge. He tries to catch it as it falls. It has the opposite effect, the pill he’s captured slipping through the crack between his fingers and crashing against the floor, exploding in a powder of white. The other tablet is in no better state.

He could cry. He almost does, as he throws the upper half of his body off the bed, dangling down to scrape up the salvageable remnants of his pain relief.

“Every time I think you can’t get more pathetic, you prove me wrong.”

The voice of Aegon’s salvation.

You appear to him, an angel in the doorway. Upside down, clad in a sports bra, running shorts, and mismatching socks, your skin glistening with its own sweat, backlit by the unforgiving shine of an afternoon sun. And it’s all a hallucination, no doubt, because Aegon has not so much as heard from — never mind seen — you.

Not since that last Sunday you’d spent kneeling on his van floor.

He thought your words were nothing but a bluff. This can’t happen again. It was a bluff every other time, a silly thing to comfort the part of your conscience that feels it owes Aemond some kind of unwarranted loyalty, only to then forget about it the next time his text buzzes in, a misspelt nmeed you, or lemmesee you 2moro, or ur pxssy my mouth pls? lighting up the screen. Nearly a month since he watched you slip out his van door, it seems the only way to see you is in a come-down, hungover state of delirium.

But you’re moving towards him, and crouching down to grasp the tablets he’s left to perish, and sitting him up right, leaving his limp body to collapse back against the bed — your bed? A hand racks itself through his disjointed hair, a momentarily soothing touch, until it tightens into a fist and tugs at his roots, angling his head till his blues meet your eyes. A moan slips its way past Aegon’s lips, the delicious burn at his scalp waking his easily aroused mind.

“Look at you,” you practically spit your disgust at him, but the pity in your stare lessens the blows of your anger-laced voice. Your voice, oh how he’s missed it. “There’s a little more life in those eyes than last night, but, god, you look like shit.”

“Hmm, love it when you degrade me, baby,” he says, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips. “Gets me so hard.”

You recoil within an instant, hands off him like he’s a flaming ball of fire and you’re a barrel of oil, impending doom awaiting when both casualties collide. Aegon chases after you, however, and so you don’t make it far, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you down into the sheets with him.

Twisted limbs, wrinkled sheets. You weakly thrash against his hold, his arms tighten around you. Burrowing itself in the crevice where neck kisses shoulder, Aegon’s face seeks the refuge of darkness and burrows itself in the smell of skin, your skin.

“Ew, Aegon!” A cry from above, his warm tongue slivering out the cavern of his mouth and dragging itself along a patch of sweat stained skin. Salty, sweet, musky. Everything he likes, everything you. “Let me go, I’m all- You’re making me sweat all over my sheets!”

“Well, that’s no fun,” the pout practically drips off his voice, giving away his expression as if you can’t already feel it pressed right up against your neck. Mind of their own, his hips grind against the leg trapped between his, the swell of his waking cock slowly making itself known. “I’d rather make you sweat, without the s.”

“Weat,” the cooling damp of your skin soothes his burning headache, the perfect remedy to last night’s cocktail of bad choices. Undulating hips, setting an unsteady rhythm that nurtures the hardness between his thighs, feeds its growing hunger slowly. Too slowly. Too long since Aegon last felt you, since Aegon last felt anything. “You’re saying you want to make me weat.”

“Wet. Sweat without the s,” seizing the opportunity, he takes it upon himself to grab a hold of control, flipping you onto your back with a lack of elegance that can only be justified by his hungover state. With your earlier protests still echoing in his mind, you seem to have no issue spreading your legs and making a space for him between them, inviting the Targaryen boy to drape himself over you, face in neck, crotch against crotch, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. “Phonetically.”

“Wow, that’s a big word for you, Aegon!” Despite your grinning mouth and facetious words, deft fingers slip into the crack between your bodies and work at the buckle of his belt, worn leather leaving speckles of itself on your fingertips. “Did Aemond teach you it?”

“Ha, ha.” His hands pinch at your side, an unseen eye-roll at the mention of his younger brother. Perfect Aemond, always finding a way to make things about himself, even when he’s not in the room. The cut feels a little deeper when you’re involved, the only thing of Aemond’s that Aegon has ever dared try take for himself, a sick prize in the depths of his perverted mind. “Who needs big words when you have a big coc-”

The doorbell rings and interrupts him.

Both of you freeze, hands burrowed in hair and fingers tracing over flesh. Aegon’s quick to recover, dragging his attention back to the shape you make up beneath him, a sight that brings him physical ache. He lets his gaze wander over the length of your torso, over the slopes and curves and dips of your body, and hooks his thumbs under either side of your nylon shorts. 

“Ignore it,” he says, relishing in how easily the tenseness in you melts away as your eyes find his again, stiff muscles melting as easily as candle wax.

Layers of clothing shed away, his liquor-stained shirt now a pile of cotton by the door, your shorts tossed blindly over his shoulder. He sinks back down, your own limbs following suit, folding beneath his on-coming body. Mouths find one another, like a moth finds a flame, and refuse to part.

Aegon’s missed you. He won’t say it, but he feels it. In every brush of his tongue against your own, and every spine-tingling touch your hands drag over his naked back, and every breath he pulls in stained with the smell of your shampoo. It’s too overwhelming to think of, and so he forces himself to focus on a far more pressing matter: his fingers dipping beneath the waistline of your panties.

As thumb meets navel, a phone screen lights up on the bedside table.

He tries, so desperately, to chase your mouth as your head flees, and one less hand, five less fingers touch his skin, reaching out to grasp your buzzing phone, the name on the screen rousing contempt within him.

“Don’t answer,” he’s pleading, even as he watches your thumb swipe up on the green. “Please, don’t.”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own, you put the phone to your ear.

“Aemond,” a sucker punch to the gut, a name that reminds him of the pounding in his head. Aegon recoils from you, resting back on his haunches, the pathway to your thighs a trail laid out before him. “Hi, sorry.”

He wants to admit defeat. Crawl off your bed, scoop up his shirt, lace up his boots — wherever they are. Spare not even a fleeting glance as he takes his leave, let you stay focused on the brother that clearly owns more of your attention than him. And the worst thing is, Aegon cannot pretend this feeling is rational.

Aemond is your friend, your best friend. The one you call when you need saving, the one who pulls the weight of your textbooks out of your arms and into his own, the one who wins a smile out of you like it’s as easy as breathing air. Whereas Aegon can’t even claim he’s losing the race to his little brother, because he’s not even on the same track. 

Unfortunately, defeat just isn’t in his nature.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m,” his hand on your knee, you don’t even flinch. Still won’t even look at him. The hand smooths up your thigh, a light squeeze of flesh as it reaches halfway. “Not in. Aemond, I’m out shopping.”

He snorts back a laugh and, finally, your eyes are on him. Wide, panicked, and pleading for silence.

Aegon ignores it.

Fingers dance up the expanse of your thigh, a pleasant hum rumbling out his chest at the warmth of your skin. He can hear his brother on the other end of the line, unintelligible words blending with the familiar sound of his voice. He can almost picture Aemond, a wrinkle free shirt and tailored trousers, looking up at your building from the entrance, phone pressed to his ear and frown creasing his forehead. The image stays fresh in his mind as his fingers smooth over the soft skin that melts your thighs into the curve of your hips, and sneak their way under the elastic band of your panties.

He pulls at it and releases, watches the way it snaps back down onto your skin. A foot weakly kicks at his side, that stare of yours growing deadlier.

“Are you okay? What happened?” God, the way you want to comfort Aemond, it makes him sick. Or maybe that’s just his hangover. Yeah, that makes more sense.

All is forgotten, for a moment, as he traces over the slope of your mound, finger flexing to press against your clit, hidden out of sight beneath damp cotton. You try to play it cool, like his touch doesn’t faze you, but Aegon’s too quick to notice the hitch in your breath, the way you seem to take a moment too long to reply to his brother.

“Can’t you try to speak with your professor about it, Aim?”

The nickname you speak has Aegon laughing again, a facetious chuckle he presses into your knee, spine curved as he bends down to kiss it. Another kick, this one hits his ribs. Like a saddled horse, it spurs him on, tells him to move faster, touch you more.

It’s hard to pick which sight gets him harder: the peeling back of your panties to reveal the mouthwatering view of your cunt, shining with slick and inviting him to dive right in, or the way your faux composure crumbles, for an instance, back arching reflexively and teeth pressing down against the pillow of your bottom lip, your eyes glued right on his.

“That’s bullshit,” you seem to remember Aemond’s still there, ranting along his own woes in your ear. Again, Aegon wonders if he’s outside. “You’re literally the top student in your year. Hell, you’re probably one of the top students on our whole campus.”

Aegon can’t even disagree. Resident brainiac, the younger Targaryen has always been the overachieving student, winning every useless award and wearing every golden medal. And maybe, were you not two feet below him, dripping wet in nothing but a sports bra, he’d be interested in hearing where this conversation goes, find out what exactly his do-no-wrong brother has fucked up enough not even his flawless grades can save him. His finger is dipping into you before he can even let the thought repeat itself.

“My poor girl,” he mutters aloud, eyes glued on the pretty sight between your legs, hypnotised with how the digit disappears into your pussy, all the way in till knuckles kiss the pillowy soft lips. “So tight. Has mummy not been taking proper care of you, hm? Not letting someone stretch you out, fuck you real good like you deserve?”

“Would you shut up?” You hiss from the pillows, interrupting his reunion with his best friend. He curls his finger up, gently, pressing into the spongy wall of your cunt, just to delight in how easily the animosity flees your eyes as they roll back. Only to shoot wide open again, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. “Sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you! There’s- There was just some creep harassing me about the queue. Yes, I’m okay. No, you don’t have to come get me.”

“This is a private conversation,” Aegon’s free hand pinches the skin of your thigh, that devilish grin of his unwithering as he watches the subtle grind your hips give, fucking his finger deeper into the heat of your cunt. Even in anger, you want him. “Think I need to give her a present, something to keep her nice and stuffed,” he draws the word out, slipping a second finger into you.

You squirm away, for a moment, but his hand chases after you and you’re giving right in, at his mercy, one hand clutching the sheets, the other keeping the phone pressed tight against your ear. Two pumps of his fore and middle finger, until he lets them drift apart, a gentle stretch to your clenching walls.

“Or is my baby more of a Rose toy kind of girl, huh?” Whether on purpose or on instinct, words fall louder each time he opens his mouth. The very same mouth that’s leaning down to meet you in a gasp-worthy kiss, lips pressing sweetly against the throb of your clit, tongue coming out to play in a flurry of three kitten licks, all the while he works his wrist into a dull ache, each thrust forcing his fingers deeper than the last. “Something to soothe this little clit and something to fuck this tight pussy, is that what she needs?”

The hand on the mattress finds his hair, a harsh tug that has him parting with a few strands. He doesn’t care. In fact, he hopes the near-white locks get lost in your sheets if only to be found by a curious Aemond next time he can’t be bothered masking his way home and crashes at your place. What he wouldn't give to see the look on his brother’s face, holding up the hair to see it’s not even half the length of his well-groomed, pin-straight hair.

You’re talking again, doing your best to keep your voice neutral and your breathing even, hand still tangled in Aegon. He half expects you to pull again, kick him again. Tell him to focus on getting off of you, instead of getting you off. But you don’t do that. No, actually, you’re pulling him closer, keeping his mouth pressed to your soft skin, making sure his tongue continues to dance along the nerve-buzzing runway of your cunt, lapping up the taste of you till he’s sure it’s going to seep into his DNA, alter his genetic make-up so you’ll always be a part of him, even when you’re apart from him. 

The throb between his own legs is growing, pulsing your name in morse code. As much as he wants the sweet release of flipping you over, arching your back, and feeling your walls clench around the girth of his cock, he’s too attached to the taste of your skin, head burrowing itself deeper, nose smushed against your clit as the tip of his tongue knocks at your slit, soaked fingers spreading your lips open. His own desire will need to find a different method of salvation.

A free hand, switching between gripping at your waist and squeezing the meat of your thigh. It departs from your body with a muted hesitation, a momentary pause before it shrugs away his empty belt buckle and fishes out the lever to his zipper. A swift tug, his pants loosening their snug fit around his hips, leaving his fingers with the freedom to dip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and grasp at his aching cock.

“Mhmm,” you almost moan, disguising it as an agreement to whatever his brother is saying to you now. In turn, Aegon lets himself give into it, moaning loud enough for the two of you, letting the sound vibrate into your soaked cunt. “Sorry, repeat that, I- I can’t hear you.”

Shameless as he’s always been, he lets his cock spring free from the confines of the nylon material, standing to attention and slapping against his lower stomach, the tip already dribbling with pre-cum.

“See how much I’ve missed her, baby?” This time, he’s talking to you, lips in a wicked grin, shining with your own wetness. Brushing dry fingers over the mess he’s made between your thighs, a mix of spit and arousal, he relishes in watching how easily you get his fingers soaked. One curl of three fingers, pressing teasingly at that spot he knows too well, then he’s pulling away, extending his hand out towards you. “Spit. Now.”

Your eyes watch his, wide and impatient. The cool air must be soothing, he thinks, brushing against your now abandoned pussy, yet he doubts you find any solace in it. You’ve always been the kind who wants to melt, not freeze.

Phone angled away from you, Aemond’s voice still pouring out its speaker, you lean forward and let it drip: a string of spit.

Basking in the proper attention you’re finally giving him, Aegon wraps the newly soaked hand around his cock, letting the head of it slap back against his torso before he really puts the mixture of your fluids to use. Tight fisted, lips parted, he finds himself leaning back on his haunches, free hand splayed out behind him and holding the weight of himself as he puts on a show for you, stroking his cock. The bed beneath you both creaks as he lets himself fuck up slowly into his hand, a cacophony of pretty moans and desperate whines filling the space between you. Can Aemond hear? God, he hopes so. 

The sight of your own hand snaking its way down between your legs is enough to remind him of his mission, the whole reason he’s not given into his want, his need to bury his cock inside you.

You barely brush over your clit before he’s slapping your hand away with a tut, a non-verbal protest as his lips reunite with your cunt, the hand between his own legs beginning a new pace, stroking over his hardness in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue and the speed of his fingers pumping into you.

Hang up, he wants to demand, but he’s got a mouthful of you and he intends to savour it until the end.

“Aemond,” your teeth bite down on your lip in sync with how his own drag over your clit, a silent warning against saying his brother’s name again. Next time, I’ll bite harder, he’s promising, only partially wishing you’ll tempt fate. “Shit, sorry, I have to go, I’m- yeah, next in line.”

Not even a goodbye.

Your thumb presses messily at the red button, the caller ID fading off your screen as the phone fades away into obscurity, left to get lost in the sheets as you give him what he’s been missing all alone, the sweet melody of moan, after moan, after moan falling from your lips, fingers pulling once more at the tresses of his hair.

“Hmm, d’ya think he can hear us, baby?” A nano-second, lips parted from your skin, his eyes flickering to the open window. “Think he’s out there waiting on your doorstep like a loyal hound, while you’re letting me get a taste of heaven?”

You’re close. He can see it, feel it, taste it, each stroke of his tongue greeted with a fresh wave of your sweetness. Both of you are a mess of unintelligible noises, hips rising off the mattress, and thrusting into open palms, sullying yourselves in the paint of pleasure. 

He calls your name softly, whiplash against the intense feeling swelling within you.

“Let me see it,” he’s begging, no shame. Glassy eyed, hungover, pussy drunk, wishing you’d give him the one thing he’s been missing all these weeks without you. “Cum. Go on. Cum for me. Please.”

The chord of tension snaps and at last you’re an uncontrollable mess beneath him. Eyes rolling back, back arching up, thighs shaking with a force of nature, the prettiest cries of his name. He’s there with you, the whole time, tongue, and mouth, and hand coaxing you through the maze of lust that consumes you in your orgasm, guiding you safely to the end.

You don’t calm with ease, still trembling as he places one last chaste kiss against you before he lets his face rest on the warmth of your thigh, smearing the stains you’ve left upon him onto your own skin as he continues bucking into his hand, each thrust more desperate, erratic, pathetic than the last, chasing the fast-approaching end.

Until your hand tugs at his hair and he’s frozen beneath your gaze, mouth hanging open, chest heaving in shallow breaths, hips stuttering as he fails to fully control his urges, the tip of his cock blushing red with angry desire, desperate for release. He’s awaiting your dismissal of his own touch, waiting for you to replace it with yours, remind him of just how well you know his body. Your hand does meet his skin, but not how he expects.

You slap him.

A sting in his cheek in the wake of it, and a rush of blood to his groin, eyes rolling back for a split second. “Hmm, next time hit me harder. Promise I won’t break.”

“How could you do that?” You heave out, no doubt intending your voice to hold more power, but it’s weak, and breathy, and turning him on even more. “Aemond was- He could’ve- Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

“If it’s any consolation, you tried. Haven’t answered my texts in weeks,” he’s aware he sounds desperate. Because he is. Or is that just his hangover again? “Would think you’d died or something, if I didn’t have to hear your name come out of Aemond’s mouth everyday.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s the one in the wrong.”

A blanket of silence engulfs you both, heavy and uncomfortable over your sweaty bodies. His hand still sits tight around the base of his cock, begging for attention, but he can’t bring himself to move.

Not until he knows you’re okay.

“I’m sorry,” the shape of it is foreign on his tongue, scarcely said and never with a speck of honesty. “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. I just- I guess I just thought if you remembered how I could treat you… thought if I could just make you feel good, you’d-” He cuts himself off, words hardly making sense in his own head.

You heave a sigh, smooth your hand down the side of his face that still stings. “You don’t just make me feel good. You make me feel better than anyone else, and that’s the problem. First man to touch me, and now all the others can’t compare.”

Aegon is a fiend for praise, so used to words of disappointment and looks of disgust. But then one day, he dove between a woman’s thighs and heard her calls of pleasure, listened as she praised his efforts, revered his good job, delighted in his skills upon the mattress. It’s no wonder he began to find solace in the pleasures of the flesh, the first and only thing he’s done right in his life. 

“You let others touch you?” A silly thing to get hung up on, yet he can’t let it slip away. The hand around his cock skates forward, stroking slowly before smoothing over the sensitive tip with the palm of his hand.

You nod your head.

“Sometimes. Guys can get touchy at frat parties, but I’m sure you know all about that.” He doesn’t bother to negate it, he knows you know him too well. No doubt Aemond shared every anecdote of Aegon during his short-lived frat days. A hiss slips past his lips as he continues the slow caress of his aching length. You clear your throat. “Stop denying yourself. Just cum, it’s okay.”

Sometimes, he can follow orders.

Especially one like this, that leaves him reaching once more for the sweet relief of release, wave after wave of it rolling down his spine as his hand works himself to completion.

“Can I,” he stutters over a moan, cutting himself off and getting swept away in the rapid currents of reignited lust, each touch more frantic than the last.

You finish the thought for him. “Cum on me, Aegon.”

White, thick, hot. Rope after rope of his spoils spill down onto your naked skin, a painting so beautiful he almost wants to picture it and sell it on as modern art. It’s better than anything Aemond’s ever made with his easel and brush.

Time melts away into nothing, fading to obscurity as he floats on cloud nine, body weightless, mind rested. Tingles down his spine, up his thighs, on his face where you still touch him, thumb smoothing over his cheek.

A giggle pulls his mind back into his body.

“I told you this wouldn’t happen again, and now look at me!” Your tone is softer than earlier, even if your voice has regained its usual energy. “God, I just might be the biggest idiot.”

“Don’t say that. You’re smart,” you shoot a sceptical look his way, wanting to negate him, but he doubles down. “You are. Don’t forget I know your best friend, I hear all the shit you’re achieving on that campus. You’ve got me beat, at least. Couldn’t even make it past my first year before I dropped out.”

“I look like I belong at some conceptualist’s art exposition on tribute pictures.”

“I could give you a real tribute picture,” his eyes are glued to yours, even as he swipes a finger over his cum upon your lower belly and brings it up to his mouth, teasing his tongue with the salty taste. “Just need my phone camera, a nice big cheesy grin from you, and a printer.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I will.”

Throwing a leg off the bed, he tests his stability, hand reaching down to tuck his limp dick back into his trousers and zip the fly up halfway. Despite the dizziness that threatens to cloud his mind, he manages to get his second foot on the ground.

“I’ll leave you to your shower, sweaty,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way over to the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” He could almost coo at you, wide-eyed gaze, legs tangled in floral sheets. You’ve sat up, and don’t seem to care about the way his cum drips down you onto the bed. All you care about is him, even if it's just for a moment, and Aegon has to physically stop himself from stumbling back over and engulfing you with his body once more.

Instead, he leaves you with a shrug and a simple explanation, “you fed me, now let me feed you.”

By the time he’s got eggs cooking on the stove and bread warming in the toaster, the sound of running water fills your apartment. A familiar buzz rings out, leading Aegon over to where his phone lays, buried in the cracks between your couch cushions. The screen lights up.

One missed call - Mother. 

Unlocking at the sight of his face, he swipes up on the screen. It opens onto a chat log. Your chat log. His stomach drops as he scans over the messages, dreading what inebriated-Aegon had gone and texted.

Needyou - 04:47 am

Plase - 04:49 am

Thinik Imgonna K Hole in nnnnn bathroOm - 04:52 am

All three messages are in blue.

Beneath them, your reply lives in a muted grey bubble, yet it somehow has his eyes watering. Maybe he just needs to turn the screen brightness down.

Send me your address. I’ll be there ASAP - 04:53 am.

The pop of the toaster scares him out his own skin. He turns his head only to curse under his breath. Flames engulf the small frying pan, the food within charred black. He gives a gentle call of your name.

“I hope you like your eggs well-done.”

+extra hyde.

so, how are we feeling? do we want more of these two weirdos ( affectionate )?

i stopped doing taglists a while back bc i lowkey always forget about them but @481theralicat dmed me a while ago asking to be tagged if i ever wrote a second part to drummer!aegon and that message was partially what gave me the motivation to finish part 2, so i feel like the least i can do it tag them. i hope you enjoyed it & the wait was worth it <3

[dearfandomdiary]

Waiting on your husband

sherlock holmes x wife!reader

Wordcount: 617

Author's note: Well, my first sherlock imagine! It's short but i hope you enjoy! I have a second part in mind — regarding the morning after; what do y'all think? 👀🫰🏻

You have been waiting for Sherlock for a better part of 4 hours.

I will be home at 8 pm. Keep the dinner in the refrigerator, I will eat then. I promise, Y/N.

Those were his words. It was now almost 1 am. You were sitting in his armchair, a book in your hands. His scent was keeping you somewhat calm.

The moment he came home, you would tell him what you thought of such antics. Coming home later than promised, not even letting you know that it would be later than expected. You were worried sick. After all, you had agreed to many things. Be patient with him, not get involved in his cases — he simply wanted to protect you which you understood — but you never agreed to be lied to.

And then you heard it. Heavy steps, slurring of words. He was drunk.

Quickly, you stood and marched towards the entrance, opening the door. “Where have you been?!” you asked, your voice raised. Worry and something akin to anger coursed through your veins.

“Y/N!” he said, blue eyes wide as he stumbled towards you. He reeked of wine and cigar smoke which caused you to take a step back. “ ‘was busy on a case! Missed you!”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed him by his jacket lapels to bring him inside. “On a case? You are intoxicated, Sherlock.” you huffed.

He blinked once, twice, thrice. He let out a low hum, gathering his thoughts. “It was jus’ a … disagreement over wine. And whose wine it was.” A hiccup left his throat. “You know … after a glass of wine, I find it very hard to move my arms and legs.”

You scoffed. “A glass of wine?” you asked, clearly amused. But then you furrowed your brows. “How did you make it up the steps?"

He hummed again, his hands grabbing the edge of the table and your hip. “Dunno…walked. One should always walk after drinking. You should probably write that down.”

Sherlock swayed slightly and your hands tightened on his waist coat, keeping him steady. “Of course, darling.”

The touch to your hip made you shiver. Even the simplest touch calmed you, tamed your anger. You could be mad, uncontrollably angry but when Sherlock brushed his hand along your hip, brushed one of your y/h/c strands out of your face; it immediately calmed you down.

You made quick work of his jacket, brushing it down his arms and taking his scarf with him. As you hung both on the clothes rack he walked over to the chaise lounge. “Sherlock be care—” you began but he had already let himself fall on it. He let out a groan. You chuckled softly.

“Mhm…I love youu.” he said, shifting on the chaise lounge to get comfortable, beginning to fall asleep.

One of these days he is going to break his back, you thought as you grabbed the throw blanket from the armchair you had been sitting in.

“I love you too, Sherlock.” you said softly, tugging a curl behind his hair. Then you turned and took the candle to walk to your, normally shared, bedroom. There was no way you would be sleeping in the armchair or on the chaise lounge.

After all, you loved him. No matter what sort of idiotic and dangerous things he did, you’d love him and you knew he loved you. You had found your way into his heart after all but you wouldn't hurt your back or neck sleeping in old armchairs that were older than you.

In the morning, you two would talk and he would get a stern talking to. You were sure of that.

[berryz-writes]

Home

Lucien x reader

Summary: Lucien and you are finally living the dream. A new house and the love of your life with you, what else could you ask for?

note: First time writing for Lucien!! Aka @thelov3lybookworm husband ;) its also a teeny tiny fic/not as long because i genuinly dk whats going on with my life rn but i hope yall enjoy it <33

@lucienweekofficial(day 4)

The smell of paint wasn’t always my favourite. It had this weird tinge that I couldn’t get rid of no matter how many different scented candles I lit around the house. It felt as though the paint had crawled its way into my bed..... or maybe it was because my mate who had been painting the house was sleeping next to me.

One night he had been so tired Lucien simply rolled into bed, paint covered trousers still on and hugged me to his chest, ruining my nighties in the process. According to him my nighties now had a “splash of personality”. 

Safe to say they were in the bin and he had brought me three new pairs.

Tiptoeing into the living room I watched Lucien using a roller up and down the wall, the cream colour covering the once grey and dusty expanse. His back muscles were prominent, making me forget why I was even here as I simply watched him work.

He looked like he was enjoying the silence way too much, an idea to disturb him popping up immediately. Sneaking up on him from behind and dipping my finger in the paint can I painted a heart onto his muscled shoulder, the warmth of his skin making my fingers tingle.

I knew the second he felt my presence he could have turned around and stopped me but instead he let me finish my heart. The little things he did that made it feel like my heart was going to burst from the amount of love I had for him.

As I stepped back, admiring my work, Lucien's voice broke the comfortable silence. "Is this your new way of greeting me?" he murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting in that lopsided smile I knew so well. His eyes, golden flecks catching the light, held a glimmer of amusement, daring me to answer.

Instead, I dipped a finger back in the paint and touched it to his chest, leaving another little heart right above where his own beat steadily. He chuckled, and in one quick movement, his fingers found the paint can, swiping a cool, creamy streak along my nose before I could dodge.

"Oh, so that's how it's going to be, huh?" I grinned, grabbing a small brush from the tray nearby. The next few moments blurred into laughter and paint splatters, our voices filling the quiet room, as we playfully dodged each other's attacks.

Slowly the fighting came to a stop, of course after I got the last hit.

Before I could tell what was happening Lucien turned his face away, body angled away as his hand shot up to cover his eyes. My heart dropped in an instant, my smile faltering as I reached out instinctively. "Lucien? Are you alright?" I whispered, my voice laced with worry.

The playful tension melted into concern as I reached out, trying to pull his hand away. "Did the paint get in your eyes?"

He didn’t respond right away, his shoulders shaking slightly as he kept his face turned from me, his hand shielding his eyes. Panic rose within me, my heart pounding faster with each passing second.

“I’m sorry my love, here let me clean it. Don’t rub it, It’ll hurt even…” My words cut off as I gently turned his face to look at me and instead of paint on his face, there were tears running down his face. Heart breaking in two I cupped his face “What’s wrong?” whispering the words I brushed a thumb across his warm freckled cheek. 

His hands came to rest on my hips as he looked down at me with a small smile on his lips as the tears still came down. 

“Nothing”

“So why are you crying then?” Wiping away his tears I was confused as ever. Lucien wasn’t usually one to cry but when he did it broke my heart too.

“Because…” He took a deep breath as if trying to reign in his emotions and explain to me “Because everythings perfect. This- it’s all I've ever wanted. The love of my life with me, a place I can call home”

As Lucien took a breath, his voice barely a whisper, I felt an ache in my chest. His hands tightened on my hips, grounding himself in the moment, as if to reassure himself that this was all real—that I was here, that I was his, and that the life we were building together was more than just a fleeting dream.

"You've put so much into this place," I murmured, reaching up to run my fingers through his messy paint specked hair, still mussed from hours of painting and effort. "Every bit of it feels like you."

His lips tilted up at the ends as he looked down at me, his thumb gently tracing a small circle on my hip. "I wanted it to feel… right. Somewhere we can make memories."

I felt the weight of his words, each syllable filling the room with a profound vulnerability. He wasn’t just talking about paint and walls. This was a dream made tangible—a life he’d fought so hard to build. I remembered nights spent in my old apartment, fantasizing about places just like this.

"We will Lucien. I wouldn't want this with anyone else"

He looked down at me, his gaze warm and searching. His voice was a whisper as he admitted, "I never thought I’d fall in love again after...." It took him a moment as if pushing away the tide of emotions he was feeling "-after everything.... you are the light of my life, did you know?"

My heart swelled, and I couldn’t help but smile, cupping his face as I stood up on my tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “So are you"

P.s: dnnfdhbfhjbdfb uhm luciens a cutie also ignore any mistakes <3 or feel free to tell me

[httpscomexe]

Getaway

Day 8 of Kink-Tober - Face Sitting

Summary: You both have little surprises to show each other for your getaway weekend.

(Find What I'm currently writing by checking my pinned post)

Parings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Mention of marriage, mention of pregnancy, face sitting. (Lmk if I missed any)

Tags: @cellyx33 @shybluebirdninja

Word Count: 477 (Find my Kink-Tober list here)

P.S. If you would like to be added to the Kink-Tober tag list, just let me know.

It had been a long day for both of you.

You were working your ass off at a minimum wage job, and he was constantly out saving the world.

When he finally got a break. Which you were surprised considering he’s a hero. You both decided to make a trip down to your log cabin, expecting some time together, and a break from work for once. You both even left your phone, knowing you’d receive texts and calls.

“Are you excited to finally relax?” He asked you when you were both packing for the 4 day weekend, you were excited for the 5 hour drive. Something you shouldn’t be excited for, but Steve always found a way to make long rides fun.

“Oh yea, I’m super excited to sleep in and watch movies all day.” Your tone was sarcastic, but he knew you were only joking.

“Well I’m definitely excited. Can’t wait to give you your surprise.”

“My surprise?”

“Yea…” He has cupped your face and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I went down there the other day and set something up. I think you’ll love it.”

You did love it.

You’d walked inside, after he said it was ready. There were candles set up, rose petals on the floor, and a lingering scent of pumpkin spice along with your boyfriends cologne.

It smelt amazing, and it brought a smile to your face. He set it all up for you.

Then he proposed.

Of course, you said yes.

And now you were in bed, your hands laced in your fiancés hair as you sat on his face.

Normally it wouldn’t be seen so romantic.

To be sitting on his face while he eats you out.

But after being proposed to, it felt at least a little romantic. Even considering the moans and grunts that were filling the room as you pull his hair, letting him eat you out. He had asked you to sit on his face, and you were hesitant at first.

But he wasn’t having any of that.

He gripped your waist, and simply manhandled you ontop of him.

“Shut up and just fucking sit on my face…” He groaned as he pulled you on top of him. “Just wanna taste your sweet pussy…” Then he just started eating you out. He didn’t even care if he had drowned in you, lost the ability to breathe. He just wanted to taste you.

You rocked your hips, grinding against his face, and he loved it. His muffled moans vibrated right up your stomach until you came again. It was amazing.

Of course, you told him yes. And you were happy with your little surprise.

But you had an even bigger surprise.

You’d show him afterwards.

The little white stick in your pocket, in big bold words.

Pregnant.

He’s always wanted to be a daddy.

[dapplewood]

1. Applin Pie by Moss (@iamuniverseblog)

"A very simple applin pie with excess dough baked to look like leaves and a roped brim, baked to a golden hue."

2. Rhubarb Pie by @uprisist

"A pie is mysteriously left late at night... it's rhubarb, foreign in make, with honey adorning its sides. It's taller than one would expect for a pie, but it's not all rhubarb- it's layered like a cake, with the lower half a spongey texture reminiscent of marshmallow. It's delicately sweet, and smells extremely aromatic for a pie."

3. Blackberry Cobbler by Jay (@im-taako-you-know-from-tv)

"Anyone up for some blackberry cobbler?"

4. Shuppet Brownies by Cricket (@centipedefriends)

"Brownies with frosting decorated to look like shuppets on each individual brownie, with mini chocolate chips for eyes."

5. Banana Pumpkin Muffin by Shay (@leavesandbounds)

"Banana pumpkin muffins with a dyed cinnamon sugar glaze and edible flowers. Themed after autumn deerling and inspired by the kinds of muffins Shay's mom would bake back in faer hometown."

(This entry has a cute little story with it beneath the cut!)

6. Savory Chikorita Pie by Thistle (N/A)

"He has, of course, done unspeakable things to a chikorita to make this pie. It's a creamy cheesy roasted savory vegetable pie."

7. Cinnamon Spice Applin Cookies by Dustin (@sundecided)

"Dustin spent hours on these, but the icing is a little thick..."

8. Applin Cider Donuts by Lark (@janalowitz)

"Apple cider donuts dusted in cinnamon sugar and little applin themed mint sprigs."

9. Strawberry Spice Cake..? by Shiloh (@isa_ah)

"I forgot to let the cake cool before I tried to- it's not important."

Shay's story for baking faer muffins!:

Shay had never been a particularly strong baker. Fae could follow a recipe just fine, but if fae tried to experiment even a little? Well, gogoat would get a lot of extra treats, we can put it that way. So when he moved to Dapplewood and an annual fall baking competition was established, he was a little apprehensive about participating. In fact fae hadn't planned to at all until fae found faerself stuck in faer apartment for a few beautiful autumn days.

A window was open to let in the crisp air, but it did nothing to relieve Shay's stir-craziness as he tentatively tried once more to rest weight on his bad foot. Fae hadn't had a flare-up so severe in ages, not since leaving home. And with that single thought Shay was sent tumbling through old memories.

Memories of bundling up in blankets while tucked against faer father's side on the couch. Memories of autumn scented candles lit in the kitchen because the city air wasn't nearly as festive. Memories of warm muffins in his small hands, and a smile from his mother.

Shay took another breath of the fresh air coming through his open window, and he looked outside at the forest and the mountains separating him from where he came from.

Fae may just participate in the baking competition after all.

(via @leavesandbounds)

Interested in the Pumpkin Patch but unfamiliar with what's going on? Check out the tag [here] and play along!

[iamnmbr3]

23 and 48 for Drarry.

23. If they were a scented candle, what would they smell like?

Ron: chaos and a headache

Harry: i dunno

Draco: peppermint and woodsmoke

48. Scariest moment of their life

sadly they both have so many to choose from.

the one that draco would probably think of is when voldemort showed up at the manor right after harry and co had escaped, and draco was on the receiving end of his wrath, and really believed he was going to be tortured to death along with his family. but in a way the scariest moment was the few minutes earlier, when draco chose not to identify harry, but feared that he would. that's the moment he still has nightmares about - and in the nightmare he says "it's him" instead of "I can't be sure" and harry dies in front of him on his drawing room floor and then he wakes sweating and shaking with his heart pounding. Harry knows what dream it is. He comforts him and when Draco starts to shakily say "I could've--", Harry always cuts him off and reminds him "You didn't. In real life, when it happened, you didn't."

I think for Harry, even after everything he's been through, one of his most enduring and formative traumas was his experience in the graveyard in book 4. it's something he still returns to in nightmares. but something else he dreams about a lot - yet another way he parallels draco - is that duel in the bathroom in 6th year. and those times it's draco parroting harry's own comforting words of "you didn't" back to him.

Send me a character and a number.

[333creolelady]

Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch.4

Black Afab!OC x Roman Reigns (pirate au)

Banner by @joannasteez

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Murder, Violence, Gore, explicit language. Minors DNI.

Songs this chapter: love remembered, the hunt builds, I love you. And

Alternative playlist songs: Unthinkable, Slow Burn, Why knock for you, Paper thin.

Story playlist link here <-

Alternative playlist link <-

Next -> chapter 5

<- Back to Masterlist

All reblogs will receive a sneak peak to next weeks chapter

Jane

Calloused fingers rubbed circles into the tops of her soft hands. His scent filled the library and mixed with the smell of the old books she adored. A single candle light flickered and danced along the walls of the room. Ironically those flickers seemed to illustrate the butterflies in her stomach. Still, even in the poor light she could see every feature on his face.

Her head is swimming. They drank so much wine tonight but she didn’t regret her decision. This was their new routine. During the day she barely saw him and when she did they were only glimpses. She’d usually spend her day reading in her cabin or with Caden for a few minutes. However, she could surely hear Roman with all his yelling. He was always near… commanding something from his crew. When the night came she’d sneak off to the library for dinner. Most of the time she was the first to arrive but dinner would be waiting for her with two plates and a bottle of wine.

She’d smooth out her dress and place her hair just right over her shoulder. He’d come in, ducking just under the door frame and locking the door behind him. She’d stand to greet him and he’d rest his hat against his chest before sitting down. His voice was always raspy at the end of the day from all his yelling. It was gruff and gravely but when he’d greet her at the end of each day, he would try his best to smooth out his jagged edges. The last thing he wanted was any part of himself to be abrasive towards her and she was thankful for it.

They’d usually eat in silence and then save the wine for last. He’d pour her a cup and she’d take it gladly. Then after the first glass the conversation would start flowing. He’d ask her about her day and she’d ask him about his. She’d pull items from his clothes like feathered pins and swords and he’d tell her about how he obtained each one. She’d try on his hat and would proudly let her wear it for the duration of their evening. She’d ask him bolder questions like if he’s ever killed and how long it had last been since he’d fancied a lady. He answered each question honestly.

As the night grew darker their proximity became closer. His collar loosened and his jacket came off. She followed suit, kicking off her shoes and untying her hair. Then somehow they’d inch closer and closer to one another until the sides of their thighs were touching.

He’d find any excuse he could to touch her. Be it swiping an eyelash from her cheek or reaching across her for a book. Then one evening she looked down to see their pinkies were practically brushing against one another. She slid her hand into his palm and he sighed as if he’d been waiting for her to do it. They chuckled at the exchange and he held it tighter.

In early stages of their meetings he had requests. He wanted her to wear the dresses he bought her. She would oblige him. Little by little his requests got more specific. One particular evening he was so close she could smell his hair soap. He was in the middle of telling a silly story from his childhood. He stopped abruptly and that alerted her to look in his direction. He was already staring intently at her. Her hand rested in his and he wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her directly beside him, the side of their knees touched. He leaned into her ear, his mouth was so close she swore that for a moment they brushed against the fold of her flesh.

“ Tomorrow night I want to see you in the blue dress with the jewelry I bought for you. Do you think you can do that for me Dove ?”, he whispers quietly to her. He’s holding her wrist in the most domineering and dizzying fashion. She has to stop her eyes from rolling into the back of her head from the heat of his breath brushing against her neck. It takes her a moment to gather herself.

“ Y-yes…of course”, she gasps. She bites her lip to hide the whimper begging to bleed from her.

He pulled away and leaned back into his seat, sliding his hand back into her palm. She grabbed her wine glass and chugged the rest of what was in her cup before sitting back as well. A shaky breath left her lips. He went back to telling his story as if nothing happened. Her head swirled in desire.

That was two weeks ago and now he’s put in special requests every meeting. Something about it felt almost intimate and even slightly provocative. The crew knew where she was headed when they saw her leave her cabin every night. She started to wonder if that was the satisfaction Roman got from it.

She cherished these late nights with Roman. As timid as she was.. she could let loose. They spoke whatever came to mind and most times it was about nonsensical things. When the wine was right he’d bring out his clay pipe and fill it with tobacco. She didn’t mind the smoke or the smell. It relaxed her and the fog of the room seemed to sink into her skin and warm up her bones.

“ Can I try it?”, she asks. He raises a brow at her and huffs out a hefty chuckle. The smoke came out of his nose like a bull and she found that comical. He takes the pipe from between his lips and carefully places it into her mouth. “ Deep breaths. It’s going to feel warm inside and you may cough.”

She followed as instructed. The sensation felt a bit alarming at first but then it dissipated. She coughed maybe twice but went back for another hit which earned her another chuckle from Roman.

“ Do I look as mysterious and dangerous as you when I do it captain ?,” She teased blowing the smoke away from him.

“ Not in the slightest. It’s like seeing a kitten holding a pocket knife”, he chuckled taking the pipe from her and wrapping his lips around it despite it being in her mouth moments before. After a few puffs of smoke she swears she can see his tongue dart out quickly to lip his lips as if he was savoring the taste of her mouth on it. She looked away as a funny feeling manifested in her gut, causing flips and butterflies. She gained her might momentarily.

“ I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment. Either I’m very adorable or very weak in your eyes”, she laughed.

Romans smile drops a bit as he blows out another gust of smoke. “ Never weak….never”.

Jane smiles at that and pats his knee before leaning forward to refill her wine glass again. He fills it for her. She concluded that smoking wasn’t her fortay but she had no problem inhaling whatever seeped from his mouth. Deep in her mind she might have thought of it as a kiss. Inhaling his exhale….provocative.

It was getting hot but Jane didn’t want to leave. In fact, if she were to melt into the couch she was sitting on she’d probably let it happen.

“ You know it’s said that drinks such of these contain spirits. Spirits that take over your soul for a time when you ingest them.”

Jane took another swig before giggling. She plucked an ice cube from the icebox and sucked on it to cool her heated frame. The smoke was getting heavier by the minute and she could see it whirl around her skin and pass over the candle light. It seemed to almost becon her closer to him.“ Hm. Sounds believable to me. Consider me possessed by the spirit of libation and sloth”.

Roman grinned lazily and leaned back into his seat finishing his pipe before placing it down on the table. Even he was a bit light headed. “ Are you in need of an exorcism, M'lady?”

“ No. but I do suffer from hysteria from time to time.”

“ The treatment would be an orgasm not an exorcism but very close”, Roman snorted. Jane followed suit in a laugh that shot out in bursts. Her eyes lulled to the ceiling to look at the intricate carvings.

Before she knew it another piece of ice had found her lips but this time it lingered. Her eyes closed in relief.

“ You’re warm.”

“ Ay’ ay’ Captain”, she nearly slurred as the cube melted against her heated skin. She could hear a smile on his lips.

“ Ready for bed?” He asked as he slid the piece of ice down her jaw and onto her neck.

“ No I don’t believe so”, she stifled a moan but instead it just spilled out. She stirred as the cold smooth texture slid over to the side of her neck and then the front.

“ Ugh what is this …feeling in my head”, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead.

“ It’s called being drunk darling”, Roman chuckled bringing the piece back to her jaw.

“ Oh stop… you’ll drive me mad .” Jane sighed lazily, swatting at his hand. He took the now small cube and placed it in his mouth to melt. Jane watched his mouth through hooded eyes and she sat up straight once more seemingly sobering up.

“ Back to life ?” Roman asked handing her a cup of water instead. She took a sip then set it down on the coffee table.

“ Nearly ”, she grinned, reaching for a fresh berry to occupy her mouth.

“Since you’ll be staying with us do you think you’ll be ready to introduce yourself to the crew ? There is no rush but it might make your time here less rigid”.

Jane pauses. “ I suppose..”.

“ I want you to be comfortable here. I want you to be able to move around the ship with ease. You don’t need me or Caden around to do what you want to do. Once you meet some of my crew you’ll understand that you have nothing to be afraid of. Other pirates…not so much”, he chuckled.

Jane thought hard for a moment. Perhaps it really was time for her to warm up. Caden and Roman were the only two men on the ship who really knew her. She didn’t even talk to Earl much. If this would be her home for the time being then she should make it into one. She tilts her head in thought,“ Tomorrow at dinner then?”

Roman smiled, “tomorrow at dinner”, he confirmed witn a nod.

“ I have some conditions too”, said Jane lazily.

“ Let’s hear it”, he leans forward.

“ I want to help out. It hurts me seeing Caden take on so much on his own. I want to help him with some of his tasks. I can pick up some slack in the kitchen too. I want to be of use. Something to take my mind off of everything sometimes.”

Roman raised a brow, “ You are of use, you keep me company and you look beautiful while doing it”

“ You know what I meant Roman”, she groaned.

“ Caden is earning his keep. He’s also in training to become a pirate but first comes humility. It’s the natural order of this profession… if you can call it that.”

“ Please..”, a slight pout to her voice. She already won him over but she didn’t know that.

“ Alright fine… but it will not impede our evenings.”

“ No it won’t.”

“ And you will still take my requests?”

“ Yes.”

“ And if I buy you something you will not complain?”

“ I will not.”

He returns to his clay pipe. “ settled”, says Roman.

Jane huffs out a sigh of relief and sits back with him. She notices just how shiny his hair is, reaching just past his pectorals. She reached out to grab a strand of his tousled locks in between her fingers. She then took her hand and ran her fingers through his thick strands. He suddenly stiffened for a moment and she pulled her hand from him like his hair was made of fire.

“ I’m so sorry—I had too much wine. I don’t know why I did that, I know what it’s like to—”, she scolded herself, putting her hand against her forehead, noticing the heat in the room. She goes to stand but Roman takes her hand into his, pulling her back down softly. He continues to pull her closer once again, closing the space between them. The two stare at each other's mouths for what feels like eternity. She barely notices how their noses were nearly touching. Just the slightest nudge and she’d know what his mouth tasted like. Smoke and alcohol she bets. Somehow that entices her more. His finger draws lazy shapes against her wrist.

“ If I were to kiss you without your permission would it unravel everything I said on the dock ?” He whispers softly. His voice is strained like he was tugging against the confinement of his seat.

Jane audibly swallows, “not quite but I would be furious with you”, she whispers back in an equally starved tone.

“ Why do I not believe you Miss Ramlal ?”

Jane fails to answer but instead lets out a shaky trembling breath. Since when has this room gotten even smaller ?

“ I am a man of my word. Though I must warn you that my hair is a weakness of mine …”, the tip of Romans nose pressed against the side of her face. Jane’s eyes closed and so do her thighs.

“ It’s why I tie it up in battle. It’s the first thing people go for. Nevertheless, I’m not really used to people touching it. It’s very …sensitive…you see ?”, His nose trails towards her ear that was covered by her hair.

“ Now you know my weakness…”, his voice is strained and tight as he nudges his nose under her jaw. He pauses for a moment watching the way her chest heavily rises and falls from his proximity. He takes the hair covering her neck and lightly pushes it behind her shoulder exposing warm naked skin smelling of fresh vanilla. Jane stiffens knowing where he’s going but she doesn’t seem to want to protest. Then… the lightest touch of his mouth and nose grazes the hot flesh that connects her shoulder and neck.

A large whimper swallowed by a gasp slips from her mouth and she jumps causing her foot to kick the coffee table.“ And it seems I’ve found yours”, he chuckled into her skin. She pulls away cursing when she notices her wine dripping onto the floor. She jumps to soak it up with napkins.

“ No let me”, Roman pulls more napkins from the table and Jane stands behind him watching his back flex as he cleans up the mess. Her heart was still pounding and that pounding spread all over her entire body. She’d only felt this way a handful of times in the privacy of her bed. For a long while she didn’t even try to relieve herself because she shared a room with other people. Now that same feeling was sinking into her gut and swirling deep inside of a place she’d usually ignore.

“ I—It’s best I get to bed”, she muttered. Her high was blown and suddenly she was sober. What replaced her relaxation was jitter and something foreign…arousing.

He stood to his full height, “ Of course. It’s getting late anyway”. He grabs her hand and pressed his mouth to the back of it. He seems to come to his senses as she does, yet Jane notices that same hunger in his eyes. She looked away from the burn of his gaze leaving her body feeling singed and sensitive. She leaves with a quick bow scurrying back to her room.

Roman

There had been a major shift between Roman and Jane the moment she agreed to sail with him. Longing glances were shared and no longer avoided. When he looked her in the eye he said more than he’d ever express. The moment she uttered the word yes, he decided that she would be his somehow.

He paid off the remaining payments for the house and land; it could wait for his return. He refunded the livestock and tipped Alice for her troubles. She looked at the two knowingly—figuring that Roman wouldn’t have left her there with the way he gazed at her.

Then their nightly meetings started to happen and what could he call them? She was not his but yet they stood so close to a desire they both felt. He could lose himself in her eyes over candlelight dinner. When she spoke he lost track of time. And then the dresses—christ, the dresses. The ones where he could see every inch of her delicate neck. Every inch of her looked soft from her gaze, to her lips, to the skin behind her ear. He’d given up trying to hide the thoughts of his desire. What was this unspoken thing between them?

Roman woke with a slight headache after their dinner together last night. Liquid courage did him many favors with Jane. The scent of her bare skin put a spark in his step as he bathed off a sheen of sweat covering his body. The occasional night terror would grab him every now and then—usually about the moment he realized he was being stolen. Or perhaps it was the harshness of Katharina at the palace. His nightly routine with Jane usually eased the dreams. Not last night unfortunately.

He toweled off his wet hair and pulled it up and away from his face in a bun. Marching outside of his cabin he can see the sun is high and hot today. The wind is just right. “Give my order to hoist the sails”, Roman says to his Helmsman. He heads to the kitchen and there he sees his Jane in the same pirate wear she used to wear. She had a habit of trying to dull herself during the day, saving her beautiful clothes for their private evenings.

Caden is the first to notice him and pays him his respect. “ Morning captain”, the boy nods in acknowledgment working on a batch of eggs. The rest of the crew work quietly, nodding their respect to him. Roman returns the nods not really caring for the pleasantries as he watches Jane. She’s using a rolling pin against a thick wad of dough. She turns around and smiles softly at him. Her apron is covered in flour and so is her cute round button nose. He walks up to her and flicks it off softly. She touches it and wipes at it herself.

“ So I see you’ve already met the chefs. I presume you’re ready to meet the rest of the crew?”

Jane’s gaze flickered from the Roman to the dough in a flustered manner. “ Yes c—Roman. I’m making biscuits. I figured it would be a nice gesture since I’ve been avoiding them for so long. A way to break the ice.”

“ Oy’ Since when did SHE get to call you JUST Roman. You didn’t even allow me to call you that when I was like I don’t know…ELEVEN”, Caden teased the two of them while side eyeing the eggs to prevent their burning.

Roman chuckled, “Since I made the rules on this ship. Back to work ya’ scallywag”, he says with a head shake turning to Jane again. “Well you know the way to a man’s heart. I’m sure it will all be forgiven since I instructed them not to engage with you unless approached.”

Jane frowned, “Why?”

“ You were frightened enough as is. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

“ You are mos— “

“ Oh don’t say it. You’ll ruin my reputation”, Roman grimaces playfully. Jane giggled at that and returned to her biscuits.

He can see his two lead chefs eyeing him with intrigue. They’d never seen him this way before. Roman was good to his men but he wasn’t smiley—maybe with Caden who he cared deeply for. Outside of his close mentorship with Caden, they often got a quiet authoritative figure. Sometimes he was loud or grumpy but they weren’t terrified of him. He prided himself on being a Captain who weighed the opinions of others—it kept his crew loyal and saved his ass many times. As he heads into the dining hall the room is bustling with banter. A sense of order had to be restored lest Jane became overwhelmed.

“ Quiet”, Roman commands. The room quiets to a whisper. He stands at the front of the room eyeing each of his men.

“ Lady Jane is going to serve breakfast. May you present her with the same respect you give me . Introduce yourselves to her. She’s going to be joining us for the duration of our journey so consider her part of the crew. Be kind or walk the plank—no better yet. Disrespect her or become a maroon. Ay?”

“ Ay Cap’n” the crew said in unison.

Jane

Jane enters the room rolling a cart filled with plates loaded with scrapple, biscuits, pan fried potatoes and roasted tomatoes. The men carefully line up in a single file to receive breakfast. The first man to approach her is peculiar in demeanor.

“Hello M’lady—names Thomas”

“ Nice to meet you Thomas, I’m Jane. Would you like milk, orange juice or water ?”

“ You know people were convinced you were a S-siren?”

“ Pardon”, she raised a brow at him.

“ Oh yes. They said you were from the sea”. Thomas looks at Jane suspiciously. He has a very mousy look to him but he’s tall—at least 6’2. He’s only a few inches shorter than Roman who’s about 6ft5. He’s also pale with dark brown hair, big green eyes, a A long hooked nose, and dark circles. He looks as if he's been up for days. His clothes draped across his rail thin body like a clothing line. For a moment it worried Jane. She generously added more scrapple to his plate.

Jane smiled kindly at him hoping to ease his mind the best she could. “ I can assure you I’m no siren. Just ship wrecked. Besides there’s no such thing”, Jane chuckled, handing him his plate.

“ Oh trust me M’lady. They are very much real. They don’t need shiny long tails either. They shift their form. They could look just like you—pretty and normal. Human. Then they lure you to your icy watery grave”, he said with a warning. For a moment she questioned if he’d encountered one himself.

“ Well …I trust the captain will be able to navigate such a tragedy should it arise. Don’t stress yourself. Drink?”

“ Milk…M’lady”, his eyes nervously dart back to the food and Jane carefully places a glass in his hand. She takes her hand and places it on his shoulder reassuringly. He throws her a nod in departure and returns to his seat.

Another man approaches Jane, this one slightly shorter than Thomas. He has a swimmers build and he’s undoubtedly of South Asian descent. His hair is shoulder length with large puffy ringlets and he sports a full beard. There were many South Asian people in London, often herded in with the African and Caribbean people. If she had to guess, he probably worked for the British East India company at some point. East Asians were usually pitted against blacks by their superiors, which caused tensions between the groups at times. It was just another ploy to destroy any comradery amongst the disadvantaged. Jane relaxes when she sees him because he looks familiar. East Asians were no strangers to her homeland, often coming to work the sugar plantations in indentured servitude. A good amount of them had families with the locals. She could name a few cousins who looked like the man before her. If she thought about it too long it would make her miss her home.

“ London?”, He points to her.

She nods, “London”, she chuckles.

“ You had that look to ya.”

“ And that is ?”

“ Like it smells bad in here but you’ve smelt worse”, he smirks.

That earns a hardy chuckle from Jane because England was a smelly place. The very sound catches Roman’s attention at the end of the room. She has to cover her mouth to contain it.

He holds his hand out to shake hers. “ Adhar m’lady”.

She takes it willingly, “ Jane. Would you like milk, water or orange juice?”

“ Orange juice. And make it fast before the captain murders me. I’m already getting the death glare”, Adharjokes. Jane glanced over to the end of the room and sure enough Roman was STILL looking at the interaction. She would laugh at his expression if she didn’t think he was close to making Adhar walk the plank.

“ I’ll put in a good work for you. Here you go”, she handed him a tall glass of orange juice and he gratefully accepted his breakfast, turning away quickly to go sit down.

A man with a stocky build, eye patch, black hair, a bright blue eye, and a unibrow walked heavily up to the cart. He was around medium height.

“ William Wright at your service miss. If there’s anything I can do for you, just say the word?” He says in a heavy Russian accent.

“ Military ?” She asked.

“ Yes, what gave it away ?”, he smiled to reveal sharp white teeth. It almost looked like he had them filed on purpose.

“ The walk I suppose. Why did you leave ?”

“ I plucked out my generals eyeballs and fed them to him”, William picked up a tiny roasted tomato from the plate and plopped them in his mouth. She could hear the squelch as her eyes widened. He took the plate from her and picked up a glass of milk, walking away unaffected.

Next, a tall man with deep red hair, a round belly and a thick red mustache approached. He was had extremely larger muscles everywhere except his stomach.

“ Rory Hayes M’lady. Do you mind if I have a bit more scrapple and an extra biscuit…aaanddd another tomato? Actually, allow me miss”, he grabs the plate from her and doubles his portions. She notices a twinge of an Irish accent.

“ Jane. Take as much as you like”, she chuckled.

Rory bit into one of her biscuits and his eyes crossed as he sighed.

“ These biscuits— “

“ Go on ya’ Scrooge. We’re waiting ta’ eat!”, an old man snapped from behind him with no teeth.

“ Sorry sorry. Just making myself comfortable with the missus”, Rory sneaks another biscuit. Thankfully there’s plenty.

“ Misses ?”, Jane raised a brow.

“ Oh it’s just a joke. We call you the captain's wife—behind his back of course. He’s so busy drooling over ya’ he dun’t even realize what a lovesick puppy he is. Just light hearted fun.”

“ Juice water or milk ?” She smiled politely, stealing glances at Roman who hadn’t taken his eyes off her since Adhar.

Rory chuckled “Just water, I’m watching me figure”, he hisses out a raspy, smoky, larger than life laugh that causes him to turn red. It tickles Jane too as she laughs with him.

After serving breakfast she helped Caleb wash dishes and clean the kitchen. After their chores, her and the other chefs ate breakfast in the mess hall before ultimately having to clean that too.

“ Taking a 30 minute break Caleb. I’ll be in the— “

“ Miss Ramlal. Come with me ?” Roman appeared behind her. She threw a towel over her shoulder. She was covered in a light sheen of sweat.

“ Of course”, she smiled tiredly at him and followed him to his office.

She sits across from him at his desk. Since their nightly meetups, he’s been far more relaxed in her presence. Now that there’s been an obvious and reciprocated attraction, things were less tense.

“ So, who do I make walk the plank ?”

“ Everybody was perfectly fine”, she chuckled.

“ Adhar?”

“ He made me laugh. Another man isn’t allowed to tell me a joke now?”, she teased.

“ My answer would not please you so I’ll go with the more appropriate answer. I’ll maroon him instead”

“ Oh stop!”

“ He’s a ladies man”, he warned

“He’s from London like me. He cracked a joke. It was fine. Made me a little more comfortable. I’m not particularly fond of being surrounded by men. It’s very…unnerving sometimes.”

“ I’m sorry…”

“ It’s not your fault. I’m alive because of you. I can get over this. I just need time”, Jane nervously rubbed the back of her hand. Something he noticed she did when she was nervous. He at her hands and walks over to her, kneeling in front while her taking her hand into his own.

“ If I achieve nothing else I will protect you to the best of my abilities. You know this.”

She nodded quietly and smiled tightly at him. His hand rubbed the side of her cheek.

“ This is okay?”

“ Yes but just with you," she whispered quietly.

“ Just with me?,” he whispered back intimately. Something in his tone turned mushy and fragile. It struck something deep inside of her causing her stomach to flutter again.

“ Yes…. I don’t usually like being touched.”

Roman chuckles quietly,“ So I have tamed you in this way?”

Jane playfully rolled her eyes and kicked his leg lightly. He wheezed out a hearty chuckle.

“ Thankfully your crew did their best to make me feel at ease. Especially Rory. He’s…warm. That’s the best way I could describe him. Good energy about him.”

“ Oh yeah he’s a bit of a jester. Good man. He’s so nice you wouldn’t think that he’s an ogre in battle. I’ve seen him bite someone tongue out in interrogation. Not pretty.”

Jane blinked in shock. Another sobering reminder that every man on this ship could be dangerous if pushed to be. She swallowed down the doubt and moved on.

“ William is uh….”,Jane raised a brow not knowing how to describe him.

“ Intense…and a war criminal ”, Said Roman.

“ ….War….criminal ?”, she gulps.

“ Oh yes. He’s been my guard before. My assassin in a way. And an incredible painter, strangely enough.”

“ How charming”, Jane squinted sarcastically. That earned a laugh from Roman.

“ I don’t want you working past—

“ Roman…”

“Jaaaneee”, he mimicked.

“This is far better than my work back in London. Just let me have something to take my mind off of— “

“ What's bothering you?”

“ N-nothing.”

“ Tell me what’s wrong I’ll fix it.”

“ Everything is fineeee Roman. I’m okay. My life back in London and on that ship wasn’t pretty. It’s good to have a task to think about during the day. And by the time night time comes you inebriate me so badly I have no time to think about anything”, she joked. He grinned but the smile dropped quickly.

“ You know you can tell me more about yourself…you can talk to me. I’m amazing at keeping secrets.”

“ Oh… you look it ”, she teased.

Romans grinned at her playfulness. He leaned in, grabbing her head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It stuns her but he does it like he’s done it a million times. There’s a strange intimacy between the two of them despite them only being friends. His undying need to take care of her puzzles her. Why does he feel so responsible for her if he has not claimed her ? He’s shown the effort of the husband yet had only known her for about a month.

Roman straightens his clothes and returns to his standing position. He holds out his hand to her and she takes it. He walks her to the door and they return to the positions they performed in front of the crew. Friendly but cordial…formal. Professional in a way.

She walks back to Caleb flustered.

“ Everything alright ?”

“ Of course. Let’s get the clothes hung up”, she smiles.

Weeks passed and Jane did not heed Roman’s warning. She wasn’t interested in Adhar romantically. Adhar’s flirting was actually just him being nice and light hearted. His goofiness helped with her dark thoughts at times which is why she liked being around him.

Adhar had offered to help her dry off the drinking glasses she’d just washed. The two of them talked about the weather and their plans for the week. It was just meaningless small talk. However, more interactions with the men on the ship bought fearful memories. The ship taking her to Jamestown was hell on earth. She’d barely slept in fear of someone attacking her in the night. The thought sobered her up and a silence fell between the two. Any of them could easily hurt her. Every man on this ship had the power to tear her apart if they wanted to. Adhar included. The thought left a shiver down her spine.

“ You alright ?,” Adhar pressed a hand to her back and she jumped back, bumping against the wooden interior of the ship. His breath hitched in confusion.

“ S-sorry. I’ve always been quick to startle. I wanted to ask you something.”

“ Sure, what is it ?”

“Do you know how to fight?”

“….fight…? I mean when needed. I’ve been told I pack a mean punch in bar fights.”

“ no…I mean. Can you fight with a sword ?”

“ Of course M’lady. Every man on this ship learns how to wield a sword. It’s what’s kept us the second largest vessel on this side of the ocean.”

“ Could you teach me…? I could pay in extra food. I’m in the kitchen at all times. I could make you whatever you like in exchange for your services.”

Adhar looked at her strangely.

“ You… don’t have to pay me in anything Jane ..” he looked at her puzzled.

“ Are you sure ?”

“ Why do you want to fight ? We can protect you. Roman especially. A lady isn’t meant to— “

“ Be honest you— know the city we left behind sees me as no lady. Closer to an animal with manners maybe. Ladies are protected and I was not ”, she snapped bitterly. Adhar's eyes softened at her words and she flinched from her own tone. Guilt washed over her. Adhar was becoming her friend. He didn’t deserve the nastiness she spewed.

“ I’m so—“

“ No….no you’re right. I can only imagine. Europe was never kind to me either. But you’re protected here. I’ve never seen Roman care so deeply about a lady before. He’ll always find a way to ensure you’re victory. Not saying the man isn’t a brute like the lot of us ….but he’s more calculated than he seems. He provides for all of us. You included.”

“ I understand that. I appreciate it but I need to know how to fight. How to defend myself should the worst happen. I can just tell from the look in his eyes he would never put a sword in my hand. He thinks I’m wounded—that I’m not like Alice.”

“ He just cares more.”

“ Then he can tell me that. Please do this for me Adhar.. I don’t want to be helpless if I’m captured again.”

“ Ok. We start next week then. I’ve got cannon cleaning duty and we dock in two days. Then I’m all yours.” he promised.

“ Thankyou Adhar. You don’t know how much this means to me. Thankyou”, she smiled. He smiled back and in that moment she saw glimpses of her distant relatives in his face.

“ You remind me a lot of my cousin's wife Aditi. You have her mannerisms'', his head tilted at her in thought.

“ And you of my second cousin raaj”, she smiled faintly.

Later on after dinner she prepared for another night with Roman. Tonight she wore a dark green dress with a matching emerald necklace. She didn’t do much with her hair, deciding it best to let it flow freely. During one of their docking trips she found a small canister of lip rouge. It was a sheer light red and matched her skin fairly well. She decided to put it on her lips, at the tip of her nose and her nipples to enhance the appearance. This was common for the women in Europe to do which was passed down by the French. She heard her roommate talk about it many times. She didn’t know why she did it. She didn’t plan on anything happening this evening but somewhere far in her mind she acknowledged the idea. Perhaps a rush of desire would rush through them both and she’d decide she had to have him. Perhaps she’d let him see her naked just to see his reaction. Heat swelled in her core, something so foreign and forgotten to her. It had been so long since she enjoyed the thought of another man but then a tug of fear, pain and dread shot through her from distant memories. It was just a silly thought… she knew her limits. Still it was nice to want someone and to be clearly wanted by another. It was a simple pleasure she’d never known before Roman.

She slowly made her way up to the library in an attempt to calm her heart. He was there before her which surprised her and dinner was already served. He stood briefly, pulling her by her hand and guiding her inside. His eyes darken when he gazed upon her neck.

“ You look absolutely stunning”, he’s so close she can feel the heat radiating from his shirt.

“ Well you have good taste. Greens my favorite color how did you know?”, her voice was slightly breathier and silkier than normal. She barely recognized the voice that came out of her mouth. She cautiously took his hand and slid her palm up to his bicep, squeezing it. She inched closer. She wanted him to kiss her but she had no idea on how to initiate. If she stared at him long enough would he just do it ? Everytime he tried she would find some way to avoid it or her nerves would get to her.

“Please do it now…I’m finally ready” she thought to herself.

Romans eyes trailed down to her lips and he slowly closed what was left of the space between them until he was pressed up against her. He bent down by her ear

Asking her once more, “If I kissed you right now would it unravel everything I said on the dock”. He always had creative ways to ask her permission. She adored it.

“ Try it and find out sir ”, she whispered back. Roman eyes darkened as he leaned forward and she closed her eyes in acceptance, awaiting his mouth. Just when she felt the brush of his soft lips a scrambling clatter rocked the library. Jane screamed at the top of her lungs diving for the floor. Roman blanketed her with his body, keeping her pinned to the floor.

“ FUCK!” He roared as another harsh clatter rocked the ship.

Jane was trembling with fear. A moment of silence passed and they both could hear screaming on the ship, men shouting orders to each other followed by loud stomps.

“ Captain!!!”

“where’s the bloody Captain?!”

“Roman?!”

She slowly lifted her head to Roman. Her lip trembled as she held in a cry, “ Are-are we being atta—

“ A large cannon ball shoots through the small reading room just over their heads. Jane’s scream as Roman covers her from the falling debris. The library was obliterated.

“ Up “ Roman hauled her on her feet with a hurried tone. Jane looked around at all the splintered wood, feathers and glass littering the room. Their sanctuary. The place they claimed as their own was gone. The wooden panels of the room barely stood. There was a giant hole in the wall she had previously stood behind. In that hole she could see the ship that had snuck up on them in the dead of night. Somehow undetected. There were men screaming at the pair of them from the ginormous vessel This had to have been one of the largest ship’s she’d ever seen in her life. The only thing that came close were military vessels which she saw around the ports in London.

“ Jane listen to me…”, Roman whispered to her. The cannon was being reloaded. She could hear it click and rattle into place.

“ When I say go… I want you to run as fast as you can and go hide in the bottom deck. Hide in one of the closets and don’t come out until I come to get you. Do you understand?”

Jane was trembling. Her ears were ringing. Something in her told her if he left her sight she’d never see him again. That she’d never know what this could have been. That couldn't happen. She shook her head,“ I don’t want to leave you here.”

“ LISTEN to me Jane. If they board this ship they will come for you. You need to hide. You can’t be near me. They’ll use you as leverage. On my mark you dart downstairs do you hear me”, Roman’s eyes searched hers in desperation.

Jane nodded through tears. In the distance she heard howling and hooting from the enemy vessel.

“ We’re coming to get you pretty!”

“I’d have a fun time with that one.”

“Death to the black jewel !!”

Jane shivered, turning to face him. Her eyes were stained with tears as she clutched his collar for dear life. Roman pressed a kiss to her head looking past her periodically.

“ I’m not going to let them take you away ok?”

“ Okay”, she cried.

“ Go. Go now Jane”, Roman whispered as he watched her sprint from what was left of the room and into the darkness of the lower deck.

“CRACK ON!! Give wide berth!!”

A black flag with a skull and crossed bones waved in the air in the distance as the oppposing vessel readied their cannons.

“Ready the cannons now!!”

Jane pushed past rushing bodies in the dark. She shouted for Caleb but he was nowhere to be found. She continued to claw her way through the dark. Flesh scraped past her own, some muddled with sweat, blood, or water. She cracked onwards, traveling as low as she possibly could. She reached the final level, Artillery. No wonder he told her to go here, if they came storming through they would be met with resistance here.

Men loaded the cannons and sharpened knives. A few others loaded small guns and muskets. Jane rushed looking for somewhere to hide. At the very bottom of the ship there was a storage unit that had to be lifted up and climbed into. This was the pantry for the dried meats and also the icebox. Jane climbed inside and shut the lid, trapping herself in complete pitch black darkness. She could feel water rushing under her feet but the boom of the cannon is what really left her shaken. Each blow of the cannon from the black jewel scrambled her insides leaving her frazzled and disoriented. She tried her best to keep her ears covered but it was no use.

She didn’t know how much time had passed until the fighting seemed to quiet. She could barely hear what was happening four stories up but she assumed they were winning. She hoped they were winning.

Somewhere in all the panic, darkness and fear—her body found rest. Maybe it was from emotional exhaustion. She cried herself to sleep. Perhaps her brain needed a break to make sense of it all.

She was startled awake by the sound of metal opening and hands reaching for her. She stilled for a moment thinking it was Roman but the face revealed to her was that of a stranger. She stifled a scream when a knife was set in place of the finger pressed to his lips threatening her to stay silent. The man reached for her and pulled her up by her arms out of the pantry. She tried crawling away but two other men grabbed her and hauled her up on her feet. She was put into handcuffs.

Two of them were twins, blonde hair, blue eyes, hooked noses and stocky builds. The man in front of her was the Captain. She could tell by his attire. A large feathered hat, coat with pants and boots. He was the most put together with a long brown wiry beard and yellow teeth. He was seemingly bald under his hat and he wore an eye patch. The captain smoked from a pipe and blew it in her face as he assessed her.

“ This must be the black jewel”, the captain grunted. The two men laughed as the captain squeezed Jane’s cheeks together. She snatched her face from his grip and her cuffs were tightened in consequence.

“ Oh she’d be the perfect little pet”, said the taller twin.

“ Exotic for my taste but tempting all the same. You’ll be a nice addition to my ship”, said the rotten mouth Captain.

She sneered kicking her legs out towards his groin but he stepped back in time. She would have spat on him had her mouth not gone dry with fear. The captain stepped forward until they were chest to chest and pulled her hair back with the grip of his fist, exposing her neck to him. His breath smelled like ale and death.

“ Act like an animal… and get treated like an animal missy. I think you’ll find it best not to fight me, it will only make it worse for yourself”, he taunted. Jane would sooner die.

“ Bring her up to the top deck. We’ll see if he has a change of tune then”, The captain begins for the stairs.

Roman

There was a place in Roman’s mind that took over when he fought. He thinks about every problem he's ever had when he fights. The other part of his mind simply takes a seat and enjoys the show. So when he hears a piercing scream coming from his left, it jolts him out of the rhythm of his fight. Jane knelt to the ground, restrained by two of Captain Night’s crew members.

Something visceral jolts out of Roman as he watches Jane thrash against her restraints. Roman had been fighting through bodies for hours now. The deck was covered in blood and body parts—thanks to Rory. The sky seemed to rain blood because his eyes stung the more he fought. Or maybe it was a cut on his forehead. Not to mention he was covered in it. He sheathed his sword out of the torso of two men and stalked towards his rival ready to take aim at his skull.

“ I wouldn’t do that”,Night warned. Jane was tossed on her torso, head pushed into the bloody wet floor deck next to a man who had bled out from a gunshot wound —courtesy of the black jewel. Her head was painfully pulled back to look up at Roman. One of the twins pressed a sharp knife against her throat. Something falters in Roman as he searches his brain for a solution. He was going… to quarter and butcher this man. Roman finds a part of himself to cling to. Not this violent man but something more civilized and calculated. A man more covert.

“ Who exactly do you think she is to me?,” Roman raises a brow and clenches his fists to stop them from trembling in rage.

“ Your prized whore. That’s why you had enough sense to hide her in the bottom of the ship thinking nobody would find her. I saw the two of you in your study having a heart to heart after I blew it to bits. I know a man in love when see it. If you kill anymore of my men. I will make her death slow.”

“ I’ve always been a bit of a romantic even with the whores. Everybody on this ship had a heart to heart with the girl. That’s what she’s paid for.”

“ So if I slit her throat now …”

“ I would go and buy another. I never took you as the type to bother yourself with the likes of ship winches for the sake of getting to me? Jealous?”

“ So why did she cry for you ? And why is she crying for you now ?”Roman looks at Jane. She had been crying but not anymore. Now she just looked angry. It begins pouring rain.

“ I don’t know why women do the things they do and quite frankly I don’t care. Leave this between men. She has no business here”, Roman inched closer and closer to Captain night. Suddenly a howl from one of the twins sparks a distraction. Jane had bit down to the bone on the finger of the man with the knife. He held his severed fingers up to his face and roared in pain. Bone could be seen from feet away. It bought just enough time for Roman’s sword to slash down between the neck and shoulder of Captain night.

“ ADHAR, GET HER!!”, Roman bellowed. He painfully took his eyes off Jane and back to the captain gurgling and holding his neck.

Night's swords slashed towards Roman’s stomach, not making the impact he was hoping for. His stomach was cut but nothing that wouldn’t heal. Roman trucked onward and kicked Night’s knee inward, causing it to hyper extend. Night fell with a screech.

Without hesitation Roman’s swords pierced through the captain's eye in one swift push, the eyeball exploding and squelching around the tip of the metal like berries. He didn’t stop until he felt the crunch of bone. Night laid dead and his crew seemed to bellow in loss. Adhar pulled Jane to his chest and ran her to the infirmary which thankfully was still intact.

Roman finished the job thanks to the gun William tossed to him. He’d done unspeakable things. When he finally came back to himself the aftermath of violence confused him. He never would have thought that this was how his day would end. Mutilated bodies littered the deck. Some men laid skewered on swords and others gasped their last dying breaths.

The ship was beyond repair and they would likely have to take the other boat. With both ships under control they found deserted land to intermission at. The night star was the largest pirate vessel to ever sail the seas. This wasn’t the first time that Captain Night and Captain Roman had dueled. Roman started out on Captain Nights ship as a young man, working as a cabin boy. The work was hard and many times he considered jumping off and making his own way. Through the years they found each other and fought. His men killed Roman’s men. Romans men killed his men. It seemed that Night was on a mission to put Roman “back in his place”,and he stated over a decade ago.

Now the battle had finally come to the end. The rest of the opposing soldiers were picked off. Strangely, Night only had about half of the soldiers that Roman did. Roman’s casualties were around ten. The few remaining soldiers that survived were captured and tied to palm trees.

What could be salvaged from the Black Jewel was placed on the wind deck. The bottom of Roman’s vessel was flooded with water and wouldn’t survive another sail. It gutted him.

The items in the infirmary, his cabin and most of the medical books were salvageable. It didn’t erase the immense guilt he felt over the entire situation. Jane’s personal items were gone. Many of the crew's belongings were drenched. Just a few weeks ago he swore to protect her. Sure he’d won, but Night’s sailors shouldn’t have gotten near her. He’d lost a few men from the cannon as well. While winning the bigger ship was an upgrade, the loss of life was never worth it.

Jane

The side of her face was bruised from being pushed into the wooden floor. Her wrists burned from the cuffs and there was a persistent throbbing at the base of her skull. The Night star was decadent in every sense of the world. She suspected that it used to be some sort of royal vessel or perhaps a former military ship because it had so many enmities —even compared to the Black Jewel. Thankfully whatever the Black Jewel lost, they had regained times 10. The outside of the ship was practically cannon resistant due to thick wooden panels. What split the jewel in half, only slightly cracked the side of the new ship. They would likely dock for repairs soon and repurchased whatever was lost

It reminded her of a wealthy townhouse in a strange way. Yet here she was festering in the singe of guilt burning through her gut. Being captured by two men and roughed up wasn’t the worst of what she’d gone through. It was Roman’s words that hurt her. She knew they weren’t true and it was nonsensical to revisit their meaningless nature. Still, a small part of her brain couldn’t help but to investigate if it was true. It was such a stark difference from the man she knew. Cold, angry, uncaring, apathetic. The way his lips formed around wench. It gutted her.

Adhar pressed a rag filled with ice against her cheek. She kept the ice there for awhile. She found some astringent to rinse her mouth and a rag to clean the blood off her hands. He moved on to assist the other crew mates. Jane walked to the highest point of the ship, watching as Roman stabbed a knife through the last two surviving members of the original crew. She supposed he decided against allowing them a slow death. Jane didn’t flinch from the murder that took place in front of her. She was numbed out by the violence. Roman meticulously cleaned the end of his knife on the side of his pants and sheathed it back into his pocket. When he turned to her, her gaze averted to the distant trees.

Later in the night the ship set sail for the next port with supplies. Jane stayed on the wind deck watching the water fly underneath her. Only a few crew members walked around tidying up loose ends. She was lost in thought. The brush of their lips, the cannon, running, hiding, hard calloused hands grabbing her, the taste of another’s blood in her mouth. How she wished she could somehow restart the day and make things different.

She turned around to see Roman standing in the doorway of the Captain Quarters holding a lantern. She could see him mustering up the courage to say something to her. She surprised even herself when she slowly walked over to face him.

Roman clears his throat, “ Can we speak privately ?”

She answers with a single tired nod as he steps aside to let her into the cabin. He closed the door behind them and pushed down the curtains hanging in front of the windows.

The room was opulent. Large Bed, dining table, counter space, a bathroom with a tub. All the appliances went to a shoot that emptied itself into the water. The bedroom rug was soft and large. Some of Roman’s things were stacked on the counters yet to be sorted and organized.

Then Jane’s face turned to his solemn one. She searched his eyes before diverting them back to the floor.

“ Did they hurt you?”

“ Not in any way I haven’t been before.”

Romans eyes crinkled in worry. “ Jane…”

“ What”, she bit. He tensed.

“ I’m sorry…”

“ You’ve always been romantic with the whores ?”, She spat. Her eyes rimmed with tears.

Romans eyes widened in fear as he watched them spill over onto her cheeks. He stepped forward and she stepped back.

“ Jane…you must know that it was an act. Hasn’t it been obvious that I'm mad for you?”

“ It was so natural. Your eyes became distant in a way that I’ve never seen. You truly are a good Roman actor. You’ve nearly convinced me,” she whispered with a watery unstable voice.

Roman reached for her cheek to wipe her face. She was shaking and it shamed her to feel so deeply already for this man. But when those words slipped past his lips she realized she cared more for him than she had for any man in her life. It’s why it cut her so deeply.

“ Believe me… it came as a shock to me too..how much it hurt. What scares me even more is how easily you could destroy me if you wanted to. Not just physically no….today proved that,” she chuckled bitterly.

“ I will play whatever man I need to play in order to protect you. I do not believe you to be a whore or anything of the sort. But if it comes down between life and death I will always choose you Jane” he took a step closer. She was too weakened to step away now.

Another step and they were nearly chest to chest. Jane was too weak with emotion to leave his side. His arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted her chin to meet his gaze. He wiped more tears, shushing her quietly.

Then ever so slowly, Roman inched his face closer and closer to hers until his lips slotted gently over her own. Jane gasped against the impact, pushing into the softness of his lips. It stunned her. She knew that this kiss would happen eventually but not while she was so…vulnerable. He ate her cries and turned them into wine along her tongue. Or maybe that’s always what he tasted like. It sated her.

His tongue gently licked into her mouth asking to go deeper. She grants it to him. He’s bitter but slightly sweet with a smoky after taste from his pipe . Jane raises her hand and sinks her fingers into the base of his skull slightly pulling his hair. A wounded noise seeps from his throat nudging him closer to her body which inevitably forces her into a corner of the room.

The kiss becomes more frantic and desperate, lips pulling, teeth grazing, breaths panting. She squeezes his arms and shoulders, grazing the rock hard abs she felt for the first time. He keeps his hands above her waist, pressing into her sides and ribs with a gentle firmness that drives her mad.

It takes awhile before either one of them is ready to pull away. Everytime they stopped someone would go back for more. Finally after what felt like forever, she had to catch her breath. She pulled away and gently rubbed her lips. He’d kissed them swollen. She can see her slight tinge of rouge on his mouth.

“ Well…. It’s best I get you to bed. You need rest you’ve had a long day”, said Roman.

“ You need rest too. I’m sorry about your ship.”

“ We gained something better. We no longer have to worry about any other pirates sneak attacking us. We’re the big fish now.”, Roman sighed.

“ But I know you loved the Black Jewel.”

“ I love the boat that will keep you safest.”

“ I guess with time everyone will add their flair to this place….”, she murmured. He closed the space between them again, pulling her torso to him.

“ Am I forgiven…?”, he raised a brow at her pecking her lips softly again. Jane sighs resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“ I need time….”

She could see Roman’s face flood with disappoint but he didn’t let her waist go. “Okay”, he says. His tone was flat but his eyes filled with worry.

“ Just a little while. Your reaction caught me off guard is all…and it brought me back to a bad place. Sometimes things happen and it’s takes me a little bit to feel…normal again. I don’t know why. But if I’m…distant then you know the reason. I just need to resettle after today. Will you hold it against me?”, she frowned at him. His grip on her waist tightened.

“The only thing I’ll ever hold against you are my lips if you’ll have me. Speaking of…may I have one more kiss before my inevitable punishment? ”, he smirked.

That earned a small tug on her lips. She obliged. This one was more scandalous than the first. He’d purposely dragged it out making her feel every bit of the butterflies in her stomach. And more..

“ Goodnight Captain”, she pulled away slowly sliding her hand from his own as she walked away.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 4

Ao3 | 2.7k words | Darlin's POV

Home sweet home. Scrambled eggs, new phones, and unchanged offices.

TW: Conflict, arguments, mentions of abuse and manipulation, non-consensual tattooing.

You lost time somewhere along the stretch of road between the 10-19 and David’s uncomfortably plush suburban house. If you focused really hard, you could piece together where you’d been, the moments you’d brushed up against others. David’s spouse did surprise you a bit. Small. Sweet. Smiling. Somehow, that nickname sounded so familiar in their mouth. You wanted to pull the strings of it out from between their teeth. 

Instead, you went to bed. You didn’t stop at the adjoining guest bathroom, you didn’t shuck off the outer layers of clothes that were sticking to you with sweat in the balmy, heated house, you didn’t even untie your boots.

The guest room was lowly lit by a single, shaded lamp on the bedside table. A soft, lavender bedspread was laid out over the biggest bed you’d ever seen. There was a shelf on one wall full of decorative, leather bound books and knick-knacks you had no context for. A piece of dried driftwood. A mug advertising a local coffee shop. A half-burnt scented candle, vanilla sugar. You rubbed your hands over your face, your fingers catching over your scar-curled lip, trying to scrub away the exhaustion. 

You wanted nothing more than to strip out of your uncomfortable, DFD clothes and climb under those pretty lavender sheets and never emerge. 

But you were dirty. You still had dried blood and sweat everywhere. Your boots were laced so tightly you couldn’t kick them off, and you weren’t sure you could bend reliably at the moment. The idea of trying to undress was enough to make you shiver. Not to mention the fact that you might have to run in the middle of the night. You didn’t want to have to redress before you did. 

In the end, you sat heavily in the velveteen arm chair that was set next to the bed. You kept your boots on the ground, dusting off mud and blood on the hardwood floors. You had barely rested your head back against the back of the chair when you fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep. 

The moment something shifted in the house you jolted awake. Even this exhausted and bogged down by your injuries, you were a light sleeper. Quinn used to wake you in the middle of the night, drag you out to bars and hovels, to stranger’s houses and dingy basement apartments. 

Sometimes, you’d wake up with him on top of you, your arms pinned. He moved so fast or so quietly that he didn’t wake you. 

You scrunched up your brow to the memory of a tattoo needle carving through your skin, Quinn tutting at you for ruining his line when you startled awake. You scrubbed a finger over the raised, blown out word and tried to put that particular memory out of your mind.

Your legs were asleep, but you stood anyway, your ribs protesting as you forced yourself into a crouch. The door to the guest room creaked as you opened it. You held your breath. The shifting sounds deeper in the house didn’t let up. You hadn’t announced yourself. 

The door to the bedroom across from yours was ajar. The gentle light of the hallway fell on a sleeping form, bundled up in blankets on one side of the giant bed. You could see in the dents of the mussed sheets where David had lain, wrapped around them. 

You moved through the house silently, rolling your steps through your feet across the shiny, hardwood floors. Christ, this was the nicest place you’d stepped muddy boot in in literal years. You tucked your hands close to your body, rested your shaking palms against your thighs. You were afraid that, if you touched anything, you’d ruin it. 

David was in the kitchen, clinking away with some pots and pans as the coffee pot brewed. A knot of tension eased in your gut. He wasn’t here. He hadn’t found you. 

“On the table,” David pointed over his shoulder without looking at you. You turned slowly, your back stiff. There was a little white box next to a bag from Verizon on the Shaws’ quaint breakfast nook table. 

“Showing off your new toy?” You grunted. Your throat was hoarse and cracking. 

“Your new toy.” David replied. The coffee pot finished brewing. He poured two mugs, one left black, the other smothered in sugar. He held it out for you. “You need a phone.” 

“I have a phone.” You said. Your hand drifted to the pocket of your sweatpants. 

“You have a burner phone.” David said, his voice dangerously close to a laugh. He pulled a handful of ingredients from the fridge. “Like a drug dealer on Law and Order. You need something up to date.” You eyed it with suspicion. “I won’t take yours from you. Just… take that one, okay?” 

“So you can keep tabs on me?” You sipped at the coffee. It was perfect. How the fuck did he remember how you took your coffee? You didn’t think that David had ever given you a second thought. But he knew how you laced your boots and how much sugar you needed to make coffee drinkable and that you needed to hear he wouldn’t take your stupid burner to feel secure. 

“Kind of.” David shrugged. He cracked eight eggs into a bowl before whisking them together. A dash of garlic salt, some pepper, paprika. “I’m worried you’ll run again. I’m not trying to force you to stay here or anything, but… I’d feel better if I had a way to contact you if you decide to.” 

“So I’m not being held against my will in your guest room?” 

“No.” David sighed. “Although, if you were, pretty nice digs for a hostage.” 

“Hostage implies you intend to use me for leverage.” You grinned. “I’m not worth much as a bargaining chip.”

David looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes narrowed. He sliced through his scrambled eggs forcefully with his spatula. You were half convince that could be considered a deadly weapon in his hands. 

“I don’t like it when you say shit like that.” He grumbled. 

“What?” You laughed. 

“‘I’m not worth much.’” David growled. “That pisses me off.” 

You didn’t reply. Instead, you moved across the kitchen and snatched the phone from the table. You sat heavily and rested your head against the cool wood. You drifted while David cooked. Somehow, it was easier to sleep here, bent uncomfortably over the breakfast table, than in the secure, lockable bedroom on the delta wall of the house. You didn’t want to think too hard about the implications of that. 

You woke again when a plate was sat down in front of you. It was piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon, toast spread with soft butter and marmalade. Your stomach announced you loudly, and you ignored the smile that played across David’s lips. You hadn’t put it together before, but looking at him head on, the scar that cut through his lip was on the same side as yours. If you looked at each other head on, you were a mirror image. You wondered where his had come from. 

“What does your spouse do?” You asked around a mouthful of eggs, surprising yourself. David looked up from his own plate and eyed you suspiciously. He took a long swig of his coffee before nodding. 

“Copy editor.” He said simply. “For Vesta. Big company that just started up in town. Although I don’t think they’re even really sure what they do.” 

“Soulless corporate stooge.” You laughed softly. David cocked his head and shrugged. 

“They’re apprenticing as a tattoo artist.” He said, almost defensively. 

“Are they any good?” You asked. David met your eye as he pushed back in his chair and rolled up the hem of his  t-shirt. He twisted to angle his back to you, exposing a complex, beautiful, black and gray tattoo. You’d seen a few pieces like that, rings of eyes and wings spiraling towards a core in the dead center of David’s spine. It was American Traditional, thick, bold lines and stipple shading. The eyes and halos were dotted with highlights of white. 

“They said it was an angel.” David sighed. “I was expecting more choir robes and prayer hands but this is way better.” You nodded, fighting the urge to reach over the table and smooth your hand over his back, feel the healed ridges and test the line weight. It was cold out. The linework was most likely raised and itching like yours. 

“It’s good.” You huffed as David righted his shirt and resumed his breakfast. “I can’t believe they’re just an apprentice.” 

“They’ve been tattooing for years. They’re just doing it officially now.” He eyed you nervously for a moment before adding on; “You could ask them about some coverups.”

You looked away, a hand snapping up to scratch at the ‘Q’ on your cheek. Shame burned in your stomach, bitter and acidic. 

“Coverups for what?” You challenged. You wanted to hear him say it. He didn’t reply. 

You found out, while setting up your shiny new phone, that it was four-thirty in the morning, and this was a perfectly normal time for David to be up and moving. He dug out some of his own clothes from the back of his closet for you. Once upon a time, you and David had the same waist size. Now, he was thickened with healthy muscle, and you had barely been eating. You stole the lace out of one of David’s spare sneakers to cinch the waist of the jeans he gave you and tugged the oversized t-shirt and sweater over your head with only a small protest from your ribs. Across the chest that hung down too low on your chest, the worn logo for Max’s Rustic Pizza caught on your fingers as you brushed them down over it rhythmically. 

David stooped into his bedroom before leaving. You listened to his voice rumble through the walls, deep and indiscernible. His spouse’s high laugh brought a smile to your face, although you didn’t know why. 

Dahlia’s Firehouse 10-19 had changed since you’d last been there. You didn’t remember much of your hour-long visit after David had dragged you out of your apartment. It was all tinged with the fuzzy discomfort that blood loss always gave you. You walked the length of it as the sun rose, ran your fingers over the redone walls, laid out on one of the queen sized bunks for an hour or two, never quite sleeping but close. You passed by a wall of fallen brother’s pretty, dress uniform portraits. Gabe Shaw’s face grinned down at you, the only one of the lot with a smile. 

His office, now David’s, was still mostly the same. The carpet had been redone, and the fluorescent overhead lights were left off for a series of soft, warm lit lamps. You didn’t turn a single one of them on as you entered the unlocked space, let the darkness hide the few changes that had been made and let the memory of it fill in the gaps. 

Gabe raised his son in this fire house, in this office as Captain. And Asher’s dad was his lieutenant. And Milo’s dad was the beat cop who would divert his route to clear a scene when he heard the 1019 was on a call. The house was fill of lineage, full of families of firefighters and their sons. 

It was a lineage that you weren’t a part of. 

Your dad was a gas station attendant who left as soon as you mom fell pregnant. She barely kept food on your plate. As far as anybody knew, you came from nothing. You were just a probie, a fresh faced eighteen-year-old still working out your baby fat who had never touched a rig. You applied with no resume, no references, just the certification that you’d passed the exam. Because you could haul equipment. You could scale a ladder in three seconds flat. You could throw a grown man over your shoulder without hesitation. 

You caught sight of the big, black office chair sitting behind the same cheap desk that had been sitting in that office since you first stepped foot inside. Gabe made that chair look tiny. He made you feel tiny. 

“You’re a good firefighter.” Gabe had said. “You’re ferocious. You’re not afraid to throw yourself into a call.” He grinned that stupid, bright grin. “We all trust that you’ll be the first one into a fire, the first one reaching to save somebody.” 

You remembered how proud you’d felt at that moment. How easy it was for Gabe’s praise to make you feel two feet taller. 

“But I don’t think you trust us.” His smile went soft then, a bit sad. “I don’t think you trust that we’ve got your back. And that’s why you’re so vigilant.”

“I trust you guys,” you had replied so quickly, so defensively. “I just know how to watch my own back.” 

“Trust is essential to what we do.” Gabe said. “When we put on our turnouts, when we put those numbers on our chests, we’re a unit, one machine. When one of the cogs of the machine starts to turn on its own, with no regard or acknowledgment of the others, the whole thing can fall apart.” 

You remember being so angry. You couldn’t put your finger on why. You’d stood, your arms light and body tensed, as though you were going to swing at him. Gabe rose with you, his shoulders relaxed. He knew what you looked like when getting ready for a fight. 

David had walked in on you two, interrupted what was likely to be a career-ending fight. You hadn’t realized until he walked in that you’d been crying. 

Knuckles rapped against the doorframe, jolting you out of the memory. You were in nearly the exact same spot, and when you turned, so was David. You shivered at the familiarity and tried to shake it off of your shoulders. 

“Refamiliarizing yourself?” He asked softly. 

“You really should lock your office door.” You replied. 

“My dad never did.” He shrugged and stepped deeper into the space. He looked around slowly, his eyes carrying a heaviness you couldn’t put a name to. “Open door and all that. I take it literally.” 

“You’ve changed everything else about this place. Except his desk. You kept that.” 

David locked eyes with you. The emotion drained from his face very suddenly. His walls slammed up the moment you tapped on them. He closed himself off to you so naturally, like it was his default state around you. 

You’d given him plenty of reasons over the years. 

“I did good by this house.” David said. “But there are some things I can’t…” He pressed his mouth into a tight line, unable to go on. 

“Yeah well… dead dad… makes it a bit more complicated than an office makeover.” You shrugged. It was the wrong thing to say. David huffed out a tight, tense breath. You watched his temple jump as he clenched his jaw. 

“I know the Captain’s death was hard on you.” There was something hollow in the way he said it, like he’d said it a hundred times before. Frustration cut across his closed off features.

“Jesus Christ, David.” You snapped, scrubbing a hand across your face. “Hard? Yeah, no I would say your father’s death was hard.” You tugged on the hem of your shirt nervously. “Getting the call was hard. Recognizing Gabe’s car was hard. Knowing nobody could survive a crash like that was hard!” 

“Stop.” David said resolutely. You pushed through the urge to follow his orders. 

“But it must have been torture for you!” Your voice cracked. “Pulling your father’s body out of a burning wreck must-“ you couldn’t get the words out from around the lump in your throat. You slammed your fist into your thigh. David hung his head. His shoulders slumped. One big hand came up to cover his eyes. 

“Stop.” He said again. His voice was a ghost. 

“You stop.” You replied. “Stop trying to comfort me. God, David.” Your body twitched to hug him, to gather him up in your arms. You didn’t move an inch. “Save some of that for yourself.” 

You turned tail and closed his office door quietly, leaving him alone in the dark, silent room. It was the closest to comfort that you could provide. 

[osachiyo]

2 + 4 from the fluffy thing with Fukuzawa <3

(I have more if you want skdhdjfh)

(i didn't know if you wanted them separately or together so i just did them separately, hope that's okay !)

2 — taking a shower/bath with them

fukuzawa loves taking baths with you ! he doesn't have the time to do it with you regularly, but when he does do it, you bet its going to be the most romantic thing in the world :(

has your favorite little scented candles set there, along with pretty rose petals floating in the water :( he likes savoring these moments with you — helping you wash your hair, as you lean against his hard chest, sighing out in content.

tries to tell you that he can wash his hair by himself, to which you insist you wanna do it — and who is he to deny you?

and sometimes, things do tend to get more... heated — and even though he thinks it's dangerous to have sex while showering/bathing, he can't help but give in :(

4 — what their aftercare is like

best aftercare ever. he knows he's big so you get achy after — to which he gladly carries you around so you don't have to limp around :(

you WILL have a glass of cold water and shower after sex ! makes sure you go to the bathroom after doing the deed, he's not about to risk you having an UTI.

a big fan of pillow talk — he likes listening to what you loved and didn't like about the sex, and tries to improve !!

send me prompts !

[hersabaism]

Need a pick me up in all areas of life with a spell?

Hii lovelies, here’s a simple candle spell that I do when I am feeling in a slump and need some recovering in all areas of life. It’s also a simple practices for new witches.

What you will need:

A simple smell good candle (preferably with the scent property of peace and balance !) This one pictured is an orchid scent candle I got for $4 at dollar general.

A notecard and a color marker of your choice.

Herbs! (roses, orchids, sage, black salt, pomegranate and others! be sure to do ur own research this is custom to everyone)

Sigils and runes!

Steps:

I would highly suggest for you to first clean up your space around you! I do this spell by my bed, preferably on my stand so I can sit with it and sleep with it. Make your bed and cleanse around you along with your materials you will be using before anything!

Grab your candle of choice and look at the scent and the color! Identify the scent and what the scent properties are, plus the color.

Write your sigils or rune for each thing you want (protection, harmony, love, motivation, good grades and more! be specific to your slump situation)

Get your herbs and oils! Put it around the rim not touching the wick! Make sure to be intentional.

Put all your energy into it. This is where the card comes in, write your intention on it and put it under the candle.

Lastly, call upon your team to help you as you light it! Sit with it as you do your normal things and keep adding your intention. Use your feelings and transmute it to the working!

Happy crafting! I’ll be posting a new section of my blog soon. - Lou 🪽

[emmatheyoshi]

Regressor! EGB! Golden Freddy Moodboard and Headcanons

Headcanons below cut

💛 Age range is 0-2. Any bigger age and he becomes stressed.

💛 His caregivers are the Puppet and Spring Bonnie, but the main 4 know that he regresses and step up as older siblings.

💛 Very low energy. Usually found curled up in a blanket.

💛 Doesn’t say a whole lot. If you’ve heard his voice, you know that it’s very deep, and that breaks the immersion/illusion that he’s actually a little guy.

💛 Strangely gets along with Springtrap, though there’s always someone supervising them. Springtrap likes to read to him.

💛 Even though he can eat, he doesn’t usually eat or drink. Prefers scents over taste, so Puppet has a collection of candles it lights for him.

💛 Was found in the supply closet the first time he regressed. He didn’t want anyone to see him so vulnerable.

💛 Has actually been regressing ever since after the Bite of ‘83. It was very subtle before Puppet and Spring Bonnie became his caregivers.

💛 Hide-and-Seek extraordinaire. Can sometimes take hours to find.

💛 Find a lot of comfort in Sonic. (In reference to his first ever Let’s Play.)

💛 Meltdowns are very common. Multiple tables have been broken due to him losing control of his powers. He always feels terrible and apologizes afterwards.

💛 Care Bears. He loves Care Bears and Care Bear Cousins. His favorite bears are Bedtime Bear, Grumpy Bear, and Watchful Bear. Favorite cousin is Gentle Heart Lamb.

💛 Some of his favorite cartoons besides Care Bears and Care Bear Cousins include Postman Pat, Muppet Babies (mainly classic, but enjoys the reboot too), Rainbow Brite, and Pingu.

💛 Surprisingly very cuddly. He’s not a big fan of touch when he’s big, or he makes it look that way, that is. A lot of his true wants come out when he’s regressed. He just wants to be held and comforted.

💛 Toy Freddy takes on an older brother role with him. They’ll read, have little snacks, and play games. Specifically ones that don’t startle the little yellow bear.

[goatcheesecak3]

Bus stop pt.4

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x F!reader

Click here for m!reader version

Check pinned post for masterlist and all previous parts

Includes: fluff, angst

Summary: Adam and y/n establish their relationship, but trouble ensues after a while of dating

Adam woke up early the next morning, his bedsheets were pulled over y/n sleeping soundly next to him as the sun crept in through the window and gently caressed them both. If the figure sleeping next to him wasn't enough to make him really believe that last night happened, then the evidence of the night before strewn across the floor in the form of clothes and an empty whiskey bottle would hammer the point home. Adam let a shuddered breath escape his lips, the moment was so perfect and fragile, he felt as though even breathing too loud could shatter it.

Adam hadn't really had any perfect moments in his life before, the closest he could think of was when he was five years old, his rascal of a best friend at the time, Scott, had pushed him off his bike and he'd run home crying to his mother. She had cleaned the scrape on his knee, kissed his forehead and told him how brave he was. Of course, that moment was sullied by his angry father smacking the back of his head and telling him to man up. A Ray of hope snubbed out by an evil man.

History had repeated itself for Adam in the jigsaw trap, when he had thought he'd found a friend in Lawrence. The comforting thought of a trustworthy companion coming back to save him, quickly replaced with John kramer himself, and the loss of all hope.

As much as Adam was enjoying this blissful moment in bed next to y/n, his heart raced. It seemed as though whenever he had something good in his life, something immediately came along to ruin it. He wished he could take this moment and bottle it, perhaps turn it into a scented candle or even better, inject it into his veins. He was so so desperate for this to never end.

Y/n stirred slightly in her sleep, rolling over and curling into a ball next to Adam's chest mumbling something that didn't matter. He pulled the duvet over her shoulder and wrapped his arm around her, before going back to sleep himself.

At around noon Adam woke once again, to the sweet sensation of a kiss on his cheek.

"Morning, handsome" a sleepy voice whispered from beside him. Adam peeled his eyes open gradually, before looking at y/n. Her hair was beautifully tousled and her eyes soft and dreamy, it was clear she hadn't been up for long either.

"Morning" he mumbled back with a smile.

"So what exactly is the protocol for something like this? You know, after last night" y/n asked, casually resting her head on Adam's chest.

"Protocol...?" Adam squinted his eyes

"You know, on a scale of "why are you still in my apartment" to "Let's stay in bed and cuddle all day" where exactly do I stand?" Y/n asked with a giggle.

"Hmmm... I gotta admit, the latter does sound pretty good" Adam chuckled, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.

Adam and y/n never had the big "will you be my girlfriend" moment that most couples do, it just sort of happened. From that day onward it went without saying that they were in a relationship. The two of them would often frequent eachother's apartments, just to play house with eachother. Y/n would cook and Adam would do the dishes, Adam would take their clothes to the laundrette and y/n would fold and put them away. They filed the holes in eachother's lives perfectly.

Adam would often make reference to an article he once read about tarantulas and frogs living together in the amazon. The tarantula provided shelter and food for the frog, whilst the frog would protect the tarantula's eggs. He always thought that his and y/n's relationship was a bit like that, they both needed eachother and both helped eachother wherever they could. Y/n found this analogy cute, but was less keen when Adam called her his "little frog". In his defence, he really was trying to be romantic, he just wasn't very good at pet names and the like. It got a good laugh out of y/n though, and so whenever she needed cheering up, Adam would call her that stupid nickname until she cracked a smile.

For a while, everything was perfect, but as the months went by, the honeymoon phase began to wear off, and the couple had their first fight.

It was an evening in march, y/n had been preparing dinner in her apartment and waiting for Adam to come over after work. He'd quit his job as a stalker-for-hire and gotten some work at a small photography firm. The pay was okay, and the hours were decent- and it was far less dangerous- but Adam was no longer his own boss. He hated being spoken down to, and his new boss did just that. Of course, his boss knew exactly who Adam was from the news, and thought himself something of a mother Teresa for taking such a "troubled young man" in and giving him a job- and oh boy did he make sure Adam remembered that.

"There aren't many employers who'd take someone like you, you know. You're very lucky to have this job" he'd remind Adam whenever he slipped up.

On this particular day, Adam had spilled something in the redroom and damaged a few shots from a child's birthday party. It was nothing serious, and the images could be mostly cleaned up, but of course Adam was treated far more harshly that anyone else would have been. A slew of insults and colourful language was directed towards him, including several "I don't even know why I hired you"s and the odd "You're absolutely useless, Stangheight" thrown in here and there. It was safe to say that Adam was in a fairly sour mood when he finally finished work and headed to y/n's apartment.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Y/n asked as Adam arrived and threw himself down on her sofa. No kiss, no "Good evening," not even eye contact.

He sat down rubbing his forehead angrily.

"Adam, honey? Tell me what happened" she said, sitting next to him and trying to take his hand, which he quickly pulled away.

"I'm fine, work was just a real pain in the ass today" he grumbled.

"Let me fix you a drink, and we can work this out over dinner" she said, her voice nurturing and kind.

Y/n returned from the kitchen about 30 seconds later, and placed a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of Adam, who still hadn't looked up.

"Dinner just needs a little while longer. Is there anything I can do to help in the meantime?"

Adam shook his head, like a sulking child.

"Adam, please talk to me. We can't fix whatever's troubling you if you don't talk" she insisted.

Y/n was being perfectly reasonable, but to Adam, who had heard nothing but beratement and orders all day, just interpreted "Please talk to me" as yet another order.

"Oh my god y/n, just leave it!" He snapped,  "you don't need to try and fix everything, I'm a grown man for Christ's sake. Stop talking to me like I'm a child."

Y/n was hurt, but he wasn't one to sit there and let a man see him cry, so he fought back.

"Don't you talk to me like that, in my own home as well? What the fuck is up with you?" She bit.

"I'll talk however the fuck I want to"

"Not in this apartment you won't"

"Fine" Adam stood up

"Fine!" Y/n watched as Adam stomped over to the door, and left,  slamming it hard behind him.

Now that she was alone, y/n finally felt safe to cry. She pulled the food out of the oven and set it on the side, no longer feeling hungry, and brought the bottle of wine over to the sofa from the kitchen. She drank Adam's untouched glass and then poured herself a refill. For about an hour, she sat crying softly and watching some mundane sitcom, trying to distract herself. Adam was stressed, stressed people snap, that's understandable. She attempted to rationalise with herself, she'd call him tomorrow they'd talk it through, and Adam would apologise. But she felt little comfort.

Just when she thought about turning in for the night, she heard a knock at the door. Before she opened it, she noticed a little piece of paper sticking through the gap under her door. It was a piece of card folded in half. In the front was a little sketch of a tarantula and a frog holding hands, and inside, written in scruffy handwriting was a note.

Tarantulas have a nasty bite, but they should never bite their frogs. I'm sorry I shouted, I shouldn't have taken my work stress out on you. I love you so much, please forgive me?

-Adam

Y/n wiped a tear from her eye and slowly pulled the door open. There, Adam stood with his hands in his pockets and his head hung.

"I'm sorry, froggy" he said timidly.

Y/n wrapped her arms around Adam and pulled him in for the tightest hug she'd ever given.

"Forgiven" she whispered in his ear.

"D'ya think we could maybe restart the evening?" Adam asked, smiling awkwardly.

Y/n pulled him by the hand into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

"I think that can be arranged" she smiled.

A/n thank you so much for great response I've had to this story!! My ego is really enjoying being watered and fed for once teehee<3

Comment to be tagged in part 5

Requests are open! I'm looking to write some Adam one shots, so definitely ask if you have any ideas! Check my pinned post for details and masterlist <3

[alisonfelixwrites]

Informed consent: chapter 4

Word count: 14,866

Mia put on her coat and watched as Harry did the same. He faintly waved over at some people and Mia felt guilty instantly. Harry had caught her look though and shook his head, “Don’t even think about apologising.”

Mia felt her cheeks heating a little and then nibbled her lip, “Still. I hope your friends don’t think I’m rude because I didn’t even say hi to them.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry waved it away and Mia decided to drop it. Flipping her hair out of the neckline of the blazer she borrowed from Hazel, she stepped up to their table.

Renan and Lynn shot her a knowing, teasing look after having seen Mia at the bar with Harry, but Mia just shot them a small smile and diverted her attention to Hazel, “I’m gonna go home.” She announced softly.

Hazel grinned, “Okay.”

“Hi.” Harry behind her greeted her friends in a low voice, and they all shot him blinding smiles which made Mia blush harder. Mia cleared her throat, “H-Harry’s going to walk me home.” She informed, not missing the way Hazel’s smile widened even more at the information, “Okay.”

“Bye.” Mia breathed before she turned around. Harry chuckled from behind her but followed along. The bell to the bar dinged as they opened up the door, and the rain was instantly sensible on their heads. “Oh.” Mia mumbled, wrapping the blazer a little tighter around her as Harry glanced up at the sky, “Shit, ‘s a rough night.”

Mia felt guilty all over again but tried hard to keep her mouth shut and not apologise all the time. Harry rubbed his palms together and shot her a smile, “Which way?”

She inhaled a breath and nudged her head towards the opposite street, “That way.”

They braved the rain together, hardly able to get a few words in as it clattered against the sidewalk so harshly. They tried a few times, constantly having to yell ‘what?!’ to the other person until they laughed it off and continued walking. Mia exhaled in relief when her building came into view and she pulled her key out of her purse.

Harry hurried under the overhang, running his hand through his wet hair before shaking it out a little. Mia shuddered in her wet coat, hair matting against the back of the leather as she turned around and shot Harry a small smile, “Thank you for walking me home.”

A wet droplet hung from the tip of his nose as he smiled back, “No problem. Wanted you to get home safe.”

Her heart warmed at his sentiment. Never in a million years did she dare to imagine that the man who made her cry earlier this week would be the one to make her feel so giddy only days later. She bit her lip to hide her smile and cleared her throat, “Do you want to come up for some hot tea? Oh, and I could give you that book from Maya Angelou.”

Harry blinked a few times and eventually nodded, “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Alright.” Mia beamed before turning around and letting them into the building. Their footsteps left wet puddles in the hallways as Mia brought them up to the second floor and then stopped in front of one of the doors, opening it up with another key.

The apartment was still a bit chaotic from having people over earlier and Mia mumbled an apology, “Sorry it’s so messy, we haven’t cleaned yet and it’s been a chaotic week.”

“Hey, I live with two other guys. Don’t worry about it.” Harry joked, stepping inside carefully. The scent of cinnamon mixed with vanilla entered his nose, and he suspected some lovely candle was the culprit for the heavenly scent that he would now forever associate with Mia. He glanced over his shoulder to see her shrugging off the wet coat, running her fingers through her hair before she bent down to unzip her boots. 

His eyes lingered on the curve of her ass in the flared jeans and he admired her body for a second before looking away, realising how inappropriate it was. He was here to warm up and get the book, and that was it.

Mia put on some fluffy slippers that Harry found completely adorable before she turned around to face him, “You can take off your coat, you must be freezing.” She walked up to him, bringing up her hands. His eyes widened at the thought she might take it upon herself to unzip it, but it seemed like Mia realised all of a sudden what she was about to do – and stopped. 

She took a step back with pink cheeks and cleared her throat, “Y-You can hang it up on the coat rack next to mine. Do you want tea?”

Harry tried to keep the hammering of his chest under control, “Yes, I do.”

“Okay.” She piped up, hurrying into the kitchen while muttering under her breath how stupid she was and how much of a fool she was making of herself. Mia busied herself with putting on the kettle as Harry took a curious look around the apartment. He stared at some of the pictures on the wall and Mia noticed him, “Those are all Hazel’s.”

Harry looked at the pictures of Hazel, smiling along with her friends who he recognized from the bar earlier. The boy with the blue hair had pink hair in one of the shots. Harry nodded at Mia’s words and continued walking along.

Mia had trouble keeping her breathing under control with a boy like him walking around her apartment. It dawned on her how alone they were in here and how silent it was. She fiddled with some tea bags, “What flavour do you want?”

Harry turned to face her, “I quite liked what you gave me today during therapy. D’you have any more of that?”

Mia’s lips curled up into a smile as she bashfully nodded, “Y-Yeah.” She wasn’t sure why she liked it so much that Harry enjoyed her recommendations, even if it was for something as silly as tea.

She poured two cups of the hot, steaming water and dropped tea bags in it before padding over the couch, making sure she didn’t slip or spill anything. With her lip between her teeth, she put them down on the coffee table and then sat down on the couch, Harry joining her soon after.

There was a decent distance between them, and she fiddled with her wet hair again before reaching for her clip which was on the table, occupying her hands as they wrapped around her locks and she twisted it into an updo to keep the dripping ends off of her back.

She glanced to her side to find Harry softly smiling at her and she blushed while looking down, “Do you want something to eat? Are you hungry?”

“No, ‘m good. Thanks for the offer, Mia.” Harry responded before they fell into a comfortable silence. There were a few dim lights on around the room and the overall vibe was cosy.

“Are you warm enough? Do you need an extra sweater? I-I think they’d all be a bit small on you but still – if your clothes are wet you should take them off before you get sick. I would feel horrible if you got a fever because of this.” Mia turned to rambling to ease her anxiety and Harry looked at her with playful eyes, “I should take them off, hm? What’re you suggesting here, Mia?”

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped as a deep red flush rose up her neck, “Oh my god, I-I’m n-“

“Mia.” Harry threw his head back in a laugh while shaking his head, “Relax, ‘m only messing with you. It’s alright, my clothes aren’t wet and I’m definitely warm enough.”

“Oh.” She blushed furiously, embarrassment taking over that she never really got his sarcastic jokes when he made them, and she fiddled with her thumbs when she felt a little silly for always taking everything so seriously.

“I-I’m quickly going to put something else on, I’m a little cold.” She spoke in a small voice, slightly desperate to get away from him for just a second so she could recompose herself. She really hadn’t thought it through when asking him up to the flat with her. Was he expecting something? Was she unwillingly flirting again like Tyler thought she had? Was she coming across as desperate?

She sighed and palmed her face, standing in front of her closet as she quickly unbuttoned the floral top she spent so long picking out hours prior. She threw it to the floor in frustration, standing in her light pink bra before yanking on an oversized jumper. The look wasn’t as cute as the previous top had been, but at least she was warm and cosy and could hide in her clothes a little when Harry decided to make a comment that would turn her cheeks as pink as the jumper she chose.

Taking a breather, Mia decided to sit down on the edge of her bed for just a moment. Her mind was spinning and she was so nervous to be alone with him, so nervous to blurt out something stupid that would turn him off. She didn’t know what signals he was giving off or how to even read them. She thought one thing – that he liked her a little – but maybe he meant something completely different.

A slight knock on her door made her jump up when her spiralling thoughts were interrupted.

“Mia? Can I come in?” Harry’s voice sounded muffled behind the door and Mia pressed her lips together before readjusting the clip in her hair and getting up. Her bunny slippers carried her to the door that she carefully opened.

Harry was dimly lit up by the hallway lights behind him and he leaned against the doorpost casually while looking down at her, “Everything alright? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable before, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Mia exhaled a trembling breath, “Y-You didn’t?”

Harry narrowed his eyes and looked at her unsurely, contemplating what the correct answer was. He knew his little joke from earlier had made her shy and embarrassed even if he hadn’t meant for her to feel like that at all. But Harry was nervous, sitting on the couch with Mia all alone in her apartment after walking her home. A week ago, he didn’t even know this girl and now she occupied every minute of his day.

He bit his lip and then just decided to be honest, “Honestly? I did. But it came out wrong, and I’m sorry if it was too much.”

He wasn’t sure how Mia was going to take it, but she appreciated his honesty and let out a small breath, offering him a small smile, “Okay.”

Harry relaxed too, smiling back before peaking into the space behind her, “Is this your room?”

“Wh- Oh. Yeah.” Mia responded, turning around too, “It’s really messy right now, they all helped me pick out an outfit earlier.” She explained, hurrying through the room to pick up some pieces of clothing scattered around and shove them into the half-open closet. She tidied up at a speed Harry had never really seen before, flying through the space with her arms full before she flicked on the sheet so it covered more of her mattress.

Harry stared around the room, nodding to himself, “Wow. It’s… about four times the size of my room.” He chuckled. Mia smiled and bit her lip, “Really? Yeah, we’re quite blessed with this apartment, we love it here. Hazel’s room is a little bigger than mine.”

Harry’s eyes glanced over the double bed with the white sheets, and overall the room was quite blank and not really decorated. Her desk was the most cluttered area of the entire room, books and books with school material littering the white desk as notes were scattered around. Harry assumed it was Mia’s most used place in the apartment.

He went to look back at Mia, who had her back to him as she flicked her eyes over her bookcase before putting her finger on the spine of one and pulling it out, “Here you go.” She turned around, offering Harry the book they had spoken about earlier today.

Why the caged bird sings.

Harry grinned as he nodded, “This is really cool. Thank you, Mia, for letting me borrow it.”

“That’s alright.” She smiled back, “I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.”

His smile fell a little and Harry swallowed while looking down at his shoes, “I-I want to apologise again for Tuesday. I was so rude to you and yet you gave me another chance. And I really appreciate that.” He honestly admitted. The words he had spewed at her were fresh in Mia’s brain, but getting to know Harry a little bit better – she knew he wasn’t truly like that. 

It had been his anger and frustration towards the school and the system that he had worked out on her. It wasn’t the right way to talk to someone but he apologised and realised that, so she forgave him for his little outburst. 

“It’s okay.” She murmured, “I forgive you. Really.”

Harry’s face lit up as he sighed, shoulders dropping a little. His gaze felt heavy and Mia shuffled a little as she felt herself growing smaller and more self-conscious. Her hands fumbled with the sleeves of her jumper and Harry chuckled under his breath, “You’re so cool.”

Her brows raised on instinct, “Me?”

“Yeah, silly. You.” Harry smiled, not stopping himself before he took a step forward. Mia held her breath, inhaling the scent of perfume lingering around Harry so subtly yet perfectly fitting him. She adored it immediately and was addicted in an instant. She couldn’t blink, not when Harry leaned down. 

Mia didn’t dare looking up, didn’t dare tilting her head back. She was excited, but also very scared that he was going to try and maybe kiss her. She wasn’t ready, but luckily for her, Harry sensed that. He wanted to show his gratitude, and he wanted to show that he truly did feel an interest towards her, but he wanted to respect her boundaries after she had already unsuccessfully rejected someone tonight who didn’t get the hint.

So he settled on a brush of his lips against her cheekbone. He could feel the soft inhale of a gasp the moment his lips made contact with her soft skin, and he puckered his lips gently to press a kiss right to the high of her cheek, lingering just for a moment before he pulled back with a little smack.

Her face was priceless, and if Harry focussed on it too much, he was sure he’d start laughing. So he just settled on a little chuckle at the pure shock written in her eyes and then trailed his fingers down her arm, “Come on, our tea’s getting cold.”

He casually turned around and walked back into the living room, leaving Mia completely flustered and breathless. She looked at his back, and even if she didn’t see his face, she knew he was smirking. He had to be. Harry was kind, but he still took pleasure in seeing her suffer just a little bit. And this was one of those moments, where he knew exactly what he was doing – driving her absolutely crazy – but enjoyed it at the same time.

Mia needed a second before she could follow him out into the living room again, seeing Harry lazily on the couch like he had been in this space his entire life. His cup of tea was on his lap, comfortably resting in one of his large palms as Mia slid into the couch next to him. 

“So… exposure therapy on Tuesday, hm?” Harry broke the silence. Mia took a breath and forced herself to nod, “Mhm.”

“Who invented that?”

She relaxed on the couch a little while racking her brain, “Pavlov, I think.”

Harry frowned at her, “Isn’t that the guy with the dog?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled, “He invented conditioning in the early 1900s.”

“So…” Harry drew out, “do you expect me to start drooling when I walk into the library?”

Mia giggled under her breath, a sound Harry realised he found extremely pleasant and wanted to hear so much more of. Mia bit her lip to hide her smile as she shook her head, “I hope not.”

“Isn’t it usually used for phobias? Like people who fear spiders have to hold one or something?”

“It is.” Mia nodded, “Look at you, knowing so much about psychology.” She slightly teased, blushing a little at how comfortable she felt and Harry noticed it too, staring at her with a pleased glimmer in his eyes, “D’you think I missed my calling, Dr. Phil?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“What kind of a therapist would I be, then? Enlighten me.”

Mia smiled wide and licked her bottom lip, “Let me think… Probably a liberal one.”

“Very true.” Harry nodded.

Mia tilted her head to the side, “But do you really agree always with liberal ethics? I know in philosophy, natural liberal ethics were actually quite Christian,” Mia spoke, “most of the intercourse was forbidden unless it was meant for procreation. Like… fetishism was seen as immoral because it was one-sided, just one person fantasising about another. Whereas homosexuality wasn’t because it was mutual.”

“It’s so androcentric like that.” Harry muttered, completely in awe of how smart Mia was and how much he enjoyed talking to her about stuff like this, “Wasn’t it Gundorf who broadened that? Made it more secular? But even then, monogamy was the only way to go.”

Mia shifted on her seat a little, “You’re not monogamous?”

“If I’m in a relationship, sure.” Harry nodded firmly and Mia felt slight relief taking over her body for some reason as she nodded along. Harry cleared his throat, “Yeah, I don’t really like to share. I think sex in a relationship is really between you and your partner. Of course when you’re single, you don’t really have to stay monogamous. But it’s different.”

“How so?” Mia questioned softly. Harry avoided her gaze, suddenly feeling a little nervous to talk about this kind of stuff, stuff that made him a little vulnerable, “Well… I think sex is supposed to be fun and free, but I think it’d be more fun and free with someone I really know? And trust? I think it’s great if you’re with someone for a long time and you can keep exploring one another, try new things… those are things you don’t really get to do if it’s just one time.”

Mia stared at him intently, taking in his words as she listened to every syllable rolling off his lips. Once again, she had to really focus on what he was saying and not on the way his pink lips moved when he talked. If she focussed too much on that, every noise just got drowned out and she forgot how to blink.

“How about you?” Harry asked after a soft clearing of his throat, clasping his hands together as he happily shifted the attention away from himself. Mia got pulled from her train of thought and raised her brows, “Me?”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, “you. Are you monogamous?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer his question, but to be honest – she never really saw herself as someone with many sexual experiences. She wouldn’t mind being with just one person all her life, if he loved her right and they were happy. And they had fun. Mia had no idea what she liked or disliked or how to do any of that, so if it was someone who could pull her through and make her feel good about herself… she’d be sold.

Sexy was something Mia had never felt before. She didn’t know what it was like. So maybe that was something she was looking for, someone who made her feel sexy, wanted and treasured.

“Yes.” She eventually nodded. Harry softly smiled and nodded before they fell into a short silence.

Mia took a long sip of tea before taking a breath, “But yes, it was Gundorf who broadened it, you’re right.” She took the topic back to what it was before. “He was also the one starting up the topic of consent.”

Harry hummed and nodded, “True. But then there was the criticism about consent and spontaneity. That the two don’t match. Which I don’t agree with. You can be spontaneous with someone and still have it be consensual. I think it’s one of the most attractive things to know that the other person really agrees and wants you.”

Mia softly smiled and nodded, “I think that’s a nice way to look at it.”

It was almost comical really, how comfortable the topic of sex and intercourse got to her when speaking about in a more theoretical way.

“Honestly, the Christian view on sex is so outdated.” Harry mused, “Did you know that at one point, homosexual love was considered elite? Because men were superior, so nothing could be more superior than two men.”

Mia raised her brows, “Really? Then why did it become such a taboo at one point?”

“Don’t know.” Harry shrugged, “Society changes, it still does. All the time. And I think it’s good that it does, that the views on sex have become much broader than they used to be.” He spoke, “Procreation, pfft.” He huffed under his breath and Mia smiled in amusement at his little frustration.

“Such a biological approach, right?” He continued, “I mean, if sex was only meant for procreation, why do women have a clit?”

Mia choked on her sip of tea, sputtering out coughs as she covered her mouth with one hand to catch her breath, “Jesus Christ, Harry.” She scolded with red cheeks, covering her face to hide from him with the jumper pawing her hands once she was through her coughing fit. He smirked at her reaction as she made herself into a little ball on the couch, bringing her legs up.

She had an amused smile on her lips though when pulling back, and exhaled a sigh while shaking her head.

“What?” Harry chuckled and she shrugged while smiling, “Nothing. You just… you’re so blunt.”

“I speak my mind.” He admitted and she hummed, “Very unapologetic.”

Harry leaned his head against the back of the couch, covered by a chequered blanket, “Is that Dr. Phil speaking or just you?”

Mia fought her giggle, “Just me.”

“I think I prefer just you over therapist Mia.” Harry murmured. Mia’s face fell a little and she glanced down before nodding, “Me too.”

Harry pressed his lips together as he drew a breath, “Do you like it? Psychology?”

“Yes.” Her answer was immediate and rehearsed and Harry turned his body towards her a little more, his tea sloshing around the cup, “Do you really?”

Mia blinked, unsure if anyone had ever asked her that question twice, and her composure faltered, “I don’t know.” She mumbled, “I’ve just started, so it’s a little hard to tell.”

“Is it really?” Harry frowned, “I mean, you’re giving these therapy sessions. Do you like that?”

“I don’t know.” Mia spoke again and Harry sighed out in thought, “Was there ever anything else you wanted to do?”

Mia smiled softly and nodded, “I did. I’ve always wanted to be a surgeon. It’s not very realistic, I could never do that,” She chuckled while shrugging, “but it was sort of a dream.” Mia swallowed, “I had a bit of a reality check when starting uni, realising they cut me a lot of slack in high school and… well, I’m not that great of a student.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked and Mia shrugged, avoiding his eyes, “My grades aren’t all that amazing. I-I’m trying a lot, to lift them. I study so much.” Mia sighed, tiredly resting her head. Harry frowned as he took her in, seeing how tired she actually was. Exhausted. She masked it easily with her smile and her big eyes, but Mia was tired. 

“Have you ever considered doing something else?” Harry proposed and Mia flicked her eyes up to see him, “Like what?”

He chuckled, “I don’t know. There’s lots of things that you can do. What do you want to do? What seems realistic? What’s interesting to you?”

Mia opened her mouth but nothing came out, unsure of how to answer Harry’s array of questions. Once again, it was something no one had really asked her before he did. Harry noticed her hesitance, “How did you choose psychology? What made you pick it?”

He was curious about her reasons since he didn’t feel a passion radiating from her. She almost knew more about philosophy, even agreeing with him on certain points where he’d had heated discussions about with fellow psychologists. If this was really where she was at, he could imagine her not enjoying lots of her classes if she didn’t even agree with her professors.

Mia thought about his question. What made her pick psychology? The thing was that she didn’t, her parents did. She had never truly felt a passion towards it, but forced herself to like it because it’s what they wanted for her and they found it an appropriate field.

After talking to both Hazel and Harry quite a bit, she realised how interesting philosophy was, and she sometimes craved following those lessons more than her own. She couldn’t imagine the disgust on her parent’s faces though if she’d ever suggest something like that. Philosophy was a field without prospects, according to them.

“I-I didn’t really pick it.” Mia carefully mumbled, staring down at her fingers. Harry didn’t say anything, giving her the time to think about her words and Mia took a breath, “My parents… they thought it’d be something good for me.”

She didn’t exactly dare looking at Harry. Saying the words made it sound so stupid, and she wondered if he thought she was weak when speaking them. Harry could only really stare at her with a shocked expression. He had heard of many parents nudging their children in certain directions. Obviously, parents knew their children. If someone wanted to do a field that was way beyond their level, parents could give advice. But that’s what they were supposed to do; give advice. Not choose in their place.

Not like they had done for Mia. Harry really tried to give them a fair shot, but they had already fucked up tremendously in his book. He wondered how happy she’d be if she studied something she enjoyed and was passionate about. How much more lively she’d be, how much more bright than she already was.

“They just… decided?” Harry carefully asked and Mia nodded quickly, “Yeah. They did.”

He huffed out in disbelief, “Mia… they can’t just do that. Aren’t they supposed to let you try and figure it out? Not many people know instantly what they wanna be when they’re older, or what they want to study. It’s why so many people fail their first year. And it’s not a crime to fail or to choose something else, to find something that’s better for you. The system is designed for you to have room for failure. Who knows what they want for the rest of their lives at eighteen? No one.”

The word failing made Mia near tremble, but she frowned at Harry’s words. She had never thought of it that way. “I-I thought they just wanted the best for me.” She mumbled, “That they knew me best.”

“They probably do want the best for you.” Harry nodded, “But I don’t think they know you best, I think you know you best. Like I said, nothing wrong with wiggle room to figure things out.”

They fell into a silence, Mia thinking about Harry’s words intently as he watched her get lost in thought. He scooted a little closer on the couch, “Do they do that a lot? Decide things for you?”

Mia shamefully looked down, one big thing coming to mind that maybe she felt like Harry should know about. He saw the reactions he gave and frowned a little deeper, “Mia?”

She sighed and lifted her head, “They’ve kind of decided who I’m going to end up with.”

Harry blinked a few times, feeling like the air got punched out of his lungs. Did he really develop a crush on someone he had no chance with? Who was taken? He had never even considered the fact she might be dating someone else or – god forbid – have a boyfriend back home.

“W-What do you mean?” He asked and Mia sighed again, pressing her lips together, “They want me to end up with Daniel. He’s my age, the son of a family friend and business partner of my dad.”

Harry exhaled a shaky breath, “Daniel…”

“Yeah.” Mia murmured, “I-I’ve met him a few times. He’s – uh… nice.” She voiced carefully. She didn’t actually know him all that well and the thought of him made her scrunch her nose up.

Harry frowned deeper, unsure of what Mia was trying to say as he swallowed thickly, “You like him?”

“Sure.” She shrugged before catching the pained look in Harry’s eyes and realising what she said. She gasped, “Oh – god, no. Well, n-not like that. I don’t like like him.” She quickly added. Harry lifted his eyes, “You don’t?”

“No.” Mia quickly shook her head, “I don’t really know him. He seems really… serious. I don’t know.”

Harry nodded slowly, processing the amount of information he had received already. “And what is something you’re looking for then?”

Mia took a breath as she pondered his question and eventually shrugged, “I-I think it’s nice when you can laugh with someone. I’m not – uh…” She searched for words, “naturally the most funny person. But I think it’s nice when you can smile with someone. I like to smile.

Harry’s lips involuntarily curled up at her words. He couldn’t get over how adorable and cute she was and she really just wanted to scoop her up and wrap his arms around him. He dug his hand into the couch cushion instead, leaning his head to the side, “Hmm. You’re really pretty when you smile.”

“Harry.” She blushed bashfully, hiding her smile by biting her lip and casting her eyes down, playing with her fingers. He smirked a little at her shy reaction and held his breath when reaching a hand out. Mia’s eyes widened when she saw the hand slowly approaching, and she lifted her eyes in surprise.

Harry’s touch was tender, pads of his fingertips brushing over the skin of her face. He traced her eyebrow, the shape of her nose and her cupid’s bow, making her stare at him in a trance. Mia was leaning forward before she realised it, completely hunched over towards Harry as if his magic hand was coaxing her into his space.

“What happens when you end up liking someone else?” Harry whispered, coming up with the same question Hazel did earlier. Mia just stared at him, her ears filled with stardust to the point she hadn’t even heard his voice. She gasped in a soft breath when his thumb gently tapped her bottom lip before dragging down to her chin, tilting her head up ever so softly, “Hm?”

“W-What?” She croaked out. Harry smiled, butterflies erupting through his entire body as he stared at her with hearts in his eyes, “I asked what happens when you end up liking someone else.”

“I don’t know.” Mia whispered back, “I like you.”

She didn’t realise what she had said until she saw the raise of Harry’s brows and the way his smile got wider, “Yeah?”

“Oh.” Mia straightened up, snapped out of her trance in a second as she looked at him with horror in her eyes, “Oh god.” She groaned to herself, crawling away on the couch to the far end, only making Harry laugh louder at her behaviour when she hid from him at her sudden confession.

It wasn’t fair, really. It was like he had hypnotised her and she had no control over her words, brain and body. Especially not her body. The dull throb between her legs felt slightly uncomfortable and Mia clenched her thighs together at the unfamiliar feeling.

His green eyes had coaxed that secret truth from between her lips, and Harry felt his heart fluttering as she shied away from him after the confession. He followed her body to the other end of the couch, hesitating slightly before placing both hands on her drawn up knees to get her attention.

“Mia.” He murmured with a grin, breathing out a chuckle when she winced and he brought one hand up to pry her hands away from her face. She dropped them and revealed her pink skin as she glanced up at him through her lashes, “Sorry.”

He still had both hands on her knees, leaning in a little bit until he popped his chin up on one, staring at her, “What’re you sorry for?”

She nibbled her lip nervously and shrugged, nearly unable to look him in the eye. She felt utterly stupid and childish, and she wondered if Harry did the same. She wanted to be bubbly and confident and sexy and adventurous, the type of girl who’d have a spontaneous escapade in a library with a fellow student with the risk of getting caught – but she just wasn’t.

And she couldn’t help but wonder if she was even remotely Harry’s type.

Harry could see the wheels in her head spinning and after a little more squirming from her, he decided to put her out of her misery. He licked his bottom lip, nerves coursing through his veins, “I like you too.”

Mia felt like she’d sleep all through tomorrow from how intense this night had been. She was exhausted, but her heart was hammering as she blinked at Harry, lazily leaning on her knees and taking in her shocked reaction. His smile grew with seconds as the flush rose up her neck and she stupidly giggled, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Harry laughed a little before shaking his head, “I’d like to take you out.” The tea was long forgotten when Harry asked her the question Mia had been fantasising about. He was being a perfect gentleman about it too and she sucked in a short breath, “I’m – okay. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Harry chuckled and she eagerly nodded, “Yeah. B-But we’re still doing the sessions?”

“True.” Harry mumbled, “Maybe after the sessions are over then. Gives us plenty of time to get to know one another. Who knows, you might find out something about me that sets you off.” Harry joked but his words held truth. He was terrified after spilling his feelings that had never come so early for someone ever before.

He’d only had a handful of conversations with Mia, but it was just something he felt. He felt drawn to her, attracted. And not just because she was gorgeous to look at, but the way she carried herself. She was interesting, and she was smarter than most people he had ever met. Their little discussions about philosophy energised him so much, even making the entire subject more of interest to him.

Like he couldn’t wait to read about the stuff she spoke about to learn more about her point of view and broaden his own horizons. Harry felt like he wanted to know everything about her, from the way she felt to the way he thought.

Shortly after both making their confessions, Harry decided to leave Mia alone so she could sleep. Her lids had become droopy and even though he secretly hoped she’d invite him to stay the night just so he could hold her warm body to his – she didn’t. Part of him knew she wouldn’t, it would all be way too quick and what he wanted with her could wait. It was special, he wanted to take his time and not rush into the physical aspect – which was the mistake he usually made – and just give her time and space to be comfortable around him.

With the book tucked under his arm, he roamed the wet streets of the campus until walking up into his student house. The lights were still on and he walked in to see Liam and Niall eating some leftover pizza at the table. They looked like they just got home from the bar, their brows up when they saw Harry walking in.

“Hey. There you are.” Niall smirked while Harry couldn’t wipe the broad smile off of his lips. He shrugged off his wet coat and took off his beanie, not feeling cold at all after the kiss he left on Mia’s cheek at her door, leaving her with a giddy smile and glimmering eyes before he walked two floors down to exit her building.

“Yeah.” Harry chuckled, kicking off his shoes and reaching for a piece of pizza.

Liam narrowed his eyes, “You really only look this happy when you’ve gotten laid.”

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Not true.”

“Niall,” Liam spoke, diverting his attention to their third roommate.

Niall popped his chin up on his hands to stare at Liam intently, “Yes, my darling.”

“Twat.” Liam chuckled before clearing his throat, “Tell me, have you ever seen young Harold this smiley?”

Harry rolled his eyes again while grabbing some cold water from the fridge. He felt like he needed to cool down. Just being in Mia’s presence set his skin on fire for some reason, and it didn’t feel like any amount of cold rain could dose it. It was inside of him. He quickly gulped down some of the cold liquid, trying to forget what she smelled like when he was so close to him.

Her shampoo was something floral, matching her just perfectly for some reason. Like a delicate flower, she was so… soft and pretty. His entire thought process revolved around Mia and he could safely say he had never felt a crush like this before.

“I have not.” Niall spoke in a fake posh accent, “What should we make of this, sir Liam?”

“That our young Harold has a big fat crush on some girl way out of his league.” Liam joked and Harry swiftly turned around with a glare, “Hey!”

Liam cackled out while Niall joined him, teasing their friend to no end as Harry just huffed under his breath. Liam caught his breath and leaned his elbows on the table, “So what happened then? Why didn’t you introduce her to us?”

“Seriously?” Harry raised his brows before nudging his chin in their directions, “Because of this, you idiots. You’d scare her away.”

“Ah, come on,” Niall retorted, “we’re perfectly nice! She’d love us.”

Harry shrugged, not really having any more answer to their question. He supposed he liked being in this little bubble with her. He knew what all his friends were going to think. They’d like her, for sure, but they’d be wary because she was nothing like the girls he usually went for and he didn’t want his mates to scare her off by their inappropriate behaviour.

He wanted to get to know Mia on his own a little at first. After all, he hadn’t even known her a full week yet his body turned to liquid whenever she smiled at him. 

“Which one was she again?” He heard Niall whispering to Liam, who whispered back, “The brunette with the flower top on.”

Harry turned around in time to see Niall nodding in recognition and he then flicked his eyes to Harry, “She must’ve been special, you didn’t even say goodbye to your best friends.” He scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic.” Harry rolled his eyes and Niall arched up an eyebrow, “Do you talk to her like that?”

“What?” Harry chuckled before shaking his head, knowing for sure he’d never talk to Mia like that. He just turned into some mushy sap whenever she was around him. 

All throughout the weekend, Harry found himself counting down the minutes until Tuesday. He read her book the entire time, paying special attention to the highlighted passages where some had exclamation points next to it or were crookedly underlined in pencil. For someone that neat, the book was chaotic. Harry never thought Mia would be the one to highlight in a book without a liner, or that she’d use permanent ink to write something down.

He found himself admiring even the way she wrote. 

They texted back and forth in the days before their therapy session, both of their friends noticing immediately how the other was so happy and giddy.

Mia spilled the entire thing to Hazel the moment they both woke up on Saturday, while Harry kept more to himself. He wasn’t that much of an open book overall, had always learned to kind of keep his thoughts to himself and not take up too much space.

So when Mia had finished her classes on Tuesday, she had a bounce in her step when hurrying over into the North building. She and Harry decided to meet there after her first session and then head to the library together. All the while the girl was speaking to Mia – the girl who had to come in before Harry – she found that she was hardly listening.

She felt bad, letting her emotions get in the way of being a decent therapist, but she had a feeling the girl didn’t really mind that she was basically talking to a wall.

Mia didn’t even care that she hadn’t understood a single thing of her final class of the day – statistical methods for psychological research – and made a mental note to find tutoring sessions for that one too. She had to remember that they had an assignment due next week. It was something Mia had slightly forgotten about since her weekend was spent dreaming about Harry.

Literally dreaming.

Friday after going to bed, she couldn’t help but feel cold under the sheets as she had somehow wished she had been spontaneous enough to take the leap and invite him to stay the night. She had felt a little bad, sending him home in weather like that. But Harry didn’t want to overstep and Mia was too shy, so they both went their separate ways.

Only to be reunited once more today.

Harry had to admit he had looked for her on Monday during lunch, scanning the cafeteria all the way – even the trash table – but there had been no sight of his Mia sitting alone for lunch. Louis had pouted next to him, claiming he had been really looking forward to seeing the girl who had Harry’s balls twisted together.

But Mia was nowhere to be seen. When Harry texted her, she said she only had classes in the morning and then a free period, so she went to eat at home and then would come back to study at the library.

The library, where they’d go together today to check out the broken bookcase, all due to Harry.

Mia’s stomach twisted a little when thinking about it, him so intimate with someone else. She liked to think that she was the first one having certain fantasies about him, the first one who got to know him. Because he was the first one getting to know her. But Harry had been had by others, and Mia wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

It was natural of course, she felt. She couldn’t hold it against him that he had a life before meeting her. That he enjoyed that life with whomever he saw fit. It still felt surreal that he had said he liked her out of all people.

She had spoken to Hazel a little more about him in the weekend, yet Hazel really couldn’t give her much information. Harry wasn’t unfriendly to her, but he was just quiet and kind of to himself. She knew of his friends a little more since they were louder and more popular, but Harry was mostly known as their friend.

And the library thing.

Mia eagerly checked her phone to check the hour as she sat in her seat in room two, waiting for him. She already had her coat on and everything packed after having used Harry’s notebook and pen again for her previous session.

A soft knock on the door made her heart jump and Mia got up from the chair, quickly opening it.

She couldn’t help the happy giggle escaping her throat when she saw him on the other end, breathless and pink cheeks from running all the way here.

“Hey.” He chuckled and she smiled wide, “Hi. Ready to go?”

Harry’s face fell as he winced a little, “Do we have to? Can’t we just… stay here and talk?”

Mia pressed her lips together, completely ready to give into Harry’s question and quickly nod, but she did have certain responsibilities with these therapy sessions. Nibbling her lip, she tilted her head to the side and Harry knew she was about to reject his offer, so he just softly pouted.

Mia felt her insides firing up at the sight of his plump bottom lip pouting out. Mia had never before kissed anyone, but she felt a constant urge to just touch Harry’s lips. With her own. Over and over again. It was a strange lust to feel, the idea of wanting to taste someone. She couldn’t explain what it was, why she wanted it so bad, why she dreamed of it and got completely hypnotised by the sight of his lips.

She had been taken back to that moment he touched her lip and stared at her so intently, many times. Usually it woke her up with a gasp as she stifled her moan, completely embarrassed by how hot and bothered she felt with that on her mind.

Harry wore his dark beanie again, just a few tendrils of soft hair sticking out of the fabric. 

He exhaled a breath, “Alright, show me the way, Dr. Phil.” He teased her a little with the nickname and Mia chuckled at him, walking outside with him with her bag over her shoulder. Part of her felt slightly nervous walking around campus with him for everyone to see. Not that people paid attention or that they really minded, Mia felt, and they were just walking next to one another, but it felt like a step.

“So what’s really the point of this?” Harry grumbled, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he walked next to Mia on their way to the library, across the campus grounds.

Mia chuckled and shrugged, bundling her scarf a little tighter around her. The wisps escaping her braid tickled her forehead, “I just thought it might be nice to get out of the room for a bit, go see the place where – uh… it happened.”

“It?”

Mia winced under her breath, shaking her head to herself, “Don’t make me say it.” She murmured.

Harry breathed out a playful laugh, gently pressing his palm into her lower back as an affectionate touch that nearly made Mia buckle through her knee as they walked through campus. She smiled along at their changed dynamic and how Harry really had no red flags in her book.

Hazel had explained that to her, the red flags. After explaining her conversation with Tyler, it turned out he had a bunch of them. Randomly walking up to someone in a bar – all confident and stuff – was one of them apparently. Mia felt like Hazel had been extra harsh on Tyler after Mia explained how he made her feel during that short conversation.

Unsafe. Uncomfortable. Small.

So Hazel was angry, cursing him out and using words Mia didn’t feel like repeating. After going through all the usual insults that made Mia’s eyes widen, Hazel turned to silly, self-made insults that quickly made Mia giggle and laugh. Eventually they were both laughing and rolling around the couch. 

“Dickbutt!” Hazel had shrieked, making Mia cackle out and clutch her stomach as the pair laughed around. Mia had never imagined she could laugh about a situation like that. It truly only hit her when Harry had left and the butterflies in her tummy had settled a bit. There was an underlying discomfort there, and Mia started wondering for the first time what would’ve happened if Harry hadn’t intervened.

Well, Mia knew what would’ve happened. She would’ve given Tyler her number in an attempt to satisfy him and get him to leave her alone.

It was another thing she talked about to Hazel – really opening up to her this weekend. Mia had padded into Hazel’s room with a small voice, carefully asking what men felt like flirting was. Maybe Tyler picked up some signals Mia didn’t mean to send? Maybe she gave off the wrong idea?

Hazel pulled her into a hug at that and they cuddled in her bed. Hazel was no Harry, but somehow she was even better. Mia felt a very strong connection to her, and she had quickly become her best friend and confidant. It was a nice bonus for having a nice roommate, that they got along so well and it just worked. Neither of them were perfect, but they kept the other’s feelings into account.

Mia couldn’t believe how nice Hazel’s friends had been, and apparently they had all liked her too. Mia beamed at that. The thought that people liked her and didn’t fake their smiles or didn’t have to try too hard to have a conversation with her, warmed her heart. All her life she had been told she wasn’t very sociable and she was a bit of a nerd. Her parents fed into that, near shoving her nose between the books.

Now that it turned out she wasn’t that great of a student either, Mia had been struggling a little with what she was supposed to be good at then.

“We’re here.” Mia smiled once they stood in front of the library building. Harry glanced at it warily and with little enthusiasm while Mia was near bouncing on her feet. She had to admit she really liked the library. It was a very safe space for her and she had spent countless hours studying here already. 

Opening up the thick, heavy doors, they were met with a comfortable warmth that made Mia’s insides bubble a little bit. This time she wasn’t here to instantly walk up to her favourite study spot – always a little bouncy and giddy when she noticed no one had taken it yet – but they were here for Harry.

“Hi Myriam.” Mia whispered silently to the lady working the front desk of the library. Myriam was around seventy and had worked here her entire life. She had glasses on her nose and her hair was silver, her lips bright red. Her face lit up when she spotted Mia, “Mia, darling!” She grinned wide before her face fell and she noticed Harry, “Mister Sinclair.” She greeted.

“Hey.” He mumbled and she shot him a critical look over the rim of her glasses, “Come to destroy something else?”

Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance and Mia bit her lip to hide her laugh before she gently tugged on the sleeve of his coat, “Come on.” She whispered.

Harry sighed in little enthusiasm and followed Mia around the library as she took turns and walked them through nooks he had never seen here before. Honestly, Harry had only been in here a handful of times when he had to read something for his classes. He usually studied together with his friends in their own student home or he went to some coffee bar.

Maybe that’s where it went wrong and why he blew his first year, Harry suddenly thought. He watched as Mia’s eyes scanned the racks of books and she comfortably walked around the library, knowing every turn and every section by heart. He mindlessly trailed behind her, not even looking around much but keeping his eyes on her.

They were on the ground floor still, where the regular books were. They passed the young-adult section and the science stuff before bumping into some philosophy books.

Mia smiled wider when she noticed the Maya Angelou book in the case, her finger pulling at the spine to check it out just like Harry had seen her do in her bedroom a few days prior. He leaned against the bookcase as Mia inspected the spotless copy of why the caged bird sings.

“Have you started it?” Mia softly asked and Harry smiled softly before nodding, tucking one hand in the pocket of his jeans as he leaned his head against the bookcase too, staring at her, “I have. Read it all weekend.”

Her eyes grew twice their size and if Harry really focussed, he swore he could see little beating hearts in them. Mia clutched the book to her chest bashfully and bit her lip as she smiled wide and shy, “Y-You did?”

“Yeah.” Harry whispered, “It’s really good. I like seeing the passages you highlighted. I read over them a couple of times because I know they were important to you.”

Mia swooned, also clumsily leaning into the bookcase as she stared up at Harry as if he was the only thing she had ever seen. Her heart was bursting out of its seams at the words he spoke. It was all she ever wanted, for someone to show such a true interest in her and not make fun of her or think she was weird. Harry ran with all the little quirks of her he had seen so far and none seemed to have scared him off yet.

He was so open, and it caused her to be so open too. They stood closely together between the books in a silent library, shielded away from the outside world.

Harry softly cleared his throat, his eyes dancing over Mia’s delicate features, “To be left alone on the tightrope of youthful unknowing is to experience the excruciating beauty of full freedom and the threat of eternal indecision.” He casually quoted. Mia stared at him without blinking, her mouth softly parted and Harry shot her a lopsided smile, “That one stuck with me.”

“W-What else?” She croaked out. Harry hummed softly and brought his hand up, focussing on the way his fingers brushed her temple and Mia’s knees felt weak. She was thankful for the bookcase that she had her shoulder and hip against, and for the book she was tightly clutching between her fingers – desperate to hold onto something. If he kept doing what he was doing and saying what he was saying, she’d for sure break the spine of it in two and Myriam would have her pay for it.

But it was all worth it. It was all worth it as long as Harry continued quoting her favourite book to her in the middle of her favourite place. 

“The caged bird sings with a fearful trill,” Harry started in a soft voice, and Mia knew exactly what part of the book he was quoting. Harry took a breath and continued, “of things unknown, but longed for still. And his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom.

“You reminded me of the caged bird a little.” He continued softly whispering. There were no students studying around them, they didn’t have to be quiet, yet they were both whispering and careful of the air around them breaking.

Mia raised her brows, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly when Harry tucked a loose wavy strand of brown hair behind her ear, “Hm.” He continued, “After what you told me on Friday… I mean, I know it’s totally different, but it did make me think of you.”

Mia couldn’t speak. She was mesmerised, hypnotised and everything in between. She realised how badly she wanted to put her hands on him. How badly she wanted to run her fingers up his chest, preferably underneath the layers of clothes he wore. To feel his warmth, his skin, his little imperfections she knew he was bound to have.

He was so imperfectly perfect. And not being able to touch him right now was complete torture. Her hands gripped the poor book harder. 

Harry licked his bottom lip and dropped his hand, “I feel like… you feel like you’re too much. And it’s why you let yourself be silenced.” His voice was so soft, raspy and gentle. Mia heard him, she truly did. His words hit her hard and she blinked a couple of times, yet still unable to look away from his perfect, gorgeous green eyes.

He voiced it perfectly, the way she felt. Mia pressed her lips together and swallowed, giving him the shortest, tiniest nod which she wasn’t even sure Harry noticed, but he of course did. She admitted it, confirmed it, that she did. She felt like she was too much. Like she asked too much, spoke too much, took up too much room.

Harry swallowed thickly and nodded to himself, “I feel that about myself too.” He added in a murmur.

Mia’s lips opened again when she heard him. She felt like Harry was also trying his hardest not to break the eye contact, to keep this moment vulnerable as it was, to keep it so strong between them right now.

Mia’s fingers hurt when she released one hand from the book, dropping it to her side before blindly reaching for Harry’s hand. She realised it was the first time she had seen him blush, even if it was just slightly and even if it wasn’t half as bad as how much she was blushing, but she still felt like it was cute.

“D-Do you know what Hazel always says to me?” Mia whispered. Harry leaned into her a little more, his nose inches from hers as he managed to shake his head. Mia took a breath, “She says… you’ll never be too much for someone who can’t get enough of you.”

His fingers felt warm against hers. Long, bony, tattooed and gently grazing her own as the two of them touched. It felt delicate, the brushing of his fingers against hers. Not really holding hands, not tightly grasping at one another, just softly stroking over skin that touched so many things throughout the day, but never something as precious as the other.

Harry wanted to kiss her. More than he’d ever wanted anything before and probably more than he’d ever want anything in his future. He wanted to kiss her right now. He wanted to taste her lips, already knowing she’d taste like cinnamon and forest fruit tea and cherry lip balm and that he’d smell her floral shampoo and that being close to her would be an explosion of warmth and safety and excitement and he’d be done for life.

It was too soon to say he wanted to spend all his remaining days with her. They had only known each other for a week, but she had become so important to him. Harry didn’t think he had ever connected to someone like this.

He hated it when his friends called him out on his grumpiness, but they were right. He was moody, easily annoyed, easily frustrated. Harry wouldn’t say he had anger issues, but he would say he was impatient. But never with Mia. He felt like he could watch her forever, clumsily trying to put on her coat only to realise she put her arm through the wrong sleeve and had to redo the process all over again.

They were young, but he just felt it. That she was his soulmate. And it was scary, but most of all it was exciting. And he wanted to show her what she meant to him and how much he truly liked her.

The only thing was, that he didn’t want to do it here. Not in the library. Not in the place she and him both associated with him sleeping with someone else. Not in the place that brought them together in the first place, where he had committed his sins that led to her.

Mia deserved better than that, she deserved the whole entire world.

So they didn’t kiss. Mia felt a little odd about it. She was too shy to initiate it, but she would’ve thought Harry felt the same way and that he would’ve made the move. She wanted her first to be him, her first everything. She had never felt like this before.

But Harry didn’t kiss her. And even if Mia felt a slight tinge of disappointment in her tummy, she knew there was a very valid possibility that Harry was maybe nervous too. Or that he didn’t want that during their therapy session. Or in this library where he had done it with someone else.

They broke apart after a while, both their hands disappearing back into their own pockets as they started roaming the library more. Mia brought them up to the first floor to show Harry her favourite study spot. It was empty and he smiled when he saw it, immediately visualising her sitting there with her nose between her books. A frown on her forehead, focussed on reading the words letter by letter and taking in all the information.

She’d have her thermos of tea with her and a thick sweater to bundle herself in, braid hanging over her back as she probably had his pink sparkly pen between her lips. 

“So then I sit here.” Mia smiled while walking up to her regular chair. She put her hands on the back of it, near the end of the table with her back towards bookcases and in front of her some room and then a window. Harry remembered her talking about that.

He chuckled as she tapped the back of the chair and ran her hand over the wooden structure of it gently. Harry walked up to the window, seeing the rainy campus grounds and even his own student building in the distance. He nodded to himself, “It’s nice. I get why it comforts you.”

Mia walked up next to him with her arms crossed in front of her chest, following his gaze, “It’s quiet.”

“It is.” Harry nodded in a whisper before exhaling a deep breath, “I’ve never looked at it like that.”

Mia nibbled her lip, standing still next to Harry, “How did you look at it then?”

Harry left a little silence. He never thought the library of all places would be the place he felt like he’d open up his heart to Mia. That this was where he’d be his most vulnerable. He swallowed thickly, “It felt deafening.”

The knot in Mia’s stomach tightened. Her hands were clasped together behind her back now as she followed the figure of a student crossing the campus grounds in a hurry to get out of the rain, “You don’t do well with silence?”

“Had too much of it growing up. I know it seems insane that I want to live with two other guys who are so loud and present all the time. But I secretly love it.” Harry spilled it all and Mia pressed her lips together more tightly. She didn’t know what to answer.

Harry didn’t exactly expect an answer either, he continued staring ahead of himself as his feelings bubbled up to the surface. He licked his lips, “I grew up with a disabled brother, did you know?”

Mia finally turned her head to look at Harry. She saw his side profile, eyes still focussed outside. Harry followed a dropping raindrop that fell down the window, all the way until it disappeared in a puddle at the bottom of the windowsill. 

“He’s a few years younger than me, Edward.” Harry murmured, “But he required constant care ever since birth. He’s great, and I really do love him. B-But…” His voice died down and he nibbled his lip. Mia continued looking at him, seeing the strange emotions in Harry’s eyes even if he didn’t directly look at her.

There was disappointment, guilt and confusion. Mia drew a breath, “But you grew up without your parents.” She softly finished his sentence. Harry didn’t look at her, swallowing thickly as he kept his eyes locked outside. Mia dropped her arms, turning to face him as she reached for his hand again.

This time it wasn’t a soft brush of fingertips, this time she held his hand. She laced their fingers together firmly, with confidence, with emotions to try and console him even if he had trouble opening up. Harry’s jaw clenched and he exhaled through his nostrils, feeling the tight lump in his throat.

It felt comforting, for Mia to hold his hand like this. So simple, yet meaningful. As his friend. 

“Maybe that’s enough for today.” Mia whispered, gently rubbing her thumb into the back of his hand. Harry couldn’t blink, couldn’t look at her if he wanted to refrain from breaking down in the middle of the library. 

He had never had much trouble talking about Edward. He didn’t even know why he did right now, what was different. Why it took him so much effort to say the words to Mia. 

Harry eventually sniffed and gave Mia’s hand a squeeze back, finally turning to face her. She could see the small tears wetting his waterline – which he blinked away harshly – before letting out a soft chuckle, “Great job today, Dr. Phil.”

Her lip curled up into a small smile and eventually their hands broke apart.

Harry felt warm.

----------

“So, Mia, tell me how it’s been going?” Professor Dillon asked while scanning his eyes over the notes she had sent him. 

Mia shifted on her seat, fiddling her thumbs together nervously, “I-I think it’s been going okay.”

Professor Dillon cast his eyes up, “No need to be nervous, Mia. This is just a chat to see how you’ve been feeling giving therapy.”

Mia nodded and drew a breath, “It’s definitely been interesting, so far.” She forced out, although it was a slight lie. The longer these sessions went on, the more she wished she had that time to study.

Professor Dillon nodded, “Did you really do some exposure therapy yesterday? With the Sinclair kid?”

“Yeah.” Mia smiled, “I-I took him to the library.”

He let out a chuckle, “That’s nice, taking initiative to change it up. I like that.”

Mia blushed a little. She hadn’t mentioned anything Harry had told her in the library, in her notes. She just wrote down that she took him to the library to get out of the familiar room number two. That was two days ago, and she had more sessions in a minute.

Mia tried to listen to professor Dillon, she really did, but what she really wanted was to see Harry.

Their texting had turned into calling and late night talking as she pushed away her studying books and laid on her bed, chatting to him about her day and they discussed Maya Angelou and philosophy.

Hazel had noticed how smiley she had been, and Mia had been briefly introduced to some of Harry’s friends through the phone before he locked himself in his room to get away from them.

They didn’t talk much more about Harry’s confession. Mia wanted to give him time to open up about it on his own terms, but she tried to show that she listened to him that day. Not as his therapist, but as his friend and the girl he was getting to know. 

“You think you can almost give him a diagnosis?” Professor Dillon and Mia lost her train of thought, blinking up at him, “A diagnosis?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, pushing the notes together to leave them in a neat pile on the desk separating them, “Like make some statements, wrap it up a little bit. Therapists do more than just listen, Mia. They give structure to the other person’s thoughts when they can’t do that themselves. People always have a motive for how they behave and sometimes it’s your job to give that motive a name and confront them a little.”

Mia’s throat felt a little dry when she found herself disagreeing completely with him. Harry’s words rang through her mind, about doing stuff because they wanted to. Without reason, without logical explanation. And maybe that wasn’t for others to understand, and maybe that was okay.

“I really think you should try that today.” Professor Dillon pushed, “he’s coming in later, right?”

Mia nodded slowly, “Yes. In like ten minutes.”

“Good.” He smiled, “You should give it a try. Maybe you’re completely wrong, but that’s okay. He’ll correct you if he needs it. I’m gonna actually follow this one along through the monitors if that’s okay. Observe a little and give you feedback afterwards.”

Her brows raised, “You’re going to watch?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, “I do it with all the students, to give them pointers. I’d like to see you try and make a conclusion about his case, though. We’re halfway through his sessions so you should start getting a pretty good grip on this guy’s mind.”

Mia lowered her eyes, feeling almost… yucky doing this to Harry. She didn’t want to. She wanted to enter that room as Mia and talk to him as Mia. As his Mia, the one he liked. She didn’t want to push and confront him, she wanted to give him time. She didn’t feel like Harry needed confronting.

“I mean, I can almost give you on a silver platter what the reason will be.” The professor continued, leaning back in his big leather chair, “It’s almost always the same reason with these kids.”

Mia frowned in confusion and glanced at him, “It is?”

“Mhm.” He nodded before shooting her a brief smile, “Attention.”

Mia disagreed even more, feeling as the crease between her frown deepened while professor Dillon nodded to himself, “You don’t have to teach me about these kids, Mia. I know them through and through.”

She felt herself tensing up and forced him a small tight-lipped smile. They wrapped up the talk and Mia was allowed to leave and head for room two where Harry would be waiting for her.

He was in his usual large grey jumper with the beanie covering his curls. A piece of gum was in his mouth as Harry slowly paced around the room, looking out the window a little as he waited for Mia. His body was bubbling with anxiety that he got to see her again. So far, they had decided to hold off on dating until these sessions were done but with each passing minute he spent with her, he just fell harder.

He wanted to take her out, spoil her, and kiss her until they both couldn’t breathe while running his hands everywhere she’d allow him. God, his hands were itching to just grab her and pull her into him. He craved the feeling of her body, dreaming of how she’d feel, how she’d smell, how she’d taste. 

It was driving him completely insane.

So when the door opened and a breathless Mia walked through, Harry couldn’t stop the wide grin from forming on his lips immediately, “H-Hey.” He stuttered. It was almost as if time stood still. Mia wore black skinny jeans and a jumper nearly as big as his. It swallowed her whole and he could see the rolled up sleeves where her fingers just peeked through.

The pink sparkly pen stood out against the dark navy of her clothing and she smiled back at him, “Hi.”

Harry’s smile disappeared a little at her lack of energy, and he immediately tensed up a tiny bit. Mia closed the door behind him and took a short glance at the camera in the corner of the room before she cleared her throat and moved to her seat, “Just so you know, professor Dillon is watching, and listening along.”

A soft chuckle left Harry’s lips, right away understanding why she was a little more distant. He nodded at her words, especially the emphasis on the word listening. Both Mia and Harry knew that this was a great opportunity for him to have her squirm a little. To put her through the wringer, to ask her difficult – probably sexual – questions and mess with her.

But Harry’s heart had grown twice its size since meeting Mia and he didn’t have it in himself anymore to play with her while so much was at stake for her. For him, this was more or less a joke – these therapy sessions that the school forced him to do – but for Mia, she needed the extra credit.

So Harry just nodded and sat down, “Alright. How are you?”

Mia smiled up at him, eyes lingering on the way his jaw flexed with each nibble on the gum, “I-I’m good. You?”

Harry smirked a little and leaned back in the chair, “Great.”

He blamed the nerves for Mia not offering him tea this time, and they pretty soon just started talking about everything. Mia asked him how he had experienced going to the library earlier this week, and Harry came up with some bullshit story about facing that broken bookcase and feeling bad about what he had done.

Mia could hardly hold her laughter, because the both of them knew they didn’t even go see the bookcase. They stayed on the first floor by Mia’s study spot and stared out the window as Harry spilled his childhood trauma on her. And they held hands. Harry felt like that was a very important piece of information to add.

They chattered for at least half an hour, Mia having a much more professional attitude this time. But it also could’ve had something to do with the fact that Harry wasn’t constantly flirting with her or making her blush.

Mia shifted, changing her legs around as she clicked her pen twice, “So – uh… we started this way the first session, and now that we’re about halfway through… I wondered if you’d given any more thought as to why you did what you did?” She questioned.

Harry frowned and thought of it for a moment, remembering they had that discussion the first time they met. He nibbled his lip and shrugged, “Not really. I still think I just did it because I wanted to and felt like it. No underlying motive.” He joked a little and Mia forced him a small smile, but she looked nervous.

Mia clicked her pen again and then drew a breath, “Well – we’re always trying to find a motive.” She spoke with a little bit of instability in his voice, “S-So I was wondering if it’d be alright with you if I tried to voice one.”

“A motive?” Harry raised his brows in surprise and Mia nodded shortly, “Yes.”

He chuckled, “Sure, knock yourself out.”

“Okay.” Mia breathed, biting down on her lip again as she stared at her lap. She took another breath and lifted her eyes to look at me, a certain emotion behind her eyes as she swallowed, “I-I think… uh… I think you wanted to feel seen.”

Harry stiffened slightly in the seat, not moving or saying anything as there was a short silence between the two. Mia gazed up at him and then continued, her fingers nervously clasping together, “I think you wanted to feel seen, and m-maybe that’s why you acted out? Or did something you knew would stir some… reaction.”

Harry felt his frown deepening, his heart rate picking up as he couldn’t really react. Mia slumped in the chair a little as she took another shaky breath, “I think you’re acting out because you never felt seen. B-Before.” She stuttered.

And he snapped. He knew what she was referring to. And the worst part was, that she was right. Harry had never felt seen as a child. Growing up with a disabled brother who required care around the clock, most of his parents’ time and attention went to Edward. Harry was always sort of trailing behind, doing his own thing, growing up very quick to help care for his brother.

They never had much issues with him because he was responsible from a young age, but they also always assumed he was just fine. That there was never anything wrong with him, that Harry never felt bad. Which he did, he just felt like there was no room to show it. So he didn’t.

He never felt seen. And Mia thought he fucked someone in the library as a cry for attention from a childhood trauma.

“Stop.” He murmured, and Mia closed her mouth immediately. Her hands were white from gripping the pen so hard as she blinked at him with sorrow washing through her face, “H-Harry, I’m –“

He cut her off. Not with words, not by saying anything, but by briskly getting up his feet and towering over her. He didn’t look at her, only slightly seeing out of the corner of his eye how she flinched at his sudden movement. He yanked his coat off of the hanger and stormed out, leaving the door opened and leaving Mia behind.

His ears were ringing, his breaths were short and he was angry. Not with her, because he could tell she didn’t exactly want to say those things. But she did, and they were the complete truth. Maybe he did act out, do something scandalous to get attention and for people to recognize him and know him.

Maybe he did. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He never wanted to know or be confronted with that piece of information, that his childhood traumatised him to a certain extent while he was already in his twenties. He hated it.

Mia hated it too. She hated what she had said, to the point it made her sick to her stomach. She stared blankly at Harry’s empty chair and reacted quickly, standing up too. In the distance, she heard doors. One signalling Harry leaving the building, the other signalling the arrival of professor Dillon who hurried into the room.

Mia paced around, the notebook that Harry gave her lost on the table and the pen had rolled off to the floor as she stared at him with horrified eyes. His weren’t shocked or surprised though, he shrugged, “That can happen. Don’t beat yourself up over it. It means you were right.”

It didn’t make her feel any better. And Mia did beat herself up over it. She shook her head sharply, “N-No. I don’t… this isn’t for me.”

“Mia.” He frowned, “You can’t always please everyone. And that’s okay. People run away from the truth, it’s too confronting. He knew you were right and couldn’t handle it, so he ran.”

“But I hurt him.” She squeaked out, knowing full well professor Dillon would never understand her emotional reaction. He must’ve thought she was being so dramatic as he frowned at her and then just shrugged, “Maybe. But that’s part of life, isn’t it? C’mon, your next appointment will be here in fifteen minutes. You did good, by the way, bringing it to him. Maybe a little more confidence, next time. Don’t say ‘I think’ so much.” He advised.

Mia was a little baffled, wondering how he could just leave her in the room as his student when he could tell she was struggling so much. Mia paced around some more, reaching for her phone to try and reach Harry. Most of all, she wanted to get out of here. She wanted to find him, look for him. Mia felt like she had to find him.

He didn’t answer the call.

So she struggled through the next two appointments, trying to listen to what they were saying. She didn’t want to fail this class, she really didn’t. She needed the extra credit and she needed the feedback from professor Dillon, but her thoughts were scattered and all pieces were with Harry.

Where he was, who he was with, what he was thinking. If he could talk to someone. If he hated her. If she had managed to screw this up.

The second the final girl was out of the room, Mia gathered her stuff and practically ran out. She didn’t wait for professor Dillon’s feedback, she didn’t wait for him to criticise or praise her. She had to find Harry. So Mia was on a mission.

She knew he lived on the campus grounds, in one of the student homes. She marched up to the large buildings, trying to figure out if any of them screamed ‘harry’ to her, but unlucky for her they were all red brick buildings in the exact same shape. She sighed, scratching her forehead as a slight drizzle started.

Mia’s eyes were drawn to the library building and then it clicked. Harry said he could see his student home from the library window. She squinted, trying to count the floors and the windows until she figured out there was only one building he could see from the library.

So she hurried up to it, yanking open the door to quickly scan the names on the doorbells. She quickly winced when realising no one wrote a serious name on the bells.

After reading fart, testicle one and testicle two on one of them, she gave up. None of them had Harry’s first or last name on them, so she had no clue. There were about sixty doorbells here.

And then she saw him. A boy she recognized. Her brain brought her back to the night at the bar on Friday when she had sat down with Harry, having a drink. At one point, the entire bar jumped up and turned to face this one guy, who had dropped a billiard ball hard on the wooden floor by mistake and blushed furiously at the sudden attention.

It was him. He was Harry’s friend. They had been playing pool when Mia arrived.

She swallowed her nerves for having to talk to someone unknown and quickly walked up to the guy who was scrolling on his phone. He looked like he was about to leave but waited for the drizzle to end.

“H-Hi.” She stupidly spoke. He lifted his head and raised his brows, “Hey, wh – oh.” His face contorted in realisation before breaking out into a grin, “You’re Mia, right?”

It was her turn to blush as she stared at him before nodding, “I-I am. Yes. Hi.”

“Hi.” He chuckled back, extending his hand, “’M Liam, I live with Harry.”

Mia sighed in relief, “Hello. I really need to find Harry. Is he home?”

“Yeah,” Liam nodded, “he is. Came home like two hours ago.”

Mia nodded, “Okay. C-Can I go see him? God, he must be so angry with me.” She mumbled, more to herself than for Liam to hear, but he did and frowned either way as Mia continued, “I said something horrible.”

“Oh, love.” Liam crooned, shaking his head, “I’m sure it’s alright. He won’t be angry and he definitely doesn’t hate you. You’re kind of all he talks about.”

Mia blushed again, but the pit of guilt was way too heavy in her stomach to really hear what Liam was saying. He eventually shot her a smile, “It’s on the fourth floor, apartment number 46.”

“Thank you.” She rushed out, turning around and hopping into the elevator. She reached the fourth floor quickly and hurried out, scanning the apartment doors before coming to a stop in front of number 46.

The six was a little crooked on the door and she pressed her lips together, knocking on the wood.

It only took about seven seconds for the door to open, revealing Harry.

He frowned in surprise to see a panting Mia standing outside his door. He had taken off his beanie ever since coming home, and for his own comfort – and it was something he did when he felt bad – he had changed out of his jeans and put on some sweats. 

Mia was breathing heavily and her eyes were wide, and Harry was too shocked to see her here, to even say anything. He had seen her missed call, but hadn’t answered on purpose. He needed to cool down first, deal with his emotions and feelings before hearing her apology which he knew for sure was coming.

He had already seen it in her face before she even spoke out the words. She had been apologising through her eyes before even saying anything back in that therapy room.

“Harry.” She murmured, nervously shifting on her feet as she shook her head, “I-I’m so sorry.”

Harry could see the tears springing in her eyes as her bottom lip quivered and he quickly lost his frown while taking a step closer to her, “Mia, hey… it’s okay. I know you had to say it because he was listening, I know you didn’t want to."

“Y-You did?” She squeaked softly, sniffing once, “I feel so bad, Harry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” He softly chuckled, endeared by how emotional she felt and how much this had been eating her up. He gently reached for her forearm to pull her into the apartment. The door closed behind them and Mia continued sniffing.

“Love.” Harry coaxed, “Please, don’t cry.”

Mia lifted her watery eyes and quickly nodded, “S-Sorry. You’re right.”

“Don’t have to apologise.” He shook his head, reaching for her hand, “It’s okay. I’m fine. ‘M sorry for running out and for not answering your call.”

“No, no,” She shook her head, “you had every right to do so. I’m sorry that I made you feel bad.”

Harry took another step closer to her as they had their hands entwined, and he gave hers a gentle squeeze before swallowing thickly, “The only reason I felt bad, was because you were right.”

Mia’s head came up, her light blue irises staring up into him. Harry could see the small tears on her waterline and the soft pink of her nose, “Do… Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry softly shook his head, “Not really.”

“Okay.” Mia whispered before sniffing once more, “C-Can I give you a hug? Hugs always make me feel better when I’m a little down. Hazel gives great hugs. Maybe they can make you feel better too.”

Harry had never been much of a hugger. He wasn’t a very affectionate person in general. Physical contact made him a little squeamish. But with Mia, he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms. He sighed out softly and nodded, “Yeah.”

She dropped her bag and stood up on her tippy toes before hesitantly wrapping her arms around his neck. Harry bent down a little, circling them around her waist. He closed his eyes, feeling her wetted coat beneath his palms but also feeling the heat radiating from her through the fabric. He pulled her into him, flush to his body and Mia bent and moved along to fit his shape.

Her chin was on his shoulder and Harry sighed out again, leaning down a little bit more to nuzzle his nose into her clothed shoulder. He had been right when dreaming about her. Her scent was everything he had expected it to be. Cinnamon, floral and pure warmth and comfort.

Her body had been everything he had expected it to be, fitting perfectly with his as they merged together easily. His palms engulfed her back whole and her arms were tight around his neck.

He wasn’t sure if the hug was more meant for him or her, who it was really supposed to help feel better. But he knew it did wonders for him. He melted into her touch, legs liquifying the longer they stayed like that. With closed eyes, they were engulfed completely into one another and none made the attempt to even get away.

“I’m asking Dillon to transfer me to someone else.” Harry eventually mumbled into Mia’s shoulder.

She sharply pulled back, a look of confusion in her eyes, “A-Are you still angry?” She whispered. Harry chuckled and shook his head, bringing one hand up to brush a strand of hair away and tuck it back into her braid, “No, ‘m not. But I can’t wait another four weeks to take you out.”

Mia grinned wide, biting her lip to hide it as she blushed a little. She buried her face back into him and Harry chuckled when they resumed their hugging position.

“Tomorrow?” He whispered softly, “Will you go out with me tomorrow?”

Mia smiled, squeezing her eyes shut in excitement as she wanted to jump up and down, “Yes.” She squeaked.