#and then shoot off down the hall into another room

[wileys-russo]

lipstick stains II f.rolfö

another (sort of) lil christmas fic lipstick stains II f.rolfö

"frido!" you huffed with a scowl as her legs collected yours after you'd already passed the ball to caro, sending you to the ground in a crumpled heap right as the whistles sounded to call training to a finish.

"sorry!" the blonde looked down at you with a grin that showed she really was anything but, offering you a hand up as you brushed the dirt from your knees and smacked your palm into hers allowing her to tug you up and to your feet.

"don't you look before you slide?" you grumbled, still flicking off excess grass as everyone started to head in for the afternoon. "someone get grumpy a hot chocolate before her sugar levels drop!" vicky teased, sprinting away as your eyes narrowed.

"diabetes is a serious issue!" you yelled after her as she only laughed, almost tackling jana to the ground as she jumped on her back demanding a ride inside.

"what? it is!" you defended to your friends who all seemed more amused than concerned, waving your hand at them and muttering under your breath nobody took it seriously enough.

"we know. you only remind us hmm five times a day?" ingrid mused as you laughed bitterly and shot her a dirty look, sandwiched between her and frido as kika, ewa and mapi chattered away just a few steps behind.

"no no, maybe six times a day?" the swede beside you chimed in as you shoved the pair of them and stomped off ahead, ingrid dropping back as the tall blonde widened her strides to catch up with you.

"fridolina!" you hissed quietly feeling her hand collide with your ass once she fell into step with you again. "what? i was just brushing off some dirt!" the girl defended with a wink, holding her hands up as your eyes rolled.

"mm i'm sure rolfö." you hummed skeptically, ghost of a smile on your lips as your cleats echoed against the hard floor of the training center, everyone making a beeline for the change rooms, arguments of who was showering first already heard to be breaking out.

"i'm gonna go to recovery, get a massage. coming?" the girl grabbed your hand before you could step through the doors, tugging you out of the way as mapi honked your nose and raced away before you could get a hand on her.

"is it your knee?" you asked, eyebrows furrowing together with concern and allowing yourself to be lead further down the hall toward the physio wing.

though you weren't given an answer, a squeal silenced by her hand over your mouth as you were sharply tugged into the equipment room, the defender peering out cautiously and checking no one had seen before shutting and locking the door after you.

"this does not look like recovery." you crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow accusingly to the taller girl who gasped sarcastically.

"is it not? shoot i thought it was this room!" she snapped her fingers together with a sigh and shake of her head, your attempts to fight off your smile failing miserably.

"ah! there it is." the girl beamed as you immediately pursed your lips back into a straight line feigning a lack of amusement. "this is actually recovery for you." the defender nodded matter of factually, moving a little closer as you hummed.

"oh is it?" "yes. i noticed you seemed a little...tightly strung today?" "oh have you now?" "yes i have. so, tell me where you need some work." the girls lips curled into a smirk as you shook your head, corner of your mouth twitching as she wiggled her eyebrows goofily and you cracked.

"you are so annoying this time of year!" you let out a small laugh, shoving her shoulder as the blonde shrugged. "well you never minded before!" she pointed out, wagging a finger at you which you batted away.

the two of you had been seeing one another a mere five months now, though you'd be lying if you said you hadn't harbored some more than friendly feelings you'd both been in denial of for much much longer.

but never both single you both scolded yourselves for them, jumping in and out of relationships with others and never considering the latter.

until finally you had both been without someone for long enough that these bottled up feelings just had to burst to the surface and simply couldn't be ignored any longer.

"that was before you started knocking me on my ass for no reason, pulling me into closets and leaving me high and dry before training." you warned, eyes narrowing as the defender smiled cheekily.

"oh did i?" she gasped feigning innocence as you narrowed your eyes. "yes you did. oh sötsaker we can't, we will be late. did you not want to drive separately again?" you mocked her pulling a face.

"well it was your idea not to keep showing up together, we do not live close enough to be a convenient excuse for carpooling! remember?" "correct. but did you have to remind me of that after you put your hand down my pants?" you hissed smacking her a few times as she shielded her face.

"i told you it has a mind of its own älskling, it slipped!" she laughed, shielding herself again as you hit her a few more times for good measure.

"oh it slipped?" you pouted sarcastically, trying to move around her but hands fell to your hips, pushing you backward till your back hit a wall.

"also. i would say we pulled each other out of the closet, no?" "frido!" "what?" "you are so unroman-." "look! mistletoe."

your eyes flickered upward at the interruption, some sort of plastic leaf held between her fingers and above your heads. "that is not mistletoe." you bit down on your bottom lip to stop from smiling at her efforts.

"it is! it is spanish mistletoe." she nodded seriously, one hand still moving up to your waist, slipping beneath the soft material of your training shirt, thumb tracing your bare skin fondly.

"spanish mistletoe?" "yes! grown exclusively in barcelona, very rare." the girl oohed as you couldn't help but snicker, reaching up and plucking it from between her fingers, tossing it over your shoulder as your hand settled to the back of her neck pulling her mouth toward yours.

"shut up and kiss me dåre."

~

"-then after the copa i will fly home see my family for the holidays, i have been waiting to spend proper time in sweden." you sighed happily, you and esmee discussing your plans for the impending break, the entire team and some staff out for an end of year dinner before everyone flew to tenerife tomorrow.

"yeah! the first week i will be with my family for christmas in my home town, and then for new years i will see my girl-" you caught the tail end of her sentence and subtly stomped down on the blonde besides you foot as she winced but caught the hint.

"your what?" aitana asked slowly, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. "my...girl gang!" frido smiled painfully as even you gave her an odd side eye for the attempted cover up. "what is this, girl gang?" aitana whispered to keira beside her who grinned wolfishly.

"i don't know! frido, what is a girl gang?" the english woman smirked as your fellow swede stumbled over her words trying to explain, uncharacteristically flourished until attention was averted elsewhere.

"oh! you will get to meet your sisters baby finally, yes?" ingrid realised with a small gasp from across the table as you grinned. "send photos of the niña!" mapi warned, mouth half full of bread as her girlfriend made a face of disgust and pinched her hand in warning.

everyone was interrupted by the waiters arriving to take orders, thankfully starting down the other end as you hadn't even glanced at the menu yet, a few others also hastily scanning it to make a decision.

"do you want to get the tuna crudo, the scallops and the prawn hot pot then split it like last time?" frido murmured beside you, finger tapping at the menu as you nodded happily, the pair of you having had dinner at this japanese restaurant a few times now.

"have you been here before?" esmee asked with a slight frown of confusion, your mouth opening and closing as you exchanged a glance with the blonde who oh so conveniently decided she needed to use the bathroom.

"no! we just cannot decide, it all looks so good so we will share." you covered quickly, esmee frowning further but before she could question it again she was thankfully pulled into conversation with pina sat on her other side.

feeling your phone vibrate in the pocket of your blazer you pulled it out, eyes scanning the message with a slight roll of your eyes and once you'd ordered yours and frido's food you excused yourself to the bathroom.

"that was close!" the blonde exhaled as you shot her a dirty look as she closed the bathroom door after you. "your girl gang?" you snickered, the defenders cheeks heating up a little as she grumbled it was all she could come up with.

"fridolina no i am not sitting in the stall of a restaurant making out with you. wait till we get home!" you warned seriously as the taller girl attempted to take your hand and pull you into a stall.

"home hm?" the blonde grinned, the two of you already planning to stay at her place tonight having driven to dinner together. "i like that. home, our home." she tutted with a sigh as you gave a small smile and pushed her shoulder.

"unless you would like to pay out the next four months of my lease solsken, keep dreaming." you teased, turning to leave but tugged back into her arms. "did you really come running here to not kiss me?" your girlfriend gasped quietly, lips curled in amusement.

"well your text said; come here please." you reminded her with a chuckle, but craning your neck up as your lips pressed to hers, exhaling slightly at the intoxicating taste of her kiss.

"no! no we can't." you warned but it came out much weaker than intended as her lips moved from your mouth down to your neck, sucking at your pulse point as your protests sounded more like a half moan.

"no, we can. we just should not!" the girl smiled against your skin, your back pressed into the counter as she continued her assault on your neck and your mumbled protests were slowly silenced into shaky exhales.

however all of that came to an end as the door banged open and you sprang away from one another, you spinning around to pretend washing your hands and your girlfriend hurrying off into a stall.

though thankfully the woman who clearly had a clear objective in mind paid neither one of you any attention, the stall locking loudly as you breathed a sigh of relief and strode off toward the door.

though you barely made it back to the table, arriving and just about to take your seat again when ingrid shot out of hers, grabbing your wrist and dragging you back away again.

"ing! what? i just went to the bathroom and-" you tried to pull your arm free but the norwegian had a surprisingly strong grip, pulling you out of sight toward the kitchen.

"what are you-" your confusion grew as she pushed you into the accessibility toilet, flicking the lock and blocking the door. "so. how long?" the raven haired defender questioned, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

"how long what-" your words fell short as ingrid gestured to her neck, nodding for you to look behind you as you spun around, eyes widening as you took yourself in the mirror.

"jag ska döda henne!" you gasped, your neck covered in easily a dozen faint but still noticeable lipstick marks whom you knew exactly to blame for, your own lipstick a little smeared around your mouth as you winced.

"how long?" ingrid asked again taking a few steps closer and rummaging around in her bag, though this time she spoke with a tiny smile as you groaned, accepting her offer of a makeup wipe and beginning to rid yourself of the evidence.

"since august, we just were not ready to tell anyone yet ingrid." you spoke with a tone of apology, the norweigans face softening as she reached out to squeeze your shoulder. "hey i am not mad, i promise." she assured as your hand fell over hers in appreciation.

"i just wish you had told me so i had someone else to drag to those handball games your girlfriend is so insistent maría and i come to!" she groaned jokingly making you laugh as you checked your neck, the marks now thankfully gone.

"who do you think suggested the two of you should accompany her? i love her but i hate handball." you grinned, ingrids face lighting up as she handed you a new lipstick to redo your now bare lips.

"you love her huh?" the girl sang out teasingly as your cheeks blushed pink. "i do, we are meeting one anothers families for the holidays." you smiled softly.

"well, meeting one another families as now dating and not just friends." you corrected, having met one anothers parents and siblings countless times considering you'd played together for club and country for years.

"well this is nice, i am very very happy for both of you." ingrid pulled you into a tight hug once your makeup was fixed up, the two of you quickly making your way back to the table afterwards, starters already arriving as you sat back down.

"guess what!" aitana grinned from across the table, accented english thick as you smiled curiously. "i learn what a girl gang is." the brunette nodded as you hummed, waiting for her answer as you sipped on your drink.

"you and frido! girl gang." aitana sat back with a happy smile, keira covering her laugh with her hand as you choked on your water, esmee patting your back as frido quickly handed you a napkin to wipe your chin with an apologetically pained look.

question after question fired at you and your girlfriend who'd sank down in her chair with an embarrassed look on her face, your eyes meeting ingrids across the table who scrunched her nose up in a half smile.

"well, it was not just me who noticed the lipstick stains before i pulled you away jente."

[dante-mightdie]

so let me share something with you guys for a second

(nsfw)

ghost is hot, right? we all know that. picture him always having someone sneaking out his room during unsocial able hours, shushes and clattering of buckles hitting the floor as his latest hookup creeps back down the halls to the cold barracks

and you, the awkward recruit with a fat crush on your lieutenant who envys every person who shamelessly shoots their shot with him and succeeds. letting him make a mess out of them for one night only

and it is always one night only

no same person has ever left his room twice, nothing more than a cheap hookup to him. you know you wouldn’t be any different, shown the door before you can even get your cargos zipped back up but if it meant at least one night with simon riley, you really didn’t care

but when it’s finally your turn? when you finally drink up enough courage to speak to the brooding man in the corner nursing his own drink in the corner of the bar, it turns out he didn’t even know your name

but that’s okay, it’s not like he was gonna be your future husband anyway so you power through. pull out all the charisma you have stored away for moments like this and you soon find yourself back in his room, making a complete fool of yourself

struggling to unbuckle his belt, biting down too hard on his lip during the, quite frankly, terrible make-out session that led up to your current situation, responding to his dirty talk with blinded stutters

and when he finally pulls out his cock? you’re too nervous to relax, and it doesn’t fit. before he can give you some half-assed ‘s’alright, love. another time, yeah?’, you’re shoving him off and rushing out his room before you can even get yourself fully-dressed

for weeks, you avoid him. at least, that’s what he calls it. you didn’t consider it avoidance under the assumption that he had no intentions of pursuing you again

simon was under the same assumption, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about you. every hook-up leading up to you was a performance, an act he completed as some odd way of reminding himself that he was still, in fact, human

your heated cheeks and scrunched nose every time you fumbled was strangely refreshing to simon, a friendly reminder that not everything needed to be so serious, so professional. maybe the humanising act could be an experience instead, he thinks as he reaches for his phone

that night had been keeping you up for weeks, replaying every stupid way you messed up the thing you had been thinking about since you laid eyes on simon

and then your phone pings. from an unknown number.

‘price is off base. come to my room and I’ll make it fit this time.’

[marshbarks]

my dog is so good at being mildly inconvenienced and looking at me like i just personally wronged him AND called him a slur. like... no... i asked you to get off the blanket so i could fix it because your silly ass was sliding off the bed and you were about to fall

[screampied]

i saw this on my feed and how about sextherapist!sylus and virgin!reader that struggles with making themselves orgasm? you can go from there 🤗

warnings. — ☆ fem! reader, sēx therapist sylus, virgín reader, praise, dirty talk, semi public, first time squírt, fıngering, mdni.

“oh, so you really weren’t kidding—were you, kitten?” sylus hums, feeling you writhe around his lap in anticipation. you’re so up close to him as your back’s facing the opposite way of his chest. in the far distance, you hear a plethora of noises coming outside of his office. meaningless chit chatter from his coworkers, loud stomps echoing down the hall, his annoying fax machine that forevermore continues to spit out those same clicking cries, and so on. you’ve been attending sessions with sylus for quite some time now, and you just needed to know how to orgasm properly. you tried everything and nothing would work. according to you, it was dire and you wanted to know if it was as good as people say. “daydreamin’ again?” he coos huskily, hot breath colliding near the twitching shell of your ear. a veiny hand of his softly trails down your inner thighs, glancing at your slid to the side panties. “ah, look at her. she’s so gorgeous.”

“sylusss,” you hiss out his name, gingerly wrapping your clammy fingers around his broad cuffed wrist. “hurry up.”

the white haired man snickers at your agitation, and once he teasingly ghosts two thick fingers over your throbbing protected entrance—his chest rumbles from wry laughter. “my, you’re so impatient. but fine, fine. spread these pretty legs, let me see what we’re workin’ with.”

right away, you sprawl your legs out even further then before and you hear him whistle.

“what a sight,” he purrs, and your head slumps back against his chest. it was almost half past ten at night and sylus was technically off work. your session ended about an hour ago but you just persisted that you needed one more thing.

an orgasm.

your nostrils smell his musky scent of loud rich leather and sandalwood that’s smothering all over his clothing. he brushes a thumb over the lace fabric of your panties before feeling just how soaked you were. “cute, bet you were soaked like this the entire time we were chattin’, hm?”

“f- fuck,” you swallow, and a plump tip of his finger gradually pulls at the string of your underwear. you remain laid back against his lap, gnawing at the bars of your enclosure.

the two of you were sitting on a fat cushioned sofa that’s dipping inward from the heavy pounds of weight. sylus was slow — painfully slow, he knew what he was doing. he lets out a raspy chortle, hearing your slow needy breaths featuring each exasperated gasp that leaves from your lips. “sylus, please.” you moan through gritted teeth, the wait just becoming unbearable.

sylus shushes you, pressing his soft lips up near the sloping nape of your neck. “there there,” and he talks over your whines before within seconds, a finger slowly inserts its way inside. you gasp, feeling your tummy heave. his finger was long, not only that but it was very very thick. you started to hear your heartbeat dramatically thump through your ears as he continues to speak. “pay attention now, this right here?” and you whimper, feeling his middle finger swirl around inside of your pussy. he taps against a spot that makes you feel almost every nerve shoot your body. “this is the clit, kitten. and this,” and you moan, hearing the sloshing sounds of your own mess fill the room. sylus gradually plugs in another finger - his pointer finger, and it fully extends immediately, reaching a spongy spot. “this is my favorite, your pretty g-spot.”

“s- sylus,” you suck in a frustrated breath, realizing that he had not one but two fingers inside. he’s very gentle regardless . . gentle and undeniably slow. oh, the wait was killing you. with your flapping lashes fluttering back against your hooded eyelids, you couldn’t help but gnaw at your quivering bottom lip. this was so much better than your own fingers. his was far longer and experienced. his plump lips starts to kiss near your neck this time, softly lolling his tongue down your skin, craving more of your sweet taste. “more, f- finger me.”

“yes ma’am,” he jibes, and it takes him a few dreadfully long seconds before he’s finally making haste. the tone of sylus’s voice was so deep that it nearly shakes you to the very core—you feel his exact rough vibrato against you. he hears the irregular changes of your breathing whilst his fingers continue to roam inside of your cunt.

“mhm, there’s about over ten thousand pretty little nerves stored up in here,” and he’s just casually talking over your babbling whines. the tips of his fingers were now already so soaked with your sappy slick. it’s gluing against his digits effortlessly — sweet like honey. your folds were just drooling, and every so often, he pulls his fingers out just to stare at the slippery sloppy mess. “how’s it feel? talk to me, sweet girl.”

as your body resumes to tingle from the circular maneuvers of his two fat digits, you let off a loud moan, peering at your left thigh that’s starting to mercilessly shake. “good—fuck, so good,” you whine, the stimulation making you merely bite down on your tongue. sylus hums in amusement, noticing how your thighs would just fail to stay still—it’s cute, you’re a jittery mess but your hand finds it’s way wrapping around his wrist again. “faster,” you plead, and your eyes nearly roll back once he’s just repeatedly toying with your precious g-spot.

again, and again, and again.

your gummy walls accepted sylus’s fingers freely and it was so snug, your mouth can’t help but start to salivate once you realize you’re coming close. he’s quick, plummeting such inches of just two simple digits in and out of you at such a maddened pace. he’s using his entire wrist, his finger work had your toes curling in awe.

“ah, easy now kitten. just relax and bare around ‘em. there’s no rushing a pretty pussy this sloppy,” and he’s speaking right up against your ear again. if you weren’t throbbing then, you definitely were now. sylus even licks against the edge of your ear, giving it a playful nibble. “c’mooon, give me that orgasm, uh huh. make me proud, sweetie.”

“hngh, s-sylus,” you whimper out loudly, your entire body growing tense. sylus’s free hand creeps toward your tummy, softly caressing against your bare skin that’s loosely tucked underneath your blouse. this was so risky. anyone could just walk in and see you - you and him, but you didn’t care—you didn’t care, especially when you were so close to making a mess all his sofa. “fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

“let go for me,” he whispers, and his tone was so soothing. it’s almost as if he wasn’t inches deep inside of your swollen pulsating cunt with two thick fingers. in and out, he’s shoving them in and out of you, twisting them around and curling them all throughout your gripping walls. fuck, your toes were scrunched up, feeling such rippling waves surge through you. you were almost positive that if it wasn’t for the help of his hand holding you steady in place against his lap, you’d fall right from his grasp. sylus brings one final kiss toward the back of your collarbone before humming. “atta girl. just give it to me. c’mon, all on my fingers.”

but abruptly, right as you’re coming undone, you feel yourself spraying your translucent slick all on his pumping fingers. a shrieking scream dies from the back of your throat and he finds it oh so cute.

sylus feels you pulsing around him and he grows quiet—you huff out heavy heaving breaths, realizing that you’re squirting. it only lasts for a few seconds but it felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before. “oh my g- godddd.” you collapse back against his chest, his fingertips delicately plying with your prodding g-spot for just a few seconds longer before he pulls them out. slowly, sylus retracts his digits out of your puffy cunt, watching how it’s now glistening with your honeyed sap.

“aw,” he breaks the silence, hearing your pussy squeal again with numerous squelches as he’s dragging out his two drenched fingers. you’re still so sensitive, it’s like your entire body was burning up with fiery scorching hot heat. it’s intense, your thighs shamelessly try to squeeze themselves shut whilst you’re just rigorously shuddering on his lap. “would you look at thaaaat,” and his arms wrap around you. “such a good girl. although you’ve made quite the mess.”

in the midst of him sweet talking, praising you and all, you’re panting heavily. your sighing chest’s raising up and down as you’re just laid out on his lap, exhausted. as you’re chasing your own scurried breaths, sylus kisses the top back of your head. “again,” you moan, a strain in your voice. despite how your legs were still shivering—you craved more, you wanted to orgasm like that over and over. “t- teach me how to do again.”

“to squirt?” sylus raises a snowy white brow, turning you around to face him. his crimson eyes bore into yours and there’s that same sly smile stretching across his lips once you desperately nod. “hm, alright. but this time, i just might have to teach you with my tongue,” and you feel yourself throb once he’s slowly making you recline yourself back against his velvet-colored settee. “now lie back kitten, doctor’s orders. .”

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Part 1: Dinner Time

Prologue

TW: Past neglect, death, violence, mention of blood, drinking

Tag list: @pix-stuff, @sweetconnoissurgarden, @craftymoonchaos, @jsprien213, @hebaoffside, @bunbunboysworld, @melonylla, @numbu5, @tatsuri-zomushiki, @formulas-bitch, @fantasyhopperhea, @otterluver05, @caged-birdies-blog, @minkyungseokie, @una1002289, @vanessa-boo, @welpthisisboring, @sirenetheblogger, @salfishers, @meeeeeeee-stuff, @eylsiankub, @lilithskywalker

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"Eight years in hell. . ."

You were seated on top of a desk playing with a snow globe in your hands.

"Can really make you go crazy." Your head hits the wall behind you, slowly turning to the bleeding man on the ground, once again receiving a blow to the face from a man dressed in dark red.

"P- please. . . I don't know anything. I swear." The man whimpers as he begged.

You sighed. "You're lying. I really, really hate liars' doctor." You through the snow globe onto the ground, shattering the glass. The man in red took your small fit of rage as a signal and pulled out a gun, pressing it against the doctor's head.

The bleeding doctor felt another type of fear the moment he felt the cool metal against his temple.

"W-wait! Wait! Please! I have a family; I'm begging you please!" The doctor cried and begged. The man in red glanced to you, you sighed and waved you're hand off. The man in red put his finger on the trigger, about to shoot.

"WAIT- Gotham hospital! She was at Gotham hospital!"

The man in red paused and glanced over to you.

You walked closer to the doctor, crouching down to the man's current level, as the man in red slowly pulled the gum away, the doctor felt a large wave of relief wash over him.

"Are you sure?"

The doctor nods "She s-saw Doctor Hill, that's all I know, I promise that's all I know."

You stay silent for a moment before standing up. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The Doctor felt relived. Wanting to go back to his wife and kids, hug them as tight as he could-

BAM!

The Doctor fell with a thud. Blood slowly seeping out of his body as you tossed the gun you used to shoot the doctor to the man in red.

"That's for lying" You mumbled as you stare at the doctor's body with indiffrence.

You've been out of Arkham for almost a month now. You should be relaxing, try to fit back into society. But no, your mother was missing, the Falcone's didn't know where her whereabouts were, some made comments of her abandoning you the moment you got out, which coursed them to have a slow death for their crude comments.

Your mother loves you, and you know she would never abandon you. So now you're searching. But you aren't getting to her fast enough. And your growing impatient. You wanted to come back out into the world and run into the arms of your mother, but your just met with Gotham's ugly mug. It angered you beyond words.

The man in red, Rex, works for the Falcones, but has come to be loyal to you. Rex followed behind you as you walked out of the room and down the halls.

"Give doctor hill a visit for me, will ya?" You spoke coldly as your heels clicked loudly walking down the empty hall of an abandoned building. Rex nods before speaking up.

"What about you Miss Falcone. Are you going back to the Falcon manor?"

Ah, yes. You took your mother's last name. All done in paper. No more, Y/n Wayne. That little girl is dead.

". . . No, I need to grab a few things."

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Alfred knows you have been out for a month, so why have you not come back to the manor?

Alfred tried to keep in touch as much as possible during your time in Arkham. Every phone call, he could hear that sweet innocent girl he knew fade. He has tried to phone you multiple times but no use. Even tracking you down with was difficult, Alfred has tried to tell Bruce about his worry for you not coming home, But Bruce seemed to almost immediately shut down at the mention of your name.

He's worried for you, he just wants to see you, and make sure you're okay.

There was a met Gala being held today. Preparing for it was exhausting, but it was like that every time a gala had to be held. Everyone scattered all over the manor.

With a heavy sigh, Alfred entered the kitchen, the gala's close to an end, the rich of Gotham turning in for the night. But Alfred comes to a stop when he noticed a woman in the kitchen, dressed in a dark red dress, her back faced to him as she picked up a glass of wine.

"Excuse me ma'am, you're not supposed to be in the back here." Alfred spoke firmly with his usual stoic expression. The woman in red slowly turns around with the wine glass in hand. Then she spoke, the face, Alfred surely does not recognize, but the voice. He knows your voice.

"I rather be away from the crowed, if you don't mind." You gave the older man a small smirk as you see the realization hit him.

"Miss Y/n?"

Your small smirk cracked even wider. Alfred walks closer, shocked to see you here, in the kitchen munching on some sweets, just like you used to when you were younger.

You shrugged with a small giggle slipping from your red lips

"The one and only"

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

"Miss Y/n, come, Master Bruce must know your home!" Alfred might not show it a lot, but he is overjoyed to see you in the manor again. You've grown so much.

"Ah, well I was hoping to just grab some things from my old room and head out." You try to walk off to the back staires

"Nonsense, come, come." Alfred needed you to meet the family. For the family to see you. He touched your back as to lead you out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

You immediately flinched away.

Your negative reaction causes the butler to coil back.

"Miss. . .?"

You let out a weak cuckle.

"Sorry, I'm not fond of being touched." You began to meekly rub your hands together. Alfred comes to realize your time in Arkham has damaged you in some way's he might not be able to know yet.

"No need to apologize miss Y/n." Despite the small awkward moment Alfred still managed to have you walked out to see the others.

You felt an immense amount of DeJa'Vu. The walls, the detailed engraved in these walls. These walls haunted your dreams. Only half of your childhood was spent in this manor. You remember running down those stairs once Bruce came home from work. Skipping through these halls after getting a solo part in choir, something Bruce never really paid mind too.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Almost everyone was here tonight. Jason, Dick, Cassandra, Tim, Damian and Duke. Steph couldn't make it. Barbra was spending time with her father. And. . .

Bruce watched as his children chat, argue, laugh. He smiles to himself as he takes a sip of his glass of white wine.

"Where's Alfred?" Damian spoke up as he turned his head in search for the butler that is always usually hovering around. Bruce shrugs

"Most likely in the kitchen."

Suddenly, the doors open, in comes Alfred with a smile on his face.

"Alfred." Bruce can tell Alfred seems to be in a more chipper mood than he was in half an hour ago.

"We have a visitor." Alfred's words confused the others. Then you stepped up. You scanned the room. Some faces new, some old. Others were still confused, either not recognizing you due to the years that have passed, or the fact they simply didn't know who you were.

But Bruce didn't take long to recognize you. And the way he paled at the sight of you, it just made you smirk at his reaction. Dick was quick to follow the realization.

"Y/n . . ." Bruce mumbled.

Jason's head whipped to Bruce once he heard the name. Looking back at you then to Bruce.

"Y/n, we thought you were still . . ." Dick tried to speak, but he seemed to get more uncomfortable with just thinking of his words.

You wait for Dick to say the words, but clearly, he was still in shock to say it.

"Arkham? I've been, rehabilitated." You say this with a soft smile.

Jason, trying to process what the actual fuck is going on right now stayed silent. Damian also confused spoke up.

"Father who is this woman?"

Your eyes snapped to the young boy, your head tilt for a moment. Walking closer to the table. Your heels click as you kept your eyes on the young boy, and Bruce kept his eyes on you. Still not believing you were out.

"I'm his daughter. Blood, daughter." You spoke as you kept a playful manner to yourself. The Damian frowns. "Imposible. I'm fathers only blood child."

You paused for a moment. You seem to be analyzing the situation.

"Is that what dear old daddy said." Your chuckle, almost darkly, as you sipped on your glass of red wine. Alfred pulled up a seat at the end of the table, across from Bruce. You took a seat.

The room that was once filled with chatter and warm air was now silent and tension filled the air. You leaned back into the chair; Alfred re-fills your glass.

"Thank you, Alfred." You kept a small playful smile on your red lips. You let out a small sigh before speaking

"So, what did I miss?"

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

"𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢?"

[bbyseok]

thinking about teen satosugu who miss you a lot when you go on long missions.

it’s kinda funny, actually, how the strongest duo of jujutsu sorcerers act in your absence. unfortunately, solo missions aren’t uncommon for the three of you, and long missions are especially dreadful.

especially when you are the one assigned to go on the long mission by yourself.

the two are subtly closer on the days before you have to leave. whether you notice it or not, you don’t comment on the amount of times gojo has thrown an arm over your shoulders or how often your fingers brush against geto’s since he’s standing so close.

and when you finally depart from jujutsu high, you bet they’re blowing up your phone with random texts of asking about your wellbeing, how the mission was going, etc.

back in the quarters of the school, gojo and geto are miserable. don’t get me wrong, on the first couple of days they’re fine. but come around the third or fourth day without you there, they resort to borrowing your things.

so what if gojo has one of your shirts? he just forgot to do his laundry. and maybe geto took a bottle of your shampoo. he coincidentally ran out of his!

but on one particular solo mission, you’re gone for two weeks. that’s the longest they’ve ever went without seeing you—shoko, their junior classmates, and even yaga himself, were starting to get concerned for them.

by the end of the first week they’re convinced that gojo is going to start firing off blues left ‘n right, and geto might summon the rainbow dragon at every little inconvenience.

one night, the lack of you gets so unbearable that gojo finds himself tiptoeing down the halls, his feet leading him to your dorm.

when he opens it, he’s greeted with the sight of suguru already inside, frozen as he looks at satoru like a deer in headlights.

“satoru?”

“suguru?”

gojo blinks owlishly, confused. geto looks to be in a similar state as him, restless like he couldn’t sleep. “what are you doing in their room?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” suguru shoots back.

“…i forgot something.”

a blatant lie, and they both know it.

when suguru gives him a pointed, unconvinced look, satoru holds his hands up with a sigh, “okay, fine, fine. i was..”

“missing them?” suguru fills in, his head tilting and bangs falling over his eyes messily, and satoru has the strong urge to brush them to the side.

instead, he nods and closes the door behind him. as if in silent agreement, they both approach your dorm bed. they share a knowing glance before climbing in.

it’s a hilarious struggle at first—they’re unbelievably tall and the dorm beds aren’t built to hold two muscular teenagers over six feet.

“move.”

“no, you move, my arm was there first.”

“you’re going to elbow me!”

“don’t make me kick you off the bed!”

it doesn’t matter, ‘cause eventually they end up cuddling some time throughout the night, whether it was intentional or not. a warm bundle of entangled limbs with your scent clinging onto the blanket and pillows.

and it then becomes a routine with you gone. they meet in your dorm during the dead of night to seek comfort in each other and your things—mainly your bed.

when you finally return from your mission, they’re back to normal if anything, praising your efforts and welcoming you back to jujutsu high like they didn’t spend most of the time wallowing after your departure.

so when you’re assigned another solo mission, just imagine your surprise when you return early for once, only to find the pair of boys snuggling underneath your blanket.

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNMATCHED

A/N: it's been like 6 months since i last posted something and honestly, i haven't even written anything, things are very shitty these days but i felt the motivation to write this quickly after watching 'tell me lies' and 'rivals' these past weeks so here we go! if student-prof type of fics are not your thing then don't read it

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNING: age gap, student-professor relationship

SUMMARY: Harry is very strict about staying away from students as a young and handsome professor, but there is one person he can't get out of his head and a Christmas party brings an unexpected turn.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry hates these type of parties, mostly because he can’t imagine inviting dozens of students into his home, his private space, have the roam around and spend an entire evening with them, talking and pretending like they aren’t just trying to get a better grade at the end of the semester with their too friendly behavior. Or, in his case, some girls try to push the boundaries and flirt with him, hoping to hook up with him. 

He is not stupid. He has heard students whisper about him several times, he notices the heart eyes when he is talking in class and he has gotten several phone numbers on papers since he started his PHD studies and started teaching last year. His friends teased him about being the heartthrob of the faculty, but he didn’t think it would actually happen and to this extent. To avoid any possible scandals, not that he planned to make any, he has put on quite a rigid mask towards the students to scare them off from even trying, though that hasn’t stopped some of them from wanting to shoot their shot. 

He wouldn’t have come to this party, he would rather be home and continue his research that’s still not even close to being done, but Professor Bradford, or Stella as she requests Harry to call her, is the only person he gets along with in the faculty. She is 18 years older than Harry, but still younger than the rest of the old men who have been teaching here since probably before the declaration of independence was signed. Those men are the reason younger people don’t like classic literature anymore, with their outdated ways of teaching and unwillingness to bring something modern into their lectures they are scaring the new generations away. But not Stella. She is one of the reasons Harry went into his PHD and now he gets to work with her. He couldn’t just reject her invitation for her annual Christmas Party she holds for her students and some colleagues. 

Now he is standing by the wall, drinking mulled wine and just gritting his teeth, trying to calculate how early is too early to leave. A couple of girls have already tried to chat him up, they like to circle him, leave him almost no room to escape and then make him talk about school stuff, but then they slyly bring up personal things, hoping to break his usual character, but he sees through them always. 

Harry’s best friend, Niall always teases him that he should just give in and have fun with one of them. His morals are a lot looser than Harry’s, that’s for sure. 

Just as he is about to look for the bathroom, not to use it but to hide for a bit, another group of girls spots him and he can already feel his skin crawling as they approach him from down the hallway. He is quick to assess the situation, but he realizes he has no chance of fleeing before they reach him. 

“Profesor! So good to see you here!” 

And here we go. 

It goes the same, they are extremely nice and inquiring about his plans for the next semester and then suddenly they are talking about summer and Harry knows they are moments away from asking what he’ll be doing once the school year is over. One of the girls is talking about going to Italy on a yacht and the others chime in with their own ridiculously over the top plans while Harry is avoiding to even look at them, his eyes roam around the other guests. 

That’s when he sees her. 

Just down the hall he can peek into the kitchen and there she is, with a boy Harry assumes to be her boyfriend. He’s seen them around campus the past few weeks, he even waited for her after Harry’s class and saw them walk away together as he fought the way his stomach churned every time. 

Since the moment she walked into his class at the beginning of the semester Harry has been feeling like he is losing his mind. Whether it be the way she laughs with her friends before class or focuses with undivided attention as Harry explains something by the board, or says hello every time she passes him in the cafeteria, Harry can’t stop thinking about her for days after even though he knows such feelings should be banned from his mind when it comes to a student. Every time he catches himself thinking about her he wants to throw himself out the window, but he still can’t fight it. There’s something in her that draws him in and swallows him whole and it’s not just the looks. Unlike a lot of students who take his classes for easy credits or to drool after him, she is there to learn as much as she can and she’s had the most brilliant thoughts on certain subjects Harry has ever encountered, making him almost jealous he wasn’t the one to think about them. 

She is… unmatched. And forbidden, but impossible to ignore. She’s been his vice for months.

From where he stands it appears she is having a fight with said boyfriend, her always cheerful expression is now rather upset and confused while the boy seems to be over the conversation, almost irritated by her, dismissed. Harry tries to appear not too obvious about watching them, but he is also way too fixated on her to ignore what’s happening just down the hallway. 

He glances away just for a few seconds, but the next time he looks back he sees the boy stomping away, irritated, while she is left there, pulling on her coat before disappearing through the backdoor, swallowed by the darkness of the unlit back terrace. 

And before Harry could stop himself, he is already moving.

“Excuse me girl,” he mumbles disorientedly as he slips out of the small circle. 

He places his glass to a nearby table and then grabs his own coat from the wardrobe in the hallway before making his way outside. After her. 

The moment he steps out into the cold a short sense of realization washes over him that he definitely shouldn’t be here, that he is crossing a line, but then another voice in his head tunes it out, convincing him that he is just making sure she is okay and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Stopping by the door his gaze rakes through the terrace, but he doesn’t see her, until she spots her slouched form sitting on the bottom of the stairs leading out to the lawn. He hears her sniffling, but she hasn’t acknowledged his presence yet, if she noticed it at all. There’s a couple of moments of hesitation on his end, he can hear the rational side of him screaming somewhere in the back of his mind, telling him to turn around and just walk back inside, yet he still finds himself moving towards him and then that voice is silenced. 

“Everything alright?” Harry asks from the top of the stairs, but he startles her so much that she jumps to her feet and backs away a few feet. That’s when he sees her tearful eyes and red nose. 

“S-Sorry, I don’t–”

“Hey, it’s all good. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just checking in.”

She squints her eyes at him and that’s when he realizes she must not even see his face since the light is coming right behind him. So he walks down the stairs and then finally his face is lit and realization settles in her eyes. 

“Oh, Professor Styles. Hi.”

“Hello Y/N. Are you okay?” he asks again, to which she just chuckles bitterly. 

He can’t miss that even with tears running down her cheeks and her eyelashes stuck together, she looks so fucking beautiful it baffles him. He has to fight the urge to reach out and touch her tear-soaked cheeks. 

“Um, yeah, everything is… perfect,” she scoffs, reaching into her pockets, probably looking for tissues, but finding none so Harry grabs one from his inner pocket, handing it over to her, her fingers brushing against his for the shortest second as she takes it and then it’s over, but his skin keeps tingling. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles before drying her face as much as she can. “I’m good. Just…” She looks at him and changes her mind. “Ah, wouldn’t want to bore you with my nonsense personal drama.”

“Drama is never boring, have you learned nothing in my class?” he jokes and it actually makes her laugh. 

“This drama is not worthy of being taught in class though.”

“I bet some of the big names thought the same thing upon writing what we read in class these days.”

“So you’re saying I should write about how my boyfriend is fed up with me because I told him something he did hurt me?”

“That sounds like something I bet a lot of people would want to read about,” he smiles and when she mirrors it, he can feel his chest expanding. Somewhere way too deep in his mind an alarm goes off, but it quickly becomes one with the void and all he can think about is her. “Actually I can think of a few great pieces that are about similar topics.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, believe it or not, you’re not the first one to experience this.”

The way she looks at him is setting him on fire. The mixture of sadness, tiredness and gratitude towards his attempt to cheer her up is still making her glow in a way Harry has never seen before on any woman. 

“Do you mind analyzing one for me right now?”

“I’d be happy to.”

The party is completely tuned out for the two of them. First they actually talk about a novel, but soon it turns into sharing their favorite books and authors, their guilty pleasure reads,  recommendations for each other and even more personal bits Harry would never share with a student, but Y/N is the exception. 

They have no idea how much time passes as they stand outside and Harry ignores how the cold starts to sting his fingertips even in his pockets, because he knows that if they go inside this bubble will pop and he is too selfish to let that happen just yet. 

When there’s a short silence Harry notices that she is probably slipping back into what happened earlier and when she looks at him again he already knows she is about to share.

“I gave him a chance and explicitly told him not to fuck me over, because I can’t deal with that again. But all he has been doing is manipulating to believe that I’m always in the wrong.”

“It’s impossible for you to always be in the wrong.”

“I know. Well, part of me knows, but then I always go back to thinking that he is right, I must have messed up something.”

“That just proves that you have self-criticism, that you don’t just think everything you do is perfect.”

She sighs and looks away, her gaze distant as she battles herself inside her head, a feeling Harry knows very well, unfortunately. It doesn’t sit right with him that she is visibly struggling because of an immature guy’s untreated problems. She deserves so much more, but how can he tell that without crossing a line?

“Give it some time and you’ll see it clearer. Use your critical thinking on his actions as well, not just yours and don’t settle for less than your worth.”

“You think I did that?” she asks, eyes jumping back to meet his gaze. “You think I settled for less than my worth?”

There’s more behind her eyes than the words she said out loud and he is torn, because he can feel himself being pulled in more than ever, like she just opened the door the slightest and he has the chance to slip in. It’s the first time he senses something on her part and after all the yearning he is eager to take the chance. 

“I think you deserve a lot more, Y/N. You’re brilliant, bright and give so much to others, you should get the same amount if not more back. If someone can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

For a second he wishes he didn’t say a thing, he regrets crossing the line and he fears her reaction, but then… 

Then he forgets everything. Because she is kissing him. 

It happens fast, one moment she is staring up at him with doe eyes, the next her lips are crashing against his, her hands grabbing onto the lapels of his coat. He barely recovers from the shock when she is already pulling away.

“I-I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, I just—Oh my Go–”

Her stammering is quickly cut short when he kisses her, his hands holding her jaw to angle her face perfectly and while her kiss was closed, rushed and panicked, this one is different. He is quick to beg for her to open her lips so he can explore as much of her as humanly possible, he is letting all the passions loose that he’s been locking up these past months and when she returns it just as eagerly it just pushes him even further. 

They inch back to the wall of the house and when he pins her against it a moan slips past her swollen lips, completely maddening him. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes against her lips, kissing her jawline, savoring the sweet taste of her skin that’s supposed to be cold, but it’s actually burning. For him. 

He keeps one hand on the side of her neck, the other one digs into her hip through her coat and she keeps pushing against him, while her hands wander under his coat, they are on his waist, back and when they move to his lower stomach, brushing against his belt, something snaps inside him. 

But before he could completely lose his mind the backdoor opens and he quickly sobers up, pulling her farther away from the corner so they can’t be seen. 

“...and that was actually crazy,” a girl speaks up, oblivious to how Harry has Y/N pinned against the wall just a few feet away. They are both breathing heavily, but she has her face buried in his shoulder while he covers his mouth with a hand, adrenaline racing through his veins. 

“Ah shit, I’m out of cigarettes,” another girl says.

“Mm let’s get out of here then. I think Max said they are having a little party as well.”

“Okay.”

Then the door opens again and the voices disappear, but reality hits Harry hard in the head.

He slowly pulls back, enough to look at her face and when he sees her swollen lips and slightly smeared mascara he almost combusts. 

Because he wants nothing more than to take her, right here and then everywhere else in the world, but he also realizes what he just did and this time his rational side wins. 

“Fuck,” he gasps as he jumps back, cupping a hand over his mouth.

“I wanted it–”

“Y/N, stop!” he cuts her off. “Fuck, this was a mistake.”

“But I wanted it! You didn’t–”

“I said stop!” he barks and she shuts her mouth right away. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

And before she could protest again or worse, kiss him again, he is already storming back inside, across the house towards the front door.

“Harry! I haven’t seen you all night!” Stella catches him, but he just wants to get as far away from this house and from Y/N as possible.

“I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later,” is all he manages to say before he is already out the door.

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

[thinkinonsense]

TALK, TALK₊˚⊹ ʚɞ

logan howlett x mutant!reader

cw: fluff, sweet logan

a/n: inspired by the charli xcx song<3 everything in spanish and french is from google translate so if it's incorrect, that why.

you were no stranger to crushes. they always showed up out of the blue; you couldn't help it. all it took was one glance, a smile, a bit of small talk, anything really. none of this changed when he entered your life.

maybe cupid had struck you in the ass at some point.

for weeks, everyone in the mansion knew where your feelings had floated. normally, you try not to develop any crushes on the people you see daily but this guy was different. even sort of dangerous; the thrill excited you.

"you don't understand, storm." you groan, helping her train downstairs. "there's just something about him. i can't explain it."

your dear friend laughs, swinging at the boxing bag again. "i'm not saying not to go after him... just be careful is all."

"well, there's nothing to worry about because he hasn't even talked to me." a small sigh escapes you.

"he hasn't talked to you?" she questions. you shake your head. "that's odd. i wonder why not?"

"well, he keeps to himself." you shrug, thinking of excuses besides the fact that he likely doesn't share the same feelings you do.

"hm... have you tried talking to him?"

"nooo." you giggle nervously. "absolutely not! you know how i get when i actually have to talk to people i have crushes on."

"i know." storm joins in on your laughter. "it's like someone set you on top of a stove; you just start melting."

"it all comes out like, 'blah, blah, blah'."

"you never know, maybe he speaks 'blah, blah, blah' too."

little did storm know that her words would linger around in your head every time you see him.

₊˚⊹ ʚɞ

obliviousness was not a trait logan had. he noticed everything; whether he liked it or not. in this case, he didn't mind noticing everything about you.

it started when he saw a shadow following him to the cafeteria, down the hall, and to the training room. he tried to be polite and ignore it; too afraid to scare you off entirely.

a couple days after your talk with storm, charles sent the older mutants out on a mission. this included storm, scott, logan, and yourself. upon the return, all of the older mutants gathered in the kitchen to unwind. you, storm, and kurt sat together at the table. the two of them bickered back and forth about something silly that happened during the mission.

it wasn't fair how good logan looked during the mission. the tight black spandex did wonders for his form. it felt like some high school crush. butterfly's always in your stomach when he looks at you.

on the other side of the room, logan sat in a wooden chair next to hank, with a cigar dangling from his lips. it must've felt like you were burning holes into the side of his head. even storm had to nudge you to look away from him, telling you to stop giving him 'heart eyes'.

"think someone's got a crush on you, pal." hank teases logan. "heard she's been waiting for you to talk to her."

you looked pretty, sitting at the table with a slight red stain on the inside of your lips, matching the flush of red on your cheeks when you notice him catching you staring. logan couldn't think of anything that compare to the ethereal sight before him.

₊˚⊹ ʚɞ

the glass of red wine on your hand was now empty, allowing you to excuse yourself from their conversation for a moment. at the counter, you pour yourself another glass; finishing off the bottle. when you turn to toss the bottle in the trash, you bump into someone.

"s-sorry." you squeal before realizing that it was logan that you bumped into.

"no need to apologize." he assures.

one of logan's big wide palms places itself on your waist, helping keep you upright. all of the wine flooded your mind, unable to form a proper sentence.

"dios mío, eres tan hermoso." you ramble drunkenly shooting stars from your eyes.

*oh my god, you're so gorgeous.

logan couldn't be more confused by your suddenly language switch but he found it awfully amusing. it wasn't a total surprise, he knew you were incredibly intelligent. charles always sang your praises. if you were even a little bit sober right now, you would be mortified.

"whatcha' thinking about, sweetheart?" he smirks, loving how flustered you became.

little did you know, the 200 year old mutant has definitely picked up on some different languages over his lifetime. to logan it didn't even matter whether or not he understood what you meant, he just wanted you to keep talking.

"je veux embrasser ton joli visage." your tongue runs over your bottom lip.

*wanna kiss your pretty face.

"hm... tell me more." logan purrs into your ear. completely forgetting about everyone else in the room.

"he estado enamorado de ti durante meses, ¿sabes?"

*i've had a crush on you for months, you know?

"je pense à toi tous les jours." you step closer, drunk with confidence. "pendant les entraînements, en mission, seule au lit... tout le temps."

*i think about you everyday. during training, on missions, alone in bed... all the time.

"such a smart girl, aren't 'cha, honey?" he groans softly at your words.

it took everything in logan not to kiss you right here, right now. he wanted you to remember the first time he kissed you.

"je veux être ta copine, logan." you whisper in his ear.

*wanna be your girl, logan.

"¿puedes guardar mi secreto?"

*can you keep my secret?

he never wanted you to stop talking; loving every word that falls from your foreign lips.

it wasn't long until storm, pulls you away hoping she caught you before you said anything you would regret. logan didn't mind, too excited to see you in the morning.

₊˚⊹ ʚɞ

when you woke up, your head was pounding. nothing worse than a wine hangover. you couldn't remember anything after jean poured you a third glass of wine. you took two aspirins and laid in bed for an extra hour before you finally made it downstairs for breakfast.

logan smelled your lavender scented shampoo the second you stepped out of your room. he had been downstairs waiting for you. everyone had already started their day, off either teaching or training. not him though, he had different plans for his day.

"morning." logan said to you as you walked into the kitchen. your heart fluttered, he could hear it.

"good morning." you reply meekly as you grab a plate and some utensils.

he sips on his plain black coffee while you place two waffles and some fruit onto your plate. theres a small stack of books next to logan on the table but you don't give it a second glance.

"wanna sit?" he asks you.

this was a completely different side of logan compared to the usually grumpy version of him that everyone sees.

"sure."

"did you have fun last night?"

he needed to test the waters on what you remember. by the late arrival to breakfast, logan's guess was not much.

"would you believe me if i said that i can't remember much?" you giggle nervously as you bite into a strawberry. "i was probably being boring in some corner."

you couldn't have been more wrong, logan thinks to himself. the two of you have some small talk for a while, enjoying each others company. this wasn't helping your crush from spreading.

once you cleared your plate and logan finished his coffee, both of you get up to place your dishes into the sink when you noticed the books in logan's hands. one spine read 'beginners guide to french' and the other read 'spanish for dummies'.

in a flash, everything came hurtling back at you full speed. this wasn't yours and logan's first conversation alone together.

"¿Qué pasa cariño?" logan asks, voice filled with desire as he cages you against the sink. his lips ghosted over your own; tempting you beyond your strengths. "je pensais que tu voulais que je te parle ?"

*what's wrong, sweetheart?

*i thought you wanted me to talk to you?

"et merde." you whisper before pulling on the collar of his flannel, smashing his lips into yours.

*fuck it.

the sheer taste of the other drove both of you insane. the mix of logan's coffee and tobacco contrasting with your sweet syrup and fruity taste was intoxicating. you pull back, needing to catch your breath. logan's lips moved south, sucking a dark purple bruise on your pulse point.

"better than i imaged." logan groans, obsessed with your every being.

"imagine si tu m'avais parlé plus tôt ?" you wink down at him.

*imagine if you had talked to me sooner?

logan chuckles, bending to pick you up. "love that mouth of yours, sweetheart. lets see what other languages it speaks."

[lechrts]

Change. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Friend!reader

Summary: When you look a little too good for a night clubbing out with Lando and friends.

Word Count: 2.3k

Disclaimer/s: suggestive??? ish… POSSESIVE!LANDO. kinda made me AUUUUGGGH when writing.

Vera’s Voice! I MEAN what i said about making me AUUUGGGHH when writing. cuz ohhhh boy. there’s probs plenty of things like this out there but 👅 wassuhhhh. hope u enjoy!!! ^_^

Lando had been sitting on your couch for the past thirty minutes, scrolling aimlessly on his phone as he waited for you to finish getting ready. You’d already told him “five more minutes” three times now, and he was growing restless.

“Come onnnnn!” You could hear his irritated groan from down the hall. “Max and them are already there, I’m getting gray hairs!” He complained.

“Alright! Alright!” A small laugh escaped your lips as you were coincidentally walking out of your room, ready as ever. “I’m done!” Your voice rang out as you rummaged through your purse, double checking and making sure you had every essential needed for tonight.

With another exaggerated sigh, he shot up from his spot and glanced from his phone lazily, ready to toss out some sarcastic quip about you taking ages—until his eyes landed on you.

His jaw nearly dropped.

You were wearing a figure-hugging black mini skirt that left little to the imagination. Your red top sat delicately on your shoulders, the hem ending just a bit higher than what Lando would have preferred. Paired with black boots, your hair and makeup perfectly done, you looked… well, effortlessly stunning.

He blinked once. Then twice.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “Wow.”

You frowned, pausing in the middle of adjusting your top. “What? Do I look bad?”

His eyes widened, shooting up to yours as he quickly shook his head. “Oh—No! Noo. No, no, no. Not bad at all.”

You raised a brow as he stammered over his words, his face growing increasingly red. “No?”

“No,” He muttered again, scratching the back of his neck. His gaze flickered down and back up quickly, as if he couldn’t help himself but glance at every inch of you. “You look… really good. Like, really good.”

The corner of your lips tugged into a shy smile. “Oh. Well… thank you!”

For some reason, Lando didn’t smile back. Instead, his expression tightened slightly, his brows furrowing in the faintest way.

“But um..” He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “Are you… uh—Ahem.” His voice cracked mid sentence. “Are you sure you wanna go out in that?”

The question hung in the air like a bomb waiting to go off.

And it was about to go off.

On him.

You squinted your eyes before quirking a brow and crossing your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lando winced. “Nothing bad! It’s just… y’know. The club can get a little… wild. And I just… it’s a bit—” He gestured vaguely at your outfit.

“It’s a bit what?” You tilted your head, challenging him.

“Short,” He said finally, almost inaudibly. “It’s short.”

“Lando.” You stared at him in disbelief, eyes now wide as your raised your brows. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m just saying!” He lifted his hands defensively. “You don’t wanna deal with guys being weird or staring at you like—like—”

“Like what?” You cut him off, glaring. “Like how you’re staring at me right now?”

Lando’s cheeks flushed. “I’m not staring!”

“You are.” You stepped forward, amused now as you watched him squirm. “Pig.”

“Come on! Don’t be like that!” Lando sighed. “You—you know what I mean..” He wasn’t sure how to word anything at the moment.

“Are you flustered, Lando Norris?”

“Wha—pSsshhh. No.” He scoffed, looking anywhere but at you.

“Liar.”

“I’m not!”

“Uh-huh.” You smirked, leaning closer. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously.

“You’re acting weird,” You teased, poking his chest lightly. “What, you don’t like my outfit?”

“That’s not it,” Lando mumbled, eyes finally meeting yours. Something in his expression softened, his voice quieter when he added, “It’s because I do like it.. Like a lot.”

For a moment, you froze, your heart skipping a beat.

“Oh…”

Well, that caught you off guard.

Lando shifted closer now, his usual cheeky grin replaced with something more serious, more… tender.

“I just… I don’t like the thought of every guy in the club looking at you like you’re…” He trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Like I’m what?” you prompted softly.

“Like you’re something they can just have,” He said, his voice steady this time.

“Because you’re not.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The way he looked at you—intense and unguarded—made your skin warm.

“Well, it’s not like you have to worry about that,” You said quietly, trying to ignore how flustered you felt under his gaze. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.” His lips tugged into a small smile. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You stared at him for a beat, your heart pounding against your ribs. “Good thing I dressed for myself and not for you!” A cheeky grin played at your lips.

“Oh, come on.” He shut his eyes tightly and let out a wide smiled laugh.

“Are you jealous?” You asked, testing him.

He opened his mouth to deny it, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he let out another sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again.

“Maybe,” He admitted softly.

You blinked. You really hadn’t expected that.

“…You’re jealous!” You repeated, a teasing grin breaking across your face as your voice was practically taunting.

Lando groaned, tipping his head back dramatically as if to escape the moment entirely. “I said maybe,” He muttered, voice muffled, cheeks turning impossibly redder.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, though the sound felt tighter than you wanted it to. Something about the way he looked at you—the way his eyes burned into yours with that soft intensity—had your stomach twisting, your pulse quickening.

“You’re crazy,” You murmured, stepping back just slightly to give yourself some breathing room. It was stupid how much his gaze had affected you—how much he affected you.

“Yeah, well…” Lando sighed, his expression shifting to something unreadable. He glanced down at the floor for a second before looking up at you again, his voice quieter now. “I just don’t want anyone thinking they’ve got a chance with you… when they don’t.”

And now.

Your heart stopped.

Huh?

The air in the room thickened, and you suddenly felt hyper-aware of every inch of yourself—of him. You swallowed hard, feeling your throat dry up.

“Why… why would it matter if they did?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, a challenge wrapped in curiosity.

Lando stepped toward you this time, closing the distance you’d put between you two. “Because I can’t have people embarrass themselves,” He said simply, his words heavy, deliberate.

Your breath hitched. He was close now—close enough that you could smell the faint cologne clinging to him, close enough that your knees felt dangerously weak. Your mind screamed at you to say something, anything, to break the tension.

But then he tilted his head just slightly, his eyes dropping to your lips before flicking back up to meet yours.

You froze.

“Lando.” You started, your voice shaky, but you weren’t even sure what you wanted to say.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” His voice was so low it sent shivers down your spine. “Tell me you’d let anyone in the club have a chance with you.”

You blinked, stunned. “I—I mean, that’s not—”

“That’s not what?” He murmured. There was barely an inch between you now, his body heat radiating onto you like a fire you couldn’t escape. He was looking at you like he was waiting for something, like he was daring you.

You felt dizzy, caught in the push and pull of whatever the hell this was.

“You don’t get to decide what I do,” You managed to say, though your voice was far weaker than you’d intended.

“I know.” His eyes softened, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “But you know, I’d kill any guy who even looked at your way tonight.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You couldn’t think straight—not with the way he was looking at you, not with the way he stood so close.

“You’re insane,” You whispered finally, though the words held no real weight.

Lando grinned. “Yeah? Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Oh.

Your heart stuttered.

God damnit.

You knew you should say something snarky—something to diffuse this unbearable tension that had your body practically buzzing. But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

Instead, you looked up at him through your lashes, your voice soft when you finally spoke.

“…Maybe I like it when you get jealous.”

Lando stilled, his expression faltering for half a second before his lips curved into something that was far too dangerous—a mix of smug and something else that you couldn’t quite name.

“Careful,” He whispered, his voice dropping into something almost husky, “or I’ll start thinking you have a little crush on me.”

The room felt like it was spinning now, and the tension between you both was so palpable you were sure you could reach out and touch it.

“And what if I do?” You shot back, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look anywhere but at his lips.

For a moment, everything was silent. And then—

“Then I’d say I’ve been waiting for you to figure that out.”

Your breath hitched, your pulse pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else. Lando’s words hung in the air like a loaded promise, and the way he looked at you—eyes dark, jaw tight—sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re so full of yourself,” You whispered, but your voice cracked, betraying you completely.

“Am I?” His lips tugged into a slow, teasing smirk, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were serious. “Because I think I’m just being honest.”

You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body screaming at you to move, to say something, to do something.

But you couldn’t.

You were frozen, stuck under the weight of him and the truth of what he’d just said.

“I’ve been waiting for you to figure that out.”

The worst part was you knew it was true. You’d felt this coming for months—maybe even longer—and you’d been avoiding it, brushing it off as nothing more than harmless banter.

But now, standing here with him so close, with his words replaying in your head like a song you couldn’t shake, it was impossible to deny.

Your silence stretched on, the tension between you growing tighter and tighter, winding like a coil ready to snap.

“Say something,” Lando murmured, his voice soft now, his tone almost… pleading.

You blinked up at him, your own voice barely a whisper. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you’re done pretending.” He stepped impossibly closer, the tips of his shoes brushing yours. “That you feel it too.”

Your heart thudded painfully, your breath catching in your throat. His words shouldn’t have made you this weak—this vulnerable—but they did.

Because you did feel it. The magnetic pull toward him, the way your skin lit up when he was near, the way he could unravel you with just a look.

Finally, you found your voice. “I’m not pretending.”

Lando exhaled, almost like he’d been holding his breath, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. His hand hovered at his side, his fingers flexing like he was resisting the urge to reach for you.

“Good.” He smirked faintly, but his voice was serious when he added, “Then let’s get one thing straight.”

You arched a brow, trying to mask how shaky your legs felt. “And what’s that?”

“You’re not leaving my side tonight.”

You blinked, surprised by the possessive edge to his voice. “Lando—”

“Non-negotiable.” He cut you off, his hand finally moving to rest at your waist—light, cautious, but firm enough that you felt its weight. “I meant what I said earlier. I don’t trust anyone else in there. So if we’re doing this—if you’re mine—”

“Yours?” You interrupted, though your voice was breathless now, the single word escaping before you could stop it.

Lando grinned, the kind of grin that made you feel like the ground had been pulled out from under you. “Yeah. Mine.” His thumb brushed against the hem of your top, the small movement sending a jolt through you.

“And I don’t share.”

You couldn’t breathe. It was like every word out of his mouth was knocking the wind out of you, leaving you reeling.

You should’ve pushed him away—told him he was being ridiculous and that you could handle yourself.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you whispered, “Fine.”

Lando’s grin softened into something warmer—something real—as his hand tightened ever so slightly around your waist. “Fine?”

“Fine,” You repeated, your voice steadying as you looked up at him. “But if you’re going to stay glued to my side all night, you better not embarrass me.”

Lando laughed, the sound sending warmth flooding through your chest. “No promises.”

You wanted to argue, to push back and tell him he couldn’t just claim you like that. But you couldn’t—because deep down, some part of you wanted it.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to steady your racing heart. “You’re a little too confident, aren’t you?” You muttered, though the bite in your words was weakened by the way your voice trembled.

Lando’s grin softened into something that made your knees weak. “Not confident. Just sure.” His gaze flickered across your face—your lips, your eyes—and for a brief moment, he hesitated. Then, as if unable to hold back, he added quietly,

“And for the record, I’ve always thought you were beautiful. Not just tonight.”

The sincerity in his voice knocked the air from your lungs. He said it so simply, so effortlessly, like it was a fact he’d been carrying with him for far too long. And yet, it left you speechless, your mind spinning.

You stared at him, trying to process his words—trying to process him. “Always?” You whispered, like you needed confirmation that you hadn’t imagined it.

Lando held your gaze, his expression soft but unwavering. “Always.”

And just like that, the moment broke—but the tension lingered.

He didn’t let go of you as you finally grabbed the last bit of your things and headed for the door. In fact, his hand never once left your waist, his touch burning into you in the best way possible.

And as you stepped into the night, surrounded by the hum of music and people, you realized something:

You weren’t pretending anymore.

And neither was he.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated ^_^ !!!

extra vera note!!!! Guys please bro is so Male in this it acc pissed me off kinda 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ WHATEVER. for the plot 👅

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox

[aemondsbabe]

Taunt

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

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

pairing: michael gavey x reader

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

word count: 10.5k (dear lord)

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

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how would you go about doing that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I’m bus–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you?” 

“Fine, yes.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.” It comes out as a breath. 

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

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

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

“None?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rueclfer]

Can I request a best friends brother touya plssss :)

Ur loser Touya who, canon to your fics, writes in a diary journal is so good and needs a comeback 😭💗

Okay thank you byyyyyeee :P

god i love todosiblings tomfoolery in touya fics!!!! ily anon thank u for loving this loser as much as i do

open up the door // touya todoroki

“Knock knock.” The voice interrupts yours and Fuyumi’s chatter from the other side of her bedroom door.

“What?” Fuyumi calls out, cueing Touya to poke his head through the cracked door, eyes meeting her before your own, in which you quickly darted away. “Can we help you?”

“Yeah, you can actually.” He returns the tone, fully swinging the door open, leaning against the frame. “I hear you losers giggling and shit from all the way down the hall. Don’t you think you two should shut up and go to sleep?”

You look him up and down, eyeing the stretched out flannel pajama pants hanging low on his hips and distressed band tee over his lanky frame. The glossy sheen over his eyes and the state of his hair made it apparent that he had just rolled out of bed, woken up from yours and Fuyumi’s night time antics and gossip.

“It’s barely 12am on a Friday night, Touya.” You cock your eyebrow at him. “Nothing more important to do than to bother us?”

“Tell me, Y/N, what exactly am I interrupting?” He walks into the room, being careful to step over the scattered containers of various beads, rolls of string, and a couple pairs haphazardly throw scissors laying across the floor. “Friendship bracelets? Are you guys 12?” 

You were laying on the floor on your stomach as he approached you and stepped over you with a leg on each side. Touya leans down and looks past your head to see the unfinished bracelet in your hands.

“Whatcha spelling out, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You huff, slapping his calf to shoo him away.

“Leave us alone” Fuyumi groans. “We’re gonna go to sleep right now, okay?”

“Sleep, don’t sleep, I don’t give a fuck. Just be quiet. Especially you, loudmouth.” He flicks the back of your head before stepping over you towards the door, clicking it behind him.

You and Fuyumi meet each other’s eyes before simultaneously letting out an annoyed sigh.

“Sorry, you know how he is.” Fuyumi huffs. “He’s so annoying sometimes.”

You had a long standing relationship with the Todoroki family. Your friendship with Fuyumi flourished in middle school when you had accidentally snapped her glasses in half during gym class. Luckily, for you two, you were a wizard with duct tape which had not only effectively fixed her frames, but made you two inseparable since. 

“Sometimes?” You scoff, beginning to shove the craft supplies to the side, making room for your floor mattress. “I was seriously planning on marrying into the family one way or another, but you gave me some shit options, Fuy. Introduce me to a cousin or something.

“Settle for him to be with me forever.” She sighs dramatically and shoots you a pout. “If you really loved me, you would.”

Another thing that lingered since you two were kids- the concept of setting you up with her older brother. The idea had always seemed so perfect for her. There you were, someone who got along with the family, the sister she never had, and most importantly, was “good enough” for her brother, who notoriously had a shitty dating history. However, Fuyumi’s fantasy quickly crumbled midway through high school, when Touya suddenly decided that he was too good for anyone- especially his little sister’s best friend.

“Touya’s a fucking prick, Fuy. I really do want to beat the fuck out of him, no joke, and I’m pretty sure the feelings are mutual.”

“Watch it!” She scolds you. “He’s not that bad, or at least not as bad as he used to be.”

“Not as bad? ‘Hey ugly’ is his go-to greeting for me. He acts like my presence is the most inconveniencing thing ever. If we're alone in the same room, he'll avoid me like the plague and then once there's anyone else around, suddenly he wants to annoy me at any given chance.”

“He’s going through a life crisis or something. Be nice.” She warns. “Or else I’ll kick both of your asses. Wake me if you’re up before me, okay? But only if it’s after 10am.” She yawns. “Goodnight.”

“Yeah whatever, g'night." You say and roll your eyes, knowing that you will definitely not be waking her up.

Now with the lights off and you two in your respective beds, all you could do is look up at the glow in the dark stars plastered to the ceiling, and think back on all of your interactions with Touya from the moment you met him to now- from your raging infatuation with him when you first met as children to the growing resentment and annoyance into your late teens.

-

The glaring sunbeam peaking through the curtains hit you right in the eye, effectively waking you up from your deep sleep. Your phone reads 6:54AM. You mentally groaned to yourself before rolling out of your mattress, exiting the dark bedroom with a soft click of the door behind you. On an early Saturday morning like this, the Todoroki household had its rare moments of silent solitude

Padding your way to the bathroom, you were still in a drowsy state, eyes lidded, and the heaviness of a deep sleep weighing on your shoulders. Once the door shuts behind you, you lean against the kitchen sink and rub the sleepiness from your eyes,

"The fuck, Y/N?" The familiar voice snaps you awake. Your vision focuses on the figure standing near the shower. "You pervert, what do you think you're doing?" He exclaims with a growing amused smile.

"Jesus, Touya!" You exclaim, taking a step back against the door. "Ever use a fucking lock before?" You lowly huff, trying to keep your volume down.

"Why would I when no one's ever up this early? Don't you walk around with your eyes open?"

"I just woke up like two seconds ago." You groan. "Why are you just hanging out in the bathroom?"

"Well I was going to shower. Unless you're here to 'beat the fuck out of me?'" He leans against the wall, arms crossed.

"Listening in on our conversation? Who's the pervert now?" You furrow your eyebrows.

"Involuntarily, with your loud mouth and all." He takes a step closer, almost closing the gap and leaving just mere inches of space between you two. "Sounds like you don't like me very much, huh? What happened to that little crush in middle school?" He kept his voice low.

"Fizzled out a long time ago when you started thinking you were too cool for everyone." You press your finger against the middle of his chest. "You're full of yourself, stuck up, infuriating to be around, and you have no reason to not like me when we've known each other for damn near a decade. You're such a dick for no reason."

"You done?" His amused smile grew even wider, making the fury in your stomach grow stronger. "Because I don't have to explain shit to you."

You rub your face in your hands in frustration. "You know what you act like? A 13 year old who thinks being mean to his crush makes them like you back." You cross your arms, almost tip-toeing your way closer to his face. "That must be it, huh? Can't navigate your feelings?"

Touya bit the inside of his cheek.

Before he could retaliate with another venom filled comment, someone on the other side of the door was knocking. Had you two been so loud this early in the morning?

"Y/N?" You recognized the groggy voice. "Are you in there? Can I come in?"

You froze and quickly realized how the situation looked- you and Touya almost pressed up against each other in the bathroom. Alone. After you had just told her all about your disdain for her brother the night before.

You locked your eyes with him. He opened his mouth, ready to respond in your place, in which you quickly slammed your hand over his mouth, and the other on his shoulder. You start pushing him back towards the shower.

"Yeah! I'm in here, give me a second!" You called out over your shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He mouths, taking a step into the shower before he could trip over the ledge.

"Shut up." You whisper back, closing the shower curtain. "Stay." You warn.

You took a glance at yourself in the mirror, silently hoping Fuyumi doesn't notice your flushed cheeks.

"Sorry I was getting ready to shower. Was I being too loud?" You open the door to see her sleepy state of lidded eyes and tousled hair.

"No." She yawns. "I got a migraine, I just need my medication."

You step aside for her to dig through the medicine cabinet for a moment, sending subtle glances to the shower every now and then, hoping Touya doesn't decide to make an appearance.

"By the way," She mumbles. "I was serious about last night. Be nice to Touya, okay? You know he kinda has a crush on you."

"What?" You exclaim a bit too loudly, slapping your hand over your mouth.

She shushes you, putting her finger over her mouth. "You'll wake him. He's a light sleeper." She warns. "But yeah, Natsuo read his diary last week and told me. I think I kinda knew though, since he's so emotionally constipated." She softly chuckles, lightly shaking the migraine medication into her palm.

"What the fuck, Fuyumi?" Your mouth hung open. "Diary? You tell me this now?"

"Well I didn't realize how much you disliked him." She smiles. "Just thought you should know. We'll talk more later, though. I'm going back to sleep. Think about it, and have a good shower."

"Okay.. thanks." You mumble, closing the door behind her.

If you really wanted to, you could let yourself feel mortified for Touya and make an agreement to pretend like that conversation didn't just happen, but you could feel the disgusting pride and ego growing larger by the second as you digested this new information.

Touya rips the shower curtain to the side, stepping out of the shower with a new layer of blush dusted over his cheeks and his wide eyes filled with embarrassment.

"Shut up." He huffs, running a hand through his hair.

"Didn't say anything." You shrug, pressing your lips together to suppress a smirk.

"Keep it that way, then."

He begins to make his way towards the door, in which you promptly block with your body.

"Y/N. Move." He demands, one hand on the handle and the other pressed against the door next to your head.

"Guess I got you figured out after all. You write about me in your diary often?" Your let your smirk grow. "You'd have better luck if you were nicer to your crush, don't you think?"

You could see that pompous facade of his crumble by the second with the way he bit down on his lower lip, cheeks growing into a deeper shade of red, and eyes darting away to avoid your own.

"It's a fucking journal. Not a diary. Let me out. I'm going to go smother that fucking brat with his own pillow."

"Why don't we unpack this here, instead?" You lean back onto the door, preventing him from pulling it open. "If you like me so much, why are you such a dick?"

A beat of silence passes as he releases a long sigh.

"I-" He starts, staring down at you with a sheepish expression. "don't mean to be an asshole. I just get nervous, okay?" His voice falters towards the end.

You cock an eyebrow at him. "Nervous? How does that make sense or justify anything?"

"Because I can't think straight whenever you're around. Which is all the fucking time."

You didn't think far enough ahead as to how you could navigate this. You questioned if this could even be considered a confession or where things would go between you two when you eventually let him out of the bathroom.

"We were fine when we were kids, though?"

"I didn't like you when we were kids." He huffs.

"So a few years ago? When you started acting like an ass?"

"I guess." He mutters. "Can you move over now?"

"I give you one chance." You cross your arms.

"Huh?"

"To apologize, confess and ask me out. Properly."

"Right now?" His eyes widened, mouth gaped open.

"Yup, or forever hold your peace and watch me get with one of your cousins or something."

"You'd actually go out with me?" He asks under his breath.

"Ask me and find out." You shrug.

He pressed his lips together, continuing to stare down at you with furrowed brows- of course you stared back in annoyance. You thought that he already had the easy way out, thanks to Fuyumi, so this hesitation only made you more anxious.

A voice in the back of your head had started pounding through the front. It was your 10 year old self. They're making your stomach twist in anticipation. They're making your heart race. They're making your hands clam up. They're hoping he'd do it.

But he wasn't.

"Okay, guess not then. I'm leaving." You suddenly blurt out, turning to grab the handle.

"Wait." He places his hand over the door frame, preventing it from pulling open. "Give me a fucking second okay? I feel like I can barely breathe."

He puts both hands on your shoulder, expelling a long breath of air to the side. You tense at the sudden physical contact, feeling the warmth of the palms of his hands melt into you.

"I'm sorry for being a dick to you. I'm sorry for not knowing how to act around you. I'm not sure I deserve it, but can you... give me a chance?" He spills out through clenched teeth, all in one breath.

His face was still flushed and expression was almost pained. You knew you backed him up in a corner but if he had this crush for a few years, was he ever planning on telling you?

"I know you had a crush on me when we first met as kids, and I know you definitely don't anymore, but if you want to give me a chance then I guess that would be.. cool." He sheepishly says, sucking in the inside of his cheek.

"You guess?" You cock your head to the side.

"You're fucking killing me, Y/N. That's seriously the best I can do at 7am right now." He deadpans. "Yes or no- before I start panicking."

You pause for a moment, taking in the weight of his hands on your shoulder and intense eye contact.

"I'll go out with you."

"Really?" His eyes widen, and grip tightening. "After everything? You will?"

You nod your head, slightly taken off guard by his surprise.

"Cool. Cool. Okay." He takes a step back, bringing his hands back to his side and shoving them in his pajama pants pocket, giving you space to take your exit. "Um. I'll keep you updated on that date then? When I figure it out?" He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"Cool." You say, still standing idly.

"Cool." He responds, pressing his lips together in a tight line

"Don't make it weird, okay?" You huff. "I don't want to tell Fuy yet."

"No weirdness here." He awkwardly smiles, now fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Okay we're done here." You teasingly roll your eyes. "You're being weird, so I'm leaving. See you in a few hours, loser."

You two exchanged shy smiles and glances before you made your exit, letting out an audible breath of air after shutting the door behind you. Later that morning, after his shower and getting ready for the day, Touya would find a beaded bracelet hanging on his bedroom's door handle, reading "T O U Y A < 3" in which he slipped over his wrist and would glance down at all day, reminding himself not to fuck it up.

[gothcsz]

Body Language | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 2 to this bad boy right here | ~8.2k wc | Series Masterlist | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Caught in a charged and unexpected moment with Javier Peña, you struggle between resisting his relentless seduction and giving in to the tension that has been building since the last shoot.

Tags: smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, no use of Y/N, reader is shorter than javier but other than that no physical descriptions, some dirty talk, semi-public sex (we're in an elevator this time around), reader really doesn't like javi, steve being steve, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: this was supposed to be a short lil thing but then my ass had to drag it out just a little because their dynamic is very fun to write 😭 he's like whyyy don't you like me and she's like how much time do you have? lmfao. this is dedicated to @auteurdelabre 🖤 #1 pornstar javi stan, i almost submitted this for your trope off but decided to save that honor for my other story! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy javier begging to eat you out 🥂 let me know what you think 🖤 mandatory mutual tags: @almostempty / @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

You sit in the cramped waiting room outside of Robbie’s office, the stale air clinging to your skin as you shift uncomfortably in the worn-out chair. The place is too quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outdoors.

You glance at the clock on the wall, anxiety creeping up your spine. You have a shift at the bar in an hour, and time is slipping through your fingers. The laundry, the groceries, the endless list of errands— it all piled up today, and now you’re cutting it too close.

But you need this check. It’s the only reason you’re here, tapping your foot in impatience. If you don’t get it today, the money won’t hit your account in time to cover rent, and you really don’t want another lecture from your landlord. It’s bad enough you’re already behind— no need to give him more ammunition to chew you out.

You sigh and lean back, eyes closing as you try to drown out the frustration swirling in your head. That’s when you hear the unmistakable ding of the elevator down the hall and turn your head to see who’s joining.

Your stomach drops and you sit up straight. No. Not now. The air feels heavier, thick with that familiar irritation, as the slow, deliberate sound of boots against the tile grows louder. 

Javier Peña.

Just the thought of him sends a hot wave through your being, a mix of irritation and something else you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t want to think about that last shoot, the one where things shifted. Where shit got weird. You behind the camera, filming as always, while he was balls deep in another woman, claiming you were on his mind.

“Bet you’d look just as pretty like this, nena.”

“Did you like what you saw? Like watching the way I fucked her but was thinking of you the whole time?”

It was like he’d stripped you bare with just a few words, leaving you more exposed than them in the midst of their carnal fucking. And the worst part? You’d been affected by it. Skin on fire, pussy wet. It also didn’t help that Steve had heard it too. The mic catching the flirting, the hitch of your breath getting stuck in your throat, clear as day.

He’d asked you about it later at Lucky’s, as promised, all smug and drinking that God-awful beer. But you’d brushed him off, hoping he’d drop it. Thankfully, he had— for the most part— but you could still feel his restlessness, wanting to stir the pot.

Now, Javier is here, of course, because the universe just loves to mess with you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms, leaning back against the chair in defiance. You refuse to look at him. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he gets under your skin. 

His footsteps stop just a few feet away, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore. You can feel him looking at you, feel the weight of his brown eyes like a physical thing as they rake over your body.

You keep your gaze glued to the wall, focusing on the ugly, generic painting hanging there like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You gonna act like you don’t see me?” His voice is deep, smooth, and frustratingly cocky, just like always. 

You grit your teeth, biting back a response. You won’t give him an inch. Not again. This motherfucker will take a mile.

“Okay, so that’s what we’re doing.” Before you can react, he plops down beside you. You stiffen immediately, moving your crossed knees to the side, angling yourself away from him, as if the few inches of space will protect you from the onslaught of whatever the hell he’s about to say next.

He spreads his thighs wide, his posture screaming obnoxious confidence. You just barely catch a glimpse of his bulge pressing up against his left thigh and how the fuck does it look so big even when he’s soft? “You know,” he says, voice dripping with that lazy, arrogant drawl, “you’re the only woman that treats me like this, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

You snort, the sound sharp and humorless. You still don’t bother looking at him.

Javier frowns, flitting his tongue across the top row of his teeth. “Is it because I came off too strong the first time we met? ‘Cause if that’s the case; then I’m sorry. Can’t help myself from flirting with pretty little things like you.”

You roll your eyes so hard, it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of their sockets. He doesn’t sound sincere at all.

Thing is, you didn’t mind the flirting. Even if he, like he’s so romantically put it, does flirt with pretty little things all the time; it did make you feel like just that. Pretty. It’s what came after that soured your Javier Peña experience.

He huffs, like a petulant child, frustrated by your silence. You don’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance. Instead, you shift in your seat, your mind racing, wondering what the hell is taking Robbie so damn long. He never works, barely lifts a finger unless there’s money or something else in it for him, and now, suddenly, he’s busy? Yeah, right. He’s probably in his office jerking it to one of his films, getting off on his own work. Typical.

You’re done waiting. With a sharp movement, you stand, startling Javier, though you still don’t give him the time of day. He’s used to women catering to his every whim, hanging on his every word. You aren’t going to be one of them. Not even if he did manage to get you all hot and bothered.

You stalk over to the door and knock harder than necessary. “I’m busy,” his voice grumbles through the wooden surface, and you resist the urge to scream.

“And I need my check. Just slide it under the door or something,” you snap, the urgency in your voice making it clear that you’re not in the mood to get fucked around with.

There’s a pause, followed by the sound of shuffling papers before the door cracks open just enough for Robbie to stick his hand out, an envelope clutched between his fingers. He practically shoves it into your hand before slamming the door shut again.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the envelope with your name scrawled across the front. Surrounded by imbeciles. Just one shift to get through tonight, and then maybe, just maybe, you can get some peace. Enjoy the first weekend off you’ve had in months.

Now that you have what you came for, you spin on your heel and stride down the hallway, ignoring the handsome pornstar still lounging in the chair behind you. From your peripheral, you can see him sitting there, skinny jean clad legs spread, looking all annoyingly sexy without even trying. It would be so much easier if he were ugly— or literally anyone else. But no, it’s Javier fucking Peña, with his ridiculous good looks and that cocky smirk that could probably charm the panties off half the city if he wanted to (it probably has, to be honest).

You mentally map out the next hour: hit the bank, dash home to change, then off to work. You could walk to the bank, maybe catch a taxi home if you’re lucky. But with traffic in this city, luck isn’t really on your side. You start considering your options— do you skip changing and just head to work as you are? Would your other boss even care if you showed up a little underdressed? You’re so lost in your thoughts, focused on cutting corners to save time, that you don’t hear the quiet footsteps behind you.

It’s not until the elevator dings and you step inside that you realize you’re not alone. Javier’s slipped in just before the doors close, sliding smoothly into the cramped space beside you. The sudden proximity makes your heart do this stupid little jump, and you curse yourself for it. You’re trapped now— stuck way too close to him in the tiny metal box.

The air feels charged, his presence impossible to ignore yet again. The smell of his aftershave hits you first— spicy, with a hint of something woodsy, layered under the scent of his leather jacket and the faint, lingering whiff of cigarette smoke. He tries to drown it out with minty gum, but it’s still there, clinging to him like an old habit. And damn it, your knees go a little weak, despite your best efforts to stay cool.

The height difference between you is glaringly obvious now. You’re eye level with the habitually open portion of his cream colored shirt, the buttons undone just enough to give a peek at his brown chest. It’s frustrating how effortlessly he pulls off the whole rugged look— like he doesn’t even try, but somehow manages to look better than most men who spend hours on it.

You swallow hard, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you can smell him, that you can feel the heat radiating off his body in the tight space. He’s just too close, and the damn elevator isn’t moving fast enough. You’ve got a million things to worry about right now—rent, work, your life— and the last thing you need is to be distracted by him.

But, like always, he’s right there, invading your space, making it impossible to think of anything else.

“What the fuck do you want?” You snap, breaking your vow of silence. You frown up at him, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface as you cross your arms defensively over your chest— a bad move, you realize too late, as the motion only pushes your braless tits together beneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

Predictably, his eyes drop immediately. You curse yourself for not wearing something more substantial. It’s not like I was planning to run into him today, you think to yourself.

“To understand why you hate me so much,” Javier says, his voice low, carrying that annoyingly casual tone, as if this whole conversation is nothing more than a mild inconvenience to him.

Your brows knit together, and a dry laugh slips from your lips before you can stop it. “Well, for starters,” you bite out, “you can’t even look me in the eyes when you ask.” 

His gaze snaps up so fast it’s almost comical, his dark eyes locking with yours, defiance flaring there. But there’s something else too— something that makes the air between you even more tense. You hold his stare, daring him to say something, to make this worse for himself. His expression tightens, but you continue before he has a chance to speak. “And I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you. You annoy the shit out of me.” 

He flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The smallest chink in his armor. You reach around him, your hand brushing against his side as you press the button for the main floor. The contact sends a ripple of awareness through you that you try to ignore. You don’t have time for this— for him.

Javier scowls, his mouth pulling into a frown that mirrors yours, and before you can react, he half-turns and punches a button for a different floor, effectively canceling your request. The elevator jolts, shifting direction. 

You groan audibly, exasperation washing over you. “And here you are, proving my point,” you mutter under your breath. Every second you waste in this shitty elevator with him is another second closer to being late for work. Another second closer to not getting everything done that you needed to today. He’s not just in your way—he’s deliberately in your way, and the worst part is, he knows it.

“You don’t like me,” he counters, turning back to face you fully, his tone edging into frustration, “but you never even gave me a chance.” His jaw is set now, his eyes searching yours as if he’s waiting for you to crack, to admit that there’s more to it than just annoyance. Like he wants you to say it’s something else, something deeper.

If you had the luxury of time, you’d lay it all out for him, explain in excruciating detail just why you’ve avoided giving him that chance. How his arrogance grates on you. How his charm, though admittedly effective, feels hollow. How the way he flirts isn’t even the problem—it’s the way he looks at you, like he knows something about you that you don’t want to admit.

But you don’t have that kind of time.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to steady your nerves. “As fun as it’d be to stand here and explain this shit to you like a child,” you say, your voice tight, “I have important things to do, and you’re keeping me from them.” You jab the elevator button again, hoping the damn thing will just go where you need it to without another unnecessary detour, but you already know it’s a losing battle. 

Javier shifts closer, just slightly, his presence looming. You can smell that damn aftershave again, all spice and leather and smoke, and it only pisses you off more because your body reacts to it before your brain can stop it. You feel your resolve slipping, just a little. His eyes are on you, unwavering, intense in a way that makes you want to both slap him and pull him closer at the same time.

“I’m not trying to keep you from anything,” he replies, softer now, the edge in his voice gone. His tone is almost... apologetic? No. It can’t be. Javier Peña doesn’t apologize. At least not in any way that feels real.

You don’t even bother responding, just stare at the numbers above the door, willing them to move faster. The sooner you’re out of here, the better.

“Just—fuck, give me something. Anything,” he growls, frustrated as all hell. His eyes are wild, and you can see the cracks in his usual suave demeanor, like he’s barely holding it together. “Ever since that last shoot, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, and I don’t know why. You think you’re exasperated? How the fuck do you think I’m feeling over here?”

You raise a brow, leaning into your disdain as you pout at him mockingly. “Oh, boohoo. Cry me a river. A girl doesn’t like me back, wahh.” You mimic the sound of a crying baby, bringing your fists up to rub against your cheeks in the most exaggerated way possible. Then you drop the act, face deadpanning. 

His eyes narrow, and you think you’ve finally hit a nerve. Good. Let him stew in it. But instead of backing down, he does something you don’t expect— he turns, reaches out, and slams his palm against the emergency stop button. The elevator lurches to a sudden halt, the hum of motion disappearing as the car freezes between floors.

Your eyes widen, a sharp spike of adrenaline shooting through you as the reality of the situation sets in. “What the hell, Javier?” You’re about to cuss him out, to let him know exactly what kind of shit he’s just gotten himself into, but before the words can leave your mouth, he takes two long, purposeful steps toward you.

Instinctively, you move back, the sudden intensity in his eyes sending warning signals through your brain. But there’s nowhere to go. You can’t escape the tight confines of the elevator, your back is pressed up against the cold metal railing. You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as his broad body looms over yours, trapping you in a way that leaves you feeling both furious and breathless.

He’s too close. His chest brushes against yours, and you can feel his gaze as it drags over your face, down your neck, and lower still, lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Any insult you were ready to hurl at him gets stuck in your throat. You hate how your pulse quickens, how your breath catches. You can feel every inch of him— solid muscle, tense with whatever storm is brewing behind those dark eyes. 

For a brief, dizzying moment, you forget to be mad. You forget that you’re supposed to dislike him, that he’s the last person you should let get under your skin like this but somehow is the only one who’s able to. All you can focus on is the way his breath fans across your cheek, the way the small space between you crackles with tension, like a wire pulled too tight.

“You think this is some kind of joke?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, making your pussy tingle in ways you wish it didn’t. “You think it’s easy for me to just... shrug it off? Because it’s not. Not when I keep thinking about you, and I don’t even fucking understand why.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that catches you off guard, making you pause to wonder if this really isn’t a game to him.

But you can’t let him see that. You can’t let him know how much he’s getting to you (even though he’s more than aware). So instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, forcing your voice to stay steady. “And stopping the elevator? Trapping me in here with you? That’s your brilliant solution?”

“No,” he breathes, voice dropping to a near whisper as his face inches closer to yours. “But it’s the only way I could get you to stop running from me.” 

You hate how your stomach flips at his words. Hate how much you’re fighting against the instinct to lean into him instead of shoving him away. Every part of your body is screaming at you to tell him to fuck off and leave you the hell alone.

“Do you know what I think it is?” The words come out in a low, dangerous drawl, the kind that seems to wrap around your throat and squeeze. He leans in, crowding your space, eyes boring into you with an intensity that has your pulse skyrocketing. “I think you’re too fucking stubborn to let yourself have any fun. The idea of me fucking you is enticing, isn’t it?” His lips curl into a smirk, the kind that drips with arrogance and dark promises. “Could see it written all over your face that night at the hotel. That look in your eye while I was fucking Lexxie.”

His accusations slam into you, pulling up the exact moment you’ve been trying to bury. It should have been a professional gig, routine even, nothing personal… except that wasn’t the case. Not with the way he looked at you the entire time, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to react.

And, fuck, you had reacted. You felt the heat rise in your face, the way your body betrayed you as you stood behind the camera, mouth salivating, thighs pressing together.

“Javier…” You push at his chest, your hand meeting the hard wall of muscle beneath his shirt. The intent is to shove him back, to create some space between you. But the second your palm makes contact, it’s like the air shifts, and instead of moving him, it’s like you’ve anchored yourself to him.

Goddamn him. Goddamn you for your spineless ass, for not being able to follow through on resisting the temptation that he is.

He smirks wider, clearly reading the war going on behind your eyes. “You were shaking,” he continues, his voice a dark whisper that coils around your insides. “Damn near moaning while you watched me go down on her. Rubbing those thighs together while this pretty ass was in my face as she was sucking my cock.” 

His large hand snakes around you, catching you off guard, fingers gripping a handful of your ass and pulling you closer. Your body collides with his, and that’s when you feel it— his erection, hard and insistent, pressing into your stomach. The heat between you flares up to unbearable levels, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, every nerve ending in your body on high alert, buzzing with want.

“You’re delusional,” it’s breathless but you’re still determined to keep some semblance of control. You squirm in his grip, your body betraying your words, the friction making your mind tilt. “You just can’t stand the fact that, for once, a woman isn’t throwing herself at you. That I’m not kissing the ground you walk on or falling to my knees, ready to suck you off.”

His hold tightens briefly, pulling you even closer, and for a second, you wonder if you’ll be able to break free at all. It’s damn near impossible to ignore the ache building between your thighs at this point. But somehow, you manage to slip out of his grip, your body twisting away from his until you’ve backed yourself into the far corner of the elevator. 

You can’t breathe. Not properly, anyway. You’ve never felt so on edge, so exposed in such a small space. Every fiber of your being screams at you to keep your distance, to reassert control of the situation, but there’s a part of you— dangerous and impulsive— that wants to step right back into his arms.

Javier doesn’t move, but his eyes stay glued to you, watching your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. The elevator is still locked in place, a silent reminder that you’re trapped here with him until one of you decides to relent. His jaw clenches, and you think he’s going to say something cutting, something to tear you down. But instead, he surprises you.

“You’re right.” His voice is rough, but it carries a weight that’s different from the cocky arrogance he usually hides behind. “I can’t stand it.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavier than you expected. There’s no smirk this time, no sarcastic bite. Just honesty, and it’s a fucking curveball.

You weren’t prepared for him to actually admit it. For once, he’s not trying to fuck with you, not trying to win.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

You swallow hard, the weight of his confession making your heart leap out of your chest.

You don’t know what to say, so instead, you just stand there, staring at him, your body buzzing with a cocktail of adrenaline, lust, and confusion. Because as much as you want to dislike him, as much as you need to dislike him for your own sanity, you can’t deny the way your pussy responds to him. The way your mind keeps pulling you back to that night, to the way he made you feel without even touching you.

“Get over it,” you snap, cutting him off before he can sink any deeper into this conversation. You don’t need to entertain this further. It can’t happen, and it will never happen. The second you fall into bed with him, it’ll be game over. Javier Peña isn’t just a casual fuck— you know deep down he’d be the kind that wraps himself around your soul and doesn’t let go until he’s consumed every inch of you. 

The problem is, you’re terrified that you’ll let him. It’s why you’re so dead set on not giving in.

You cross your arms over your chest again, as if trying to shield yourself from the strength in his eyes, the way he seems to reach into your very core with just a look.

You try to focus on anything else— on the fact that you still need to get to the bank, then to your apartment, and finally to your bar shift. You don’t have time for this shit, for the endless back-and-forth with him.

But then he says your name.

The sound of it on his lips makes you close your eyes, every muscle in your body tensing. Damn him. It sounds so fucking sweet, almost reverent, and you know if you make the mistake of looking at him right now— if you see those beautiful, pleading brown eyes— you’ll fold.

He says your name again, softer this time, and the way his voice wraps around each syllable has your resolve teetering on the edge of collapse. “Please, just let me show you how good I can make you feel,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his breath fanning across your cheek. “Just one taste, nena, por favor.” 

And for the first time since you met Javier— he’s begging. You never imagined that he, of all people, would beg for anything. But here he is, his voice low and thick with desire, pleading with you to give him just one chance.

You blink your eyes open slowly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that have been ignited by his words. The synapses in your brain light up like fucking fireworks, each one triggering a new thought, a new possibility. There’s a moment— a split second— where you picture it.

You imagine his hands on your body, his lips trailing fire down your skin, his mouth between your legs. The image flashes so vividly, so intensely in your mind, that it steals the breath from your lungs. 

You can practically feel the way he’d elicit things you’ve been trying to suppress. Your legs go weak just thinking about it, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself, to remember who you are, what this is. 

But your cavewoman, horny brain betrays you— racing ahead, picturing every possible outcome. You can’t help but wonder how good it would feel to let him in, just once. How it would be to let him take control, to let him show you, like he’s promising, just how good he can make you feel. 

You’re already late getting to the bank. You should be focusing on that, on getting out of this damn elevator and away from him, but your body won’t cooperate. Every part of you is ablaze, screaming at you to just give in.

Javier’s standing there, staring at you with those chocolate eyes, his dark brows drawn together, pouty lips parted just slightly as he waits for you to say something. Anything. He’s laid it all out in front of you, leaving you to make the next move. And fuck, as much as you hate to admit it, you want to. You want to let him pull you into his world, even though you know it’ll consume you. You want to feel his hands on your skin, his mouth everywhere, his name slipping from your lips.

But you can’t. 

If you give in now, you’ll never be able to walk away from him, and you can’t afford to let yourself get tangled up in Javier Peña. He’s chaos wrapped in temptation, and once you let him in, there’s no turning back.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you try to hold on to the last shred of control you have. “Javier,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. You feel like you’re on the edge of a cliff, teetering between desire and self-preservation. The weight of his gaze presses down on you, and for a moment, you think you might just jump.

But then, with every ounce of willpower you have left, you take a shaky breath, shaking your head and breaking the spell he’s woven around you.

“No,” you say, the word barely above a whisper, but firm enough to anchor you back to reality.

His face falls, the fire in his eyes dimming just a little. You almost regret it, almost, but then you remember who he is. What he does. And you know you made the right choice, even if every part of you is berating otherwise.

You stand there, locked in a silent standoff, both of you doing a piss poor job of pretending like you don’t want to tear each other’s clothes off right here in the elevator. 

You’re hoping—no, praying— that he’ll finally let it go. That he’ll stop pushing, stop testing your resolve, and just leave you alone. You’re begging for him to go back to what he does best, to leave you to your job— both of them.

You break eye contact first, glancing down at your watch. You’re definitely not going to make it to your shift on time. Shit. You need to phone your boss and give him a heads up before this gets even worse. But right now, you can’t seem to focus, not with Javier standing there like a Roman statue, immovable and perfect, watching you with that infuriating intensity.

“Now, if you can get the elevator to take us down, I’d really appreciate it,” you say, but the words come out softer than you intended. You hate how small your voice sounds, like you’ve already lost the upper hand, and you mentally slap yourself for it. 

But he doesn’t budge. He just stands there, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world, and it makes you want to scream. His gaze is piercing, boring holes into your entire existence, and it’s taking everything you have not to crumble beneath it.

“Do you really mean that?” He asks as he brings a hand up to smooth down his mustache. There’s a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips, like he already knows the answer. “Because everything about your body language is screaming otherwise.” 

When the fuck did he get so close again? He’s right there, towering over you, and suddenly the air between you feels impossibly thin.

“It’s my fuckin’ job to read a woman’s body,” he continues, his voice growing huskier with each word. “And you know what yours is telling me right now?”

Your pulse quickens, your heart slamming against your ribcage, and you can’t find the words to respond. You don’t trust yourself to speak— not when his presence is drowning you in your own body. 

He leans in, lips so close to your ear that his breath almost has you fainting. “It’s telling me that you want it.”

Your stomach flips, every nerve ending in your body coming alive as his curved nose barely grazes your skin. The touch is featherlight, but it sends electricity straight to your cunt. You grip the railing behind you like a lifeline, your knuckles flushed as goosebumps ripple across your skin. 

Javier’s smirk deepens, the asshole clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Stop fighting it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, his hand sliding down the length of your figure in a way that feels too natural, too right. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel…”

You should stop him. You should. But you don’t. You can’t. His hands are on you now, moving with a confidence that’s impossible to resist. One large hand finds its way to your tit, groping it gently through the thin fabric of your tank top, and you gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it. Your body fails you, head falling back against the elevator wall, your chest arching into his touch. 

The way his hand moves, so sure, so practiced, has your resistance crumbling, piece by piece. 

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck, peppering soft, teasing kisses along your sensitive skin. “Barely done a thing and you’re already gone.” 

Your mind is spinning, your resolve completely undone as you melt under his touch. Every kiss, every graze of his lips against your neck feels like it’s unraveling the last bit of control you have. His body is pressed up against yours, and you can feel his erection through his jeans again, the hard (pun intended) evidence of just how much he wants you.

God help you, it feels too good to resist.

You sigh, a low, breathy sound that’s equal parts surrender and relief. His lips trail lower, his hand still groping your breast, and you let him. You let him because you’ve been fighting this for too long, and right now, you just want to feel something. 

Javier grins against your neck, his breath hot on your skin as he pulls you even closer, his voice hoarse in your ear. “Told you,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “I knew you wanted this.”

You don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given in, you’ll figure out how to pick up the pieces later, but right now? Right now, you’re letting yourself fall apart.

It’s like your whole body just deflates against his, sinking into the solid warmth of him as if all the fight has finally drained out of you. You’re giving him the green light, and he knows it. The grunt that escapes his throat is guttural, and you feel the weight of his palm pressing harder against your chest, his thumb and pointer finger expertly pinching your now hardened nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

“After this,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, “if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone.” His words are punctuated by a sharp tug at your nipple that sends a surge of arousal straight between your legs. Then his hand moves, sliding up to cradle your jaw with a surprising gentleness. He tilts your head so that your eyes meet his, forcing you to look at him— forcing you to really see him. “You have my word.”

You search his eyes, not entirely sure what you’re looking for— honesty, maybe? A hint of something real beyond the heat of the moment? Whatever it is, you can’t find the words to respond, so you just nod weakly, your breath bated. 

Javier smiles at that, a slow, predatory grin, and he leans in as if to kiss you. But you stop him, your hand pressing against his sternum with just enough force to halt him in his tracks.

“No kissing,” you say, your voice more resolute than you feel. “You said one taste, so get to it.” You’re setting boundaries, trying to keep some semblance of control in this situation. No kissing, no fucking— just head. That’s all this will be. He’ll get a taste of you, and you’ll finally get a taste of what all the hype is about. Then it’ll be over, and you’ll go your separate ways. That’s the deal.

His frown deepens, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features, like he’s not used to anyone telling him no in any capacity. But it’s brief, because he’s not about to take the proverbial bone you’ve thrown him for granted. He agrees in his own way, pivoting without protest, his mouth returning to your neck like he’s already forgotten the attempt to kiss you.

Now that the rules are clear, you allow yourself to let your guard down— just a little. It’s not like your sex life has been riveting lately, and truth be told, you can’t even remember the last time a partner went down on you willingly. At least you’re getting something out of this fucked-up little arrangement, and for now, that’s enough. 

He kisses and licks a line down your throat, his stubble scraping deliciously against the sensitive flesh. You sigh, your breath hitching as you feel his hands roaming your body with a confidence that should piss you off but doesn’t. 

His rough palms map out your curves like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. He’s groping, squeezing, learning you in a way that makes you feel like you’re his personal discovery. 

The warmth of his breath, the skill in his movements�� it’s intoxicating. You can’t help but respond, your hips shifting, your body bending instinctively toward him when one hand slides up under your shirt, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast.

He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. Too damn good. It’s almost like he’s a fucking pornstar.

You hate that you’re enjoying it so much, hate that you’re already melting under his touch like some lovesick fool.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs against your skin, feeling the nerves radiating off of you. 

His touch lingers as he reaches the button on your denim shorts, undoing it with a flick of his fingers before pulling down the zipper, slow and deliberate.

“You and these damn shorts…” you hear him say, more to himself than to you. His voice is gruff, frustrated, like he’s been waging a silent battle against his own restraint. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down over your hips, watching as the fabric slides off your skin. You step out of them, standing there in nothing but your underwear, top and sneakers, exposed in ways you hadn’t intended to be when you walked into that office earlier today.

His brows shoot up, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Of course, it’s laundry day. Of course, you’re left wearing your least practical pair of underwear— this skimpy, lacy purple number you hardly ever break out. The delicate string disappears between the cheeks of your ass, and the sheer front does little to conceal the soft tuft of hair just below your navel. 

And he’s drinking it all in.

“Fuckin’ hell, nena,” he breathes, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and lust. His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and hungry. “You always walkin’ around like this?” His hands grip your hips, and before you can even formulate a response, he’s sinking to his knees in front of you, taking his sweet ass time, like this is some kind of worship.

“No, I—” Your voice is breathy, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “I had to do laundry today…” It’s all you can manage, barely coherent as his lips begin pressing soft, teasing kisses to the inside of your knee.

He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, steadying you, his fingers gripping your thigh with enough pressure to leave you keening. You brace yourself against the elevator railing, your body tense with anticipation, your mind a chaotic swirl of logic and lust. You barely notice as the check you came here for flutters to the floor beside you, forgotten.

Don’t forget to deposit that, the reasonable part of your brain chimes in, but you tell that bitch to shut up because Javier Peña is currently on his knees in font of you, about to take you on the ride of your fucking life, and you’re nowhere near strapped in.

His head is tilted up, lips brushing dangerously close to where you want him most, and all rational thought is slipping through your fingers like sand.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes glinting with something wicked, and your breath catches again. You don’t know how to feel about any of this anymore. There’s a line you swore you wouldn’t cross, but now that he’s right there, so close to giving you what you’ve craved for longer than you care to admit, it’s hard to remember why you drew that line in the first place.

Javier’s lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and a quiet moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. He smirks against your skin, his fingers tracing a slow path up your leg, sending shivers coursing through you. “Relax, bonita,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “I’ll take care of you.”

You want to tell him to hurry up, to stop teasing, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale as his hands part your thighs wider, positioning you exactly how he wants you. His grip is firm, possessive, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll survive whatever it is he’s about to do to you.

You don’t even have time to dwell on the thought before his mouth is on you, lips pressing a lingering kiss over the thin fabric of your panties. The sudden pressure sends a shockwave through your body, and your eyes fall closed, surrendering to the moment. His tongue teases the fabric, nudging against your already soaked cunt, and you can feel the wetness seeping through the lace. He hums low in his throat, savoring the first taste of you.

“These are so pretty. Don’t think I’ll take ’em off.”

He hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric and pulls it aside, exposing you to him completely. The cool air hits your slick folds, a contrast to the heat of his breath as he hovers just inches away. He’s staring, taking you in, and when he curses under his breath, it’s like he’s caught off guard by how badly he wants this. Wants you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, as he drags his nose up and down the length of your wet slit. The touch is maddeningly light, just enough to make you clench involuntarily, your body reacting without permission. More of your slick leaks out of your pussy, a response to the subtle stimulation, and you grip the elevator railing tighter to keep yourself from falling with how weak your knees get.

Javier flattens his tongue, delivering a slow, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit, and it’s like your entire body ignites at once. You throw your head back, a ragged cry of his name ripping from your throat as your hips buck instinctively, searching for more of him, more of that friction that feels like pure electricity.

He’s not done, though. Not even close. One hand snakes around your thighs, strong and sure. His middle and pointer fingers spread you open, forming an upside-down V, and then he does something so filthy, so perfectly Javier— he spits directly onto your exposed pussy.

The sound alone could get you off, but the sensation is something else entirely. His saliva mixes with your slick, making everything wetter, hotter, and you feel like you’re unraveling before he’s even truly begun. A series of high-pitched moans spill from your lips as he latches his mouth onto your cunt, sucking and licking with a precision that has your entire being quaking.

Lips, tongue, teeth—he’s using everything he has, dragging you deeper into a haze of pleasure where nothing exists but the heat coiling in your belly, tightening with every flick. He’s devouring you, utterly relentless, and it’s too much but not enough, all at once. Every nerve ending is on fire, your thighs trembling as you fight to keep your balance. His grip on your leg tightens, keeping you locked in place, helpless to do anything but take what he’s giving.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, pulling back for just a moment, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh. His face is glistening, covered in your arousal, but his eyes are dark and hungry, never straying from your face. “With noises like that and a pussy this pretty— you’d be a fucking sight on camera.”

His words send another jolt through you, dirty and wrong and so fucking hot that you nearly forget how to breathe. He nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving faint marks in his wake, before diving back in with that skilled tongue of his. He’s a man with something to prove, alternating between broad strokes and tight circles, zeroing in on your fleshy clit with a precision that makes your head spin.

It’s obscene, the way he’s working you over, all these years spent perfecting this art, but there’s a rawness to it too, a desperation like he can’t get enough of you. You’re soaked, dripping onto his face, and he laps it up like a man starved, the sounds of his mouth slurping against your wetness filling the small space around you. Your moans are louder now, more desperate, each one pushing you closer to that edge where you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

His fingers tighten on your thigh again, and then he’s dragging them lower, inching toward your entrance as his tongue flicks mercilessly against your clit. When he slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you nearly scream. The combination of his mouth and his fingers is enough to send you spiraling, your legs trembling uncontrollably as you arch into him.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunts when he pulls away to get a good look at your beautiful face and how you look when he’s making you feel like you’re on top of the world. It’s enough to get him to latch onto your clit, sucking on it harshly.

“God, Javier,” you gasp, your voice shaky, barely coherent. You can’t think, can’t form any rational thought, not with the way he’s pulling you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the pleasure.

“Let go,” he growls against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your core. “I’ve got you, nena. Just let go.” 

And with that, the dam breaks. You’re coming hard, hips jerking wildly as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body shaking with the force of it. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up for a second, working you through it with that relentless mouth until you’re gasping for air, hands clenching at the railing so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t snapped. 

Your vision blurs, your mind goes blank, and all you can do is hold on as Javier takes you on the ride of your life, just like you knew he would.

You don’t know how long it takes you to come back into your body after letting him take the reins for a little. You’re trembling, legs weak and body heavy against the cool metal wall of the elevator. He’s still on his knees, knuckle-deep inside you, lazily curling them as if savoring every last second.

His mouth trails soft, teasing kisses across your soaked panties, and the tenderness of the act startles you, nearly pulling you under again. But then he withdraws his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with an almost obscene groan, tasting you one last time as if to commit your flavor to memory. He carefully adjusts your underwear back into place.

Javier stands to his full height, your leg falling from his shoulder, towering over you. His hand comes to rest lightly on your waist as if to steady you. “You okay?”

You nod, though your bones feel like jelly. Your eyes stay closed as you try to gather yourself, forcing yourself back into reality, back into the woman who doesn’t fold like a house of cards for her co-worker. You bend down to retrieve your shorts and check from the floor, fingers fumbling with the zipper as you button yourself back up. He presses the button to resume the elevator, the gears shifting as you’re slowly carried back to the main floor. 

And just like that, it hits you. It happened. You’ve came on Javier’s tongue and fingers. You swore it wouldn’t— swore up and down that he was nothing more than a nuisance at work, a distraction you wouldn’t let get to you. But here you are, post-orgasm, in a goddamn public elevator, of all places, with the man who was supposed to be just a headache.

“Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again,” you mutter, trying to summon the biting edge to your words, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

Javier just smirks, that infuriating glint back in his eyes like he already knows better, but he doesn’t push it. Not now.

The elevator doors slide open with a sharp ding, and the scene before you is worse than any nightmare you could’ve concocted in the heat of the moment. Two firefighters, the building manager, and— of course because why the hell not— Steve Murphy are standing there with varying degrees of shock and amusement.

You can see the moment Steve takes it all in— your flushed cheeks, the slightly mussed state of your clothes, Javier standing just a bit too close to you. His blue eyes narrow, then widen, and then he breaks into a shit-eating grin so wide you could slap it right off his face.

“Well, well, well,” Steve drawls, barely containing his laughter. “What do we have here?”

Your stomach sinks. Not again. 

Javier, ever the cocky bastard, simply raises an eyebrow and slides his hands into his pockets, all cool nonchalance like he hasn’t just been between your thighs minutes earlier. “Just crapped out on us randomly,” he says smoothly, and you want to strangle him for the audacity.

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as if he’s in on some big joke that only you and Javier are the punchline for. And as you step past him, cheeks burning, all you can think is that this will never, ever happen again.

But even as you repeat it to yourself, a small part of you— the part still buzzing from the memory of Javier’s mouth— wonders if you’re lying.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter four

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 5.5k

It was the first day of high school and you were in a brand new city with absolutely no friends, your heart racing as you walked through the halls to find your first class, finally stepping into the room and finding your way to an empty desk at the back of the room, sitting next to a boy that was leaned back in his chair, looking down at his fingers that picked at his own skin.

He looks up at you as you sit down and a warm, friendly smile blooms on his face. “Hi,” he says quietly and you smile back at him, bringing up your hand to wave shyly. “Hi,” you respond.

“Nervous?” He asks, and all you do is nod. “Me too, but it’ll be okay. Wanna be friends?” You nod again, this time a little bit more enthusiastically. “Great! I’m Matt.”

You grin and make a mental note of the boy across from you, repeating his name in your head, introducing yourself to him as well.

The class starts and you both become quiet, bringing your attention to the teacher at the front of the room.

As the class ends, Matt stands up and hovers over you, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Meet me at lunch?” He asks.

You look up at him, feeling excited at the fact that you’ve already made a friend and he seemed genuinely interested in being friends back. “Okay,” you agree, and he shoots you a smile before leaving.

Your next class was across the school, and you might have stayed back a little too long in your last one, preferring to be the last one out, but now you found yourself walking a little quicker than usual through the halls.

You glanced down at your schedule for a moment to refresh your memory on where you had to go, and that was when your body slammed into another teenager wandering the halls.

“I’m so sorry!” You tell him, catching your balance and reaching out to make sure you’re okay. “I was looking down and didn’t see where I was going and I have no idea where I am and-“

“It’s okay!” You hear him say and you look up to meet his eyes, and you were instantly confused at the boy in front of you. He looked exactly like your new friend, but he was wearing a completely different outfit.

“Matt?” You question, eyebrows furrowing together.

The boy just laughs and shakes his head. “Wrong one. I’m Nick. Matt and I are identical.” He tells you, and you can’t help but laugh with him.

“Oh! That… makes sense. I’m really sorry for running into you,” you tell him, cheeks blooming a bright shade of red.

Nick just shrugs it off and tells you it’s no big deal, and you thank him, apologizing once more before continuing on to your next class.

Finally, as that class ended, it was time for lunch, and as you made it to the cafeteria, you looked around for Matt, finding him sitting next to the boy you now knew as Nick, and someone else’s back was facing you. You walked over towards them and sat next to the mystery boy, waving at Matt as you did so.

“Hi!” You say, and Matt and Nick wave back at you. You turn to introduce yourself to whoever you’re sat next to, and you’re beyond shocked when you’re met with the same face you’ve already met twice that day. “Another one?!” You exclaim, feeling like you’re in the matrix as you look between all three boys.

Matt and Nick laugh at you, while the third one just looks at you like you’re crazy, and that makes you mutter an apology under your breath, turning your attention to your friends across the table. “Am I dreaming right now?”

Matt shakes his head, still giggling slightly. “We’re triplets. Kinda look the same,” he tells you and you take another glance between the three of them.

“Wow that’s really cool, I’ve never met triplets before,” you tell them. You turn your head towards the new boy again and introduce yourself to him as well.

He meets your eyes and scans your face for a moment before opening his mouth to speak. “Chris,” he says simply, then goes back to eating his food.

As you eat your lunch and chat with the boys for the first time, you’re hoping deep down that you guys stay friends for a long time.

-

You hadn’t really spoken to Chris since the incident last night, making for an awkward dinner with him sat across from you, but with the day quickly passing by and the potential for dressing nice and having access to free food, you decide it’s probably time to go and see if the two of you were actually going to spend the night together.

Chris was sat on his big white couch, slouched in his seat as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone, feet perched up on the coffee table in front of him, paying the world around him no mind as he watched a silly little video of a horse playing piano with his lips when you came down the stairs, emerging from Nick’s room after a few hours of you two hanging out, deciding it was time for you to grab a drink.

You lean in the fridge looking for something you’d want, finally deciding on a Dr. Pepper for yourself, then turn around and make your way to the couch, flopping down on it with one leg tucked under you, facing Chris who still has yet to acknowledge your presence.

“Hey,” you say, and he doesn’t look up, just hums at you as a reply. It’s good enough for you to know that he’s listening, so you continue to speak. “So this… date. Are we going?” You ask.

Chris huffs and puts his phone down, looking over at you who sat in your pajamas, clearly nowhere near ready for a date at a nice restaurant. “I mean, I really don’t want to lose out on my money but I also would rather swallow glass than go on a date with you, so I’m not really sure.”

You cock your head at him in annoyance. “I’m not that bad to be around,” you tell him again, hating that you had to convince a man to spend time with you. “It’s not like I want to hang around with you either but you need pictures and I need free food.”

Chris groans and throws his head back on the couch. “All you want me for is my money,” he sighs dramatically.

“Hey, that’s not true. I literally don’t want you at all, money or no money,” you tease, but it’s the truth. “But…” you drawl. “It just so happens that you have money and I think you should spend it on me tonight.”

Chris swings his head around to look at you, still resting on the back of the couch. “Well not to sound rude but you don’t exactly look ready for a date.” He gestures up to your disheveled state.

You gasp at him in fake shock. “What?! You don’t think I could go to a nice restaurant looking like this?”

“Whatever, dude. The reservation is for seven, and it’s four, so you should probably get home and get ready if you want to go,” Chris tells you and you nod at him, standing up from the couch.

“I’ll go home right now! And you better prepare yourself, date night me is a whole new breed of sexy,” you smirk at him. “Might make your little cool guy act crumble. Just make sure you don’t fall in love with me, okay?”

You walk towards the stairs and descend to the front door, sliding your crocs on. “Not a problem,” he yells from his same location, and you laugh before walking out the door and to your car, heading home.

-

You guys had texted and decided to just meet there since he definitely didn’t want to be picked up by a girl and he wanted to limit his time with you as much as he could, so that’s how you found yourself standing outside the restaurant by yourself wearing a little black dress and a cute pair of black heels, a small clutch in your grasp at your side as you waited for Chris to show up.

You’re not waiting long before he pulls up in an uber, letting himself out of the backseat, thanking the driver before he makes his way towards you. He’s in a pair of dress pants with a plain black button up, and you can’t help but admire his outfit as he walks up to you, gesturing for you to head inside in front of him. So, you turn and enter the restaurant, Chris holding the door open for you like a gentleman, then you both make your way to the host stand, having somebody lead you to your booth that was tucked away in the back corner of the restaurant.

You guys both settled in and got comfortable before looking up at each other, not saying anything, not even shooting a small smile at one another, both of you just grabbing the menu, breaking eye contact, looking at the appetizers on the menu.

It’s silent for a while, neither of you wanting to speak first, until your waiter comes up and introduces himself. “Hey guys! I’m Theo, I’m going to be taking care of you guys today. How are you guys doing?”

You smile up at him, the tall, handsome boy standing in front of you making you feel slightly nervous. “Aw, Theo, I love that name,” you coo. “We’re doing good, yourself?”

Theo grins back at you, placing a glass of water in front of you. “I’m great, thanks for asking. Date night tonight?”

You laugh and shake your head, leaning forward a bit on your elbows that rested on the table. “No, not exactly. Long story.”

Theo chuckles and nods, pulling out his notepad and a pen. “How long you guys been together?” He asks you both, pointing his pen back and forth at you and Chris.

Your eyes widen at the question, not expecting it at all. “Oh! We’re not-“

Chris clears his throat and slaps a hand on the table, signaling his annoyance. “Can we order drinks?” He asks, cutting you off mid sentence. It wasn’t super unlike him to interrupt you while you spoke, but the fact that he did it in such an aggressive way made you more angry than usual.

“Oh yeah, sorry, man, just trying to make conversation,” Theo chuckles awkwardly. “So, uh, what can I get you guys?”

You mouth a quick ‘sorry’ Theo’s way before you tell him what you wanted to drink, followed up by Chris placing his order, prompting him to walk away to put your guys’ order in.

“Chris, what the fuck was that?” You snap at him, voice quiet but still harsh, eyes sending daggers across the table.

Chris scoffs, rolling his eyes at you. “Seriously? He was talking way too much, I want to eat and I want to leave, I don’t want to sit here listening to you chit-chat with our fucking waiter forever.”

You shake your head in disbelief, letting out an annoyed huff of air. “You’re insufferable, Chris. God forbid you chill the fuck out for one night.”

Chris stays silent but still glares across the table at you, though you don’t meet his eyes. His mind is reeling, not even fully understanding what made him so mad in the moment. You were always a talkative person, always kind to customer service workers even when they didn’t deserve that, and Chris knew that, so why did he get so angry at the two of you talking?

He’s not able to process the thought before Theo is coming back and placing your drinks in front of you both. “Here you go,” he says to Chris, setting the drink down. “And the wine for the pretty lady.”

You slide the glass closer to you after it’s set down, beaming up at Theo. “Thanks so much.”

Theo just nods back with a small grin. “No problem, I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your orders.”

You look over at Chris who’s already looking at you, lips pulled into a tight line. “Pretty lady?” He repeats, clearly unhappy.

You frown, looking down at yourself before back up at Chris. “You don’t think I’m pretty?” You ask him, a teasing lilt in your voice. “I got all dressed up for… well, for you.”

Chris would never admit this out loud, but his heart skipped a beat at your words. It was no surprise you looked good, just like you had warned him, but the way you said you got dressed for him specifically made him grateful he wasn’t standing up, afraid his knees might go weak on him.

“Didn’t say you weren’t, just saying this guy’s a little weird,” Chris mumbles, breaking eye contact to look down at the menu he’s barely looked over.

You leaned forward a bit, slightly reminiscent of the first time you guys took photos together, cleavage peeking out sexily. “You jealous?” You ask him, tilting your head. “Jealous that someone that just met me has got the confidence to talk to me like that when you’ve known me for seven years and can’t even tell me you think I look pretty?”

Chris’s mouth falls open, trying to force words to come out, but none do. He’s just sat there looking like a fish out of water as he racks his brain for something to spit out at you.

“That’s what I fucking thought, tough guy. Watch your mouth.” You grab your glass of wine and take a large sip, sitting back in your seat.

There’s silence for a few minutes, both of you looking over the menus without speaking with one another, until Chris breaks the silence, but he’s so quiet that you don’t quite catch what he says, and you look over at him and ask him to repeat himself, feeling like your ears must be betraying you when you finally make out what he says.

“I said… I do think you look pretty.”

It almost sounds like Chris has to force himself to say the words, like they’re so unnatural falling from his lips, even after the kind words he said to you yesterday.

You stare at him, unable to think of a response. You feel like your mind is playing tricks on you, but when you see the look in Chris’s eyes soften, you know you heard him right. “Oh…” you mutter, unsure of what else to say. “I, uh… thank you.”

Chris nods his head and looks back down at the menu, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole, but unfortunately he was forced to stay seated across from you, feeling the awkward tension start to build.

You clear your throat and place the menu down on the table after a few moments of unbearable silence, wanting nothing more than to change the conversation back to something lighthearted and surface level. “I’m surprised you’re drinking,” you tell him, gesturing to the drink in front of him.

Chris scoffs. “Yeah, I’m gonna need it if I have to spend my night with you. You got wine, what’s the difference?” He quickly, and thankfully, slips right back into his normal attitude.

You shrug and go back to looking at the menu. “Just never really see you drink, it’s weird.”

He hums, disinterested in the conversation transpiring. “What are you thinking of ordering?” He asks you.

You think for a moment, eyes still flitting over the menu. “I don’t know…” you start. “Maybe… a steak? Surf and turf?”

Chris’s eyes widen and he picks his head up to look at you, meeting your eyes as you smile up at him shyly. “Just because we’re at a nice restaurant doesn’t mean you have to get the most expensive thing on the menu,” he says worriedly.

You wave your hand at him dismissively, pursing your lips. “It’s not the most expensive thing on there, it’s only like.. sixty six dollars! There’s an entree on here that’s seventy dollars, so… it’s fine, right?”

Chris shakes his head in disbelief. “This might be why you don’t have a boyfriend, you’re too expensive.”

You huff and pout at him, shoulders dropping slightly. “Boys don’t even know I’m expensive, I can’t even get a date. If I could secure a date I’d be happy with a fucking salad.”

“Then why not get a salad now?!” Chris exclaims.

You just smile and point your freshly manicured nail towards him. “Because you told me I’m super sexy and I don’t need to worry about my weight, so I’m indulging and getting something I know I’ll love,” you smirk as you use his words against him, knowing there wasn’t much he could say to that.

“Hold on, I don’t think I called you super sexy, I just said you looked good in that dress.” Chris retorted, holding a finger up at you as if telling you to be quiet.

“You said I looked really good and my body is incredible, so you might as well have called me sexy and fucked me on the bathroom floor,” you tell him, raising your eyebrows in a sassy manner.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” Chris places his elbows on the table and leans in, tilting his head as his eyes bore into your own. “You want me to praise you and fuck you any chance I get?”

Your throat dries up at his words, and you’re trying to think of how to respond, trying to just get the word ‘no’ to fall from your lips, but you’re too in shock at the vulgarity of his words to even come up with a rebuttal.

Thankfully the waiter comes back in that moment, same wide smile plastered on his face. “Are you guys ready to order?” He asks, and you nod happily, ordering the second most expensive meal on the menu despite Chris’s complaints. He places his order as well and Theo grabs your menus from you, telling you both he’ll get your orders put in and have them out as soon as possible. But as he turns to leave, he sends a wink your way, causing your ears to heat up almost instantly.

“Dude,” Chris laughs, annoyed. “Is this guy fucking serious?”

You whip your head back to him, confused. “What?” You ask him.

“He’s winking at you,” Chris responds in an obvious tone. “While we’re on a date. He seriously does not understand bro code at all.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Chris, we’re not actually on a date. I told him that.”

“We’re at a nice restaurant spending hundreds of dollars on food and drinks, both of us are dressed up and we’re the only two people here, to him, it should look like a date. How the fuck does he have the balls to wink at somebody else’s girl while he’s at work? I should get his ass fired.” Chris rambles, eyes flitting all over the place as he speaks, not wanting to look at your reaction to his words.

It’s a good thing he’s not looking at you, because the smirk that slowly arises on your face would probably send him into a rage if he saw it. “Chris…” you start, reaching over to brush your fingers along his hand that rested along the table. “Is that jealousy I’m hearing?”

That gets Chris’s attention, turning his head back to you and meeting your eyes. “Jealousy? Jealous of what, someone finally giving your desperate ass attention?”

You tilt your head, noticing he still hasn’t moved his hand away, despite his words. “Jealous that he’s man enough to actually do it.”

Chris’s eyes narrow, your words like a punch to the gut, though he refused to let you see how what you said made him feel. He rips his hands away from you and places them on his lap. “I could have any woman I want, including you, you’re just mad that I don’t actually want you, just like all the other guys you try to fuck with.”

You shake your head and sit back in your seat, breaking eye contact with him and looking around the restaurant, knowing that you’d never be able to break Chris, even if he did have feelings for you. It’s not like it mattered, you just wanted to mess with him anyway. It’s not like you wanted Chris, right?

Right?

Chris takes a small sip of his mixed drink, eyes peering over the rim of the glass to see you looking around the restaurant, avoiding eye contact with him as much as you could.

“I always knew you had a crush on me.”

His words rip you from your nonchalant facade, head whipping back to lock eyes with the boy across the table once more.

“Excuse me?” You scoff back.

“You heard me. You have a crush on me, don’t you?” Chris smirks.

“Honey, if I have a crush on anyone, it’s Matt. He’s way hotter than you.” You tell him confidently.

Chris laughs. “Yeah right. You wouldn’t be so cozied up to someone you had a crush on. You’d act like you didn’t have a crush on them, like you do with me.”

You look at him incredulously, like what he was saying was absolute nonsense. “You mean like how you treat me?”

Chris realizes his analogy has backfired and he instantly gets defensive, cringing at the realization. “No, definitely not. I actually think you’re annoying as fuck and I wish you didn’t practically live at my house, but unfortunately my brothers think you’re enjoyable to be around. I just refuse to pretend like I actually like you, therefore I show my true feelings.”

You pause before speaking, wanting to see if you could break Chris’s shell a little bit since you did already have to spend the night with him. You might as well try to have a real conversation for once.

“Chris… why do you hate me? What have I ever done to you to make you treat me the way that you do?” You ask him carefully, your tone switching from a teasing one to more serious.

Chris is definitely taken aback by your question, not even sure he has an answer for it. He kind of expected the two of you to barely talk, eat your food and go home, but now that you were trying to initiate a serious conversation, he felt like he was at a loss for words.

“Hate is a strong word,” he starts, voice quieter than it was before. “I don’t.. really know. We’ve just always been like that and I guess I never thought to make an effort to change our relationship. You give me shit, I give you shit, you hang around my brothers like a parasite, I’m forced to be around you. I guess I don’t really know how it started, or at least… I don’t want to talk about it.”

You hum at his words, nodding your head slightly. “Is it something I did? Did I ever hurt you?” You ask him, nervous for the answer. “I’m sorry if I ever did something that made you feel this way about me. I never want to think of myself as a mean person and I love your family and I love your brothers and deep inside of me there’s a weird caring for you, too, and… I’m just sorry if all of this is my fault.”

Chris watches you intently as you speak, feeling a pang in his chest as your words rang through his ears. Having a serious conversation was not something the two of you did, so to have two meaningful conversations in two days felt like he was in an alternate universe, not really sure how to feel or how to react.

He breaks eye contact for a moment to look down at his lap where his hands still rested, fingers interlocked with each other, taking a deep breath before he looked back up and met your eyes again. “It’s nothing you did,” he promises. “I just… don’t think we were meant to be friends the way you’re meant to be friends with my brothers.”

You nod at him but stay silent, afraid your voice would betray you if you tried to speak.

Luckily, your food got placed in front of you and you both thanked the waiter before digging in.

There wasn’t a lot of conversation shared while you both ate, just a couple of comments made about the food here and there, and that continued on until both of your plates were empty and your glasses only had ice left in them. “That was so good,” you groan, leaning back into the booth and placing your hands on your stomach. “I don’t think I’ve had a better steak in my life, Chris, I’m so serious.”

Chris laughs at you, taking in the way you almost melted into your side of the booth. “Yeah, mine was pretty good, too. I can’t believe we both finished our food.” He says, a small part of him impressed with how much you were able to eat. He’s never really paid attention before, but you could seriously put down some food if you were feeling it.

“Oh, I can. I wasn’t wasting a single drop of anything,” you laugh, looking over at him while still leaning back into your chair.

Theo comes back over and starts cleaning your plates out of the way, asking you both how you enjoyed the food. “Any desserts tonight?” He asks you, smiling wide.

You look at Chris and then back at him, shaking your head. “I think we’re okay for tonight, thank you so much though.”

He nods and places the check on the table, reminding you guys there’s no rush before he heads off.

Chris immediately grabs the check and flips the book open, nearly choking at the sight of the total, to which you giggle a bit, knowing you weren’t going to cough up a single penny.

You knew Chris would never make you pay even for your portion, whether it was a fake date or not, he just wasn’t raised like that and was always going to pay for the woman he took out, even if it wasn’t ideal to spend over two hundred dollars on a dinner with someone he wasn’t even dating.

“Thanks, Chris,” you tell him sincerely, kicking him lightly under the table. He just grumbles a response and puts his card in the little booklet, setting it back down on the table.

The waiter comes back and grabs the booklet, telling you guys he’ll be right back, and he’s not gone long before he comes back, setting it back down in front of Chris. “Thanks so much guys, I hope you enjoyed your dinner and I’ll see you guys soon.” He turns his attention to you, smiling shyly. “This is for you.” He slides over a small piece of paper on the table, face down.

Chris looks at the piece of paper, then up at you, then up at Theo, all with a straight face. He reaches over and grabs the piece of paper, still holding it face down. “Theo,” he starts, and the waiter turns his head to him, clearly nervous. “If I turn this piece of paper over and there’s a fucking phone number on here, I am going to do irreversible damage to your body. I promise you, you will never be able to have children if that’s what’s on here. So should I turn it over, or would you like to take it back?”

Your eyes widen in shock at how Chris spoke to Theo, never hearing him get quite as aggressive as this before, and you’ve made him angry for the last seven years. “Chris!” You scold him, trying to reach over the table for his hand, but he just pulls it away.

Theo gulps, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. “Uh…” he starts, holding his hand out for the paper. “I’ll just, uh.. I’ll take it back, that’s fine.”

Chris hands it back to him and Theo wishes you both a good night before running to the back of the restaurant, as far away as he could.

“Christopher,” you spit, reaching over to smack him on the head. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

He shakes his head, sliding out of the booth. “Let’s go.”

You watch him start to walk away and let out a groan, getting up to follow after him. “Hey!” You yell once you’re outside, heels clacking loudly as you run after him. You finally catch up to him by your car and you grab his shoulder, shoving him into your passenger door harshly. “What the fuck, Chris?!”

Chris keeps his gaze on the ground, refusing to meet your eyes.

“Why did you do that? He was clearly into me and he was hot! We weren’t even on a real date and you ruined my chances of maybe getting one. Now even if I go back in there he’s going to be too terrified to talk to me out of fear of getting castrated! Why on earth would you do something like that, Chris?” Your voice was angry, loud, at first, but towards the end it faded off into your normal volume, more disappointed than anything.

Chris just shrugged his shoulders, not sure what to say. “He was… he was looking at you like you were a piece of meat. It was gross, I… he clearly only wants you for sex.”

You scoff and run your fingers through your hair, still annoyed. “I like sex, Chris. I’m an adult, don’t you think that’s my choice to make? Maybe I just wanted to have sex with him, too.”

Chris finally looks up and meets your eyes, looking like a little kid getting scolded. “Yeah, well, he’s not good enough for you. End of story.”

That was it. Those were the words that finally set you off. “You don’t even treat me well! You’re always mean to me and hate being around me! How the fuck would you know what’s good for me?! You probably couldn’t even tell me my birthday, my favorite color, you probably couldn’t even tell me my eye color if I closed my eyes for two fucking seconds, so tell me, Chris. How the fuck do you know what’s good for me and what isn’t?”

Chris reaches his hands up to place them both on his head, body sizzling with anger and about to explode. “Because, I-!” He stops himself and drops his hands back to his sides, both clenched into fists. “I just do, okay? Can we leave?”

You laugh, literally laugh in his face. “Fuck no, not until you give me a real reason why you did that.”

You’re still standing relatively close to Chris, close enough to where he can’t really move without bumping into you, so it’s not really a surprise when he reaches out to plant a hand on your waist gently, pushing you to the side as he takes a step away, starting to walk towards the sidewalk. “Chris?” You call, and he ignores you, continuing to walk. You huff in annoyance and walk around towards the driver’s side, getting in and starting your car. You almost want to pick him up and take him home, but you decide against it, since Chris clearly knows everything. You figure you’ll let him walk however long it will take him to get home, and you start the drive towards your own apartment, wondering what the hell even happened tonight.

You think back to the date, the things you talked about and what he had said, until you land on the one comment he had made. ‘You want me to praise you and fuck you any chance I get?’

The words sent a chill down your spine as you revisited them, wondering why he had made you so nervous in that moment. It wasn’t something you had ever thought about, but now that the idea was planted, you couldn’t help but let the image play out in your head. Him ripping the dress off of you, telling you how beautiful you looked, hands running up and down your bare body, lips tracing over your skin. It had your ears burning and your thighs tense, imagining him lowering you to the bathroom floor, kicking the door shut behind him as his fingers trailed towards where you needed him the most, one hand covering your mouth and the other dipping inside of you.

You parked outside your apartment and shook your head to rid yourself of these thoughts. “What the fuck?” You said aloud. You sat there for a couple more moments, collecting yourself before you realized something that made you gasp quietly to yourself.

Chris didn’t even take any pictures.

-

a/n: huge thanks to @lucyluvschriss and @mattsbrat for some inspo on this chapter, the original date I had written was just them eating, grabbing ice cream and arguing and I think this is sooo much better and I wouldn’t have come up with the ideas without them. I’m so glad so many people are enjoying this au, i’m having a blast writing it! next part is probably where things are gonna start getting interesting 👀

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info!! if you want to be tagged in this fic, please comment on the linked post above, it’s way easier to keep track of than if you ask on the actual parts of the story. if you comment on a story part and I don’t add you, I probably just missed it💙

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[mommynott]

Smoke Sesh

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

This is the part 2 of my dealer!mattheo series! If you haven’t read the first part check it out here

More to come for this series and I’m SO excited💋

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, chars 18 +, college au, dealer!mattheo, dealer!matt, drug use, weed use, flirting, naughty thoughts

After class ended for the day, you rushed out of the room. Eager for your meeting with Mattheo. You clutched your books tightly against your chest as your mind twirled over all of the possibilities that could come from this...Deal. Would he make a move? On the known shy girl? Maybe you had to have more realistic expectations.

Once getting to your dorm room you quickly changed into a short flowy sundress, touching up your hair and make-up. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you could feel your heart thump against your chest. You glided your smooth gloss across your lush lips once more before taking off to meet Matt.

The smell of weed reeked through the boy's halls, faint muffled music was heard from Matt’s dorm room as you slowly crept up to his door. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself before knocking on the door. -Tap tap tap- You took a step back just as the door opened, a cloud of smoke puffing out into your face while Theo and Enzo walked out laughing, the Italian shooting you a cheeky wink. “Aye, come in”

Mattheo’s voice was deep yet lazy, you stepped inside, the door shutting behind you. Matt was slumped down on his couch, both arms over the back of it as he manspread. Wearing a pair of grey sweats and a black tank. His muscles on full display for you. Fuck. A half-smoked joint in his right hand just as he brought it up to his lips. “I was wondering if you were actually going to show up little Miss Perfect.” Teasing you, the apples of your cheeks turned a shade of crimson.

“Well…I did ask you for some weed, did I not?”

Snarking back to him, you kept it playful yet friendly as a small smile sprawled across your face. But Mattheo’s? The most cruel and cunning smirk tugged on the corners of his lips. “You did, doll…Here I’ll get you some ready…” He started bagging the dry green flower, putting out the joint I. A nearby ashtray before his chocolate gaze shifted up to yours. “Y’know…Why don’t you chill for a bit? Smoke somethin’ with me.”

Mattheo wanted to smoke with me? Really? You brushed some of your silky hair behind your ear, glancing down to the floor before back over to the stoner. “Uh….I’m-“ Matt’s brows shot up in amusement right as he was sealing the little baggie, cutting off your words. "Why so hesitant?" He asked, the sly grin remaining on his chiseled face before placing the baggie next to a glass emerald bong.

A soft blush remained radiating off of your cheeks, feeling your heart quicken. You swallowed, trying to maintain some level of composure before answering. "I-I’m not hesitant…Just… surprised, I guess." Matt chuckled, leaning back on the couch while He motioned for you to sit down, patting the cozy cushion beside him.

“Nothin’ to be surprised about, doll”

There it was again. Doll. Fuck… the way it effortlessly rolled off his tongue was making you melt. You hesitated for a second before walking over and sitting down on the couch, leaving a small space between you and Mattheo. He turned towards you, taking in the sight of your sundress. His gaze lingered for a moment and you could feel your face growing even warmer under his intense stare. He was clearly checking you out and making it obvious at that.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide your nervousness as you looked at the bong and baggie on the table. Was this really happening? "Well, I've never smoked with my dealer before…" you admitted softly, batting your lashes up to him naturally. Another deep chuckle came from Mattheo while he started to pack the bong. "Even better."

A soft giggle huffed from you at his words while you shifted in your seat, this small movement causing your dress to slightly ride up on your thighs. “You look nice in that sundress…who you dressin’ up for?” Matt’s voice was deep, his reddened eyes down on the bong as he continued to prep it. “Oh…I- no one really.” You stumbled over your words. Surely your face was as red as a tomato by now.

Another lazy laugh escaped raggedly from his throat, lifting the bong to his lips as he lit up the weed and inhaled. His bloodshot honey gaze burned into yours from over the rim of the glass before blowing a thick cloud of smoke to the side. “Here…and just sayin’ you look good…pretty.” Mattheo’s smug smirk never left his face, passing the bong over to you as your dainty hands grabbed it.

“Thanks.”

Replying quickly in a soft tone, you felt a smile itching to form while you brought the pipe to your lips. Lighting up the weed you took a big hit of it before pulling away and coughing up a damn storm. Way to fucking go. “It’s good shit, no?” Matt asked you teasingly, taking the bong from you as he sat it back on the table. “Mhhmmm-“ Dragging out in a hum, you relaxed back against the cushioned couch. The high starting to hit you just right.

Mattheo’s dark eyes were glued to you, taking in all of your beauty. He couldn’t help himself, scooting over closer to you just a touch. Your thighs grazed over one another as you shifted your high stare to his. “You got some pretty eyes, doll” Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. How was this man so damn smooth? “Y-you think so…?” You stuttered out, subtly biting your lower lip. The weed was making you loosen up, bringing you out of your shell.

“I know so.”

He whispered lowly, his gaze dropping to your shiny lips before meeting with your eyes once more. Essentially doing the triangle method. Fuck. It was working. Matt quickly took another heavy puff from the bong, clearing it as the smoke poured out lazily from his mouth. “You’re really nice, Mattheo…” Your soft-spoken voice came out in a cute manner. Mattheo finding you and this whole interaction quite adorable.

“Eh…I’m only nice to pretty girls like you.” Again with the damn compliments, your smile brightened up to his as he stood up and patted his thighs. “Stay a while, doll…Want a drink?” Damn, he actually wanted to hang out? Relax. You nodded your head, feeling your throat tighten from the dryness of the cotton mouth.

“Sure…I’d love one.”

A sea of happy giggles left your lips as you took in Mattheo's dorm room. He went over to his mini fridge and grabbed two beer bottles. Plopping down right next to you once more. This time closer than before. So fucking close to you that the mixed smell of his musky cologne, cigarettes, and weed wafted around you. Fucking hell.

Taking one of the beer bottles, he placed the cap edge on his teeth, popping it open with his mouth and giving you a wink. “Here you go, sweet thing” Another fucking pet name. This man was driving you wild. Sipping on the beer you could feel Matt’s gaze burning into your side profile as he drank his own. You finally turned your head, locking eyes with him. But they were different…dangerous..darkened…mischievous.

Something was brewing in Mattheo’s mind. And what was that you may ask? He was thinking of you on all fours. Taking his thick cock as you scream out his name. Thinking of him smoking a blunt while you lazily road him, the sexy whimpers you’d make. All because of him. And he knew…He fucking knew he’d have you tonight.

Ahhhhhh !!!!! Dealer!mattheo has been SO fun to write, I hope you all have been enjoying!

@mattheoriddles-slutt here’s your update babes hehehe

As always, requests and asks are open smut sluts💋

Divider pinned in my masterlist🌙

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Never prank a Human

Alien: So were you able to get back at the captain?

Alien 2: I don’t want to talk about it…..

Alien: What do you mean?

Alien: Last time you were here you told me that you found out that the human was afraid of “clowns” and had just ordered an outfit to wear and scare him with.

Alien 2: It did not go as planned.

Alien: What; did you not scare them?

Alien 2: Oh I did.

Alien 2: Waited in his quarters and then when he was just about to lay down in bed I jumped out and scared him before running out of the room.

Alien: Alright, mission complete.

Alien 2: I had just made it back to my quarters when the intercom activated and the captain spoke.

Alien 2: *Imitating human captain “All crew, all crew; we have a code clown, repeat, we have a code clown; this is not a drill.”

Alien: Wait, humans have a code for that?

Alien 2: Apparently.

Alien: But aren’t they silly humans wearing makeup and silly clothes.

Alien 2: Nope.

Alien 2: Turns out “Clowns” are intergalactic beings that feed on humans and try to lure them away from their packs with their bright outfits and silly faces.

Alien: Oh gods.

Alien 2: Next thing I knew bulkheads were sealing left and right and armed patrols were conducting a room by room search.

Alien: Shut the florp up.

Alien 2: I watched through my doors peephole as they dragged my next cabin neighbor out kicking and screaming as they found white face paint amongst their belongings.

Alien 2: After that everyone onboard was removed from their cabins and placed in the main hall before it was sealed off.

Alien 2: The captain came out with a row of armed guards on either side and demanded whoever was harboring the clown step forward at once.

Alien 2: When no one did the captain became angry and said he would begin interrogating people until he found the culprit. Any who were found guilty would be sent out the airlock.

Alien: This all seems rather unlike humans.

Alien 2: I thought so to.

Alien 2: Yet it seems to stem from their great fear of these clown like beings.

Alien: What happened next?

Alien 2: The captain led people one by one into another room before coming back for another person.

Alien: What happened to the first person they took?

Alien 2: They never came back….

Alien: Dear gods….

Alien 2: One by one the entire crew was hauled away until it was just me and the captain.

Alien 2: He asked me, *Imitating captain “Are you a clown?”

Alien 2: I said “No sir.”

Alien 2: They said “Have you helped a clown board my vessel an place us all in jeopardy?”  

Alien 2: I said “No sir, I would never.”

Alien 2: He said “I know you’re a lying sack of froth shite and you’ve just dug your own grave. We searched your room and found the clown suit!”

Alien 2: I said “There must be some mistake!”

Alien 2: He replied “I don’t make mistakes boy; and now your time has come to pay for your crimes.”

Alien 2: A pair of guards came over and began dragging me to doorway I assumed was the airlock intent to shoot me out of it.

Alien 2: I kicked and screamed and begged but they threw me in and locked the door behind me.

Alien 2: I heard the countdown timer begin as the captain leaned in and laughed at me as I started banging away at the door.

Alien 2: The timer reached 0 and the opposite door flung open as I prepared myself to die.

Alien: Well I take it you didn’t die since you’re right here telling me this story.

Alien 2: I was greeted by a laughing throng of guests standing around on our destination planet.

Alien 2: It seemed we had landed the night before and the captain had failed to inform the rest of the guests.

Alien 2: He had known it was me in the clown suit and had pulled each guest aside to get them onboard with his revenge prank while making me believe they had been flung out an airlock.

Alien: Wow. That’s fucked up even by our standards.

[danikamariewrites]

Take Me With You

Bat boys x reader

Note: I didn’t really know how to end this but this is another Cassian centric one oops

Warnings: angst-ish

“Please, please, please, please!” You cry as you squeeze Cassian’s midsection. You weren’t squeezing hard, just a more aggressive hug. And you weren’t going to give up until you got a yes from your mates.

You just found out from the twins that Cass and Rhys will be going to Windhaven for a few days. Azriel had just left for the Mother knows where this morning and that means you would be home alone. You don’t mind being home alone but when your mates leaving is so sudden it gives some anxiety.

Cassian lets out a deep sigh, rubbing his face angrily. “Y/n, we’ve talked about this. Coming with us to Windhaven isn’t a good idea, sweetheart.” You let out a loud groan. Looking at Rhys with pleading eyes he meets you with his own sympathetic look.

“Please Rhys? Azzy just left, now you guys are going to leave me too?” If you should’ve snuggled up to anyone first it was Rhys. Cassian is the strict one and so rarely caves to your begging. Rhys and Azriel on the other hand, those two have no back bone when it comes to you and your precious doe eyes.

Cassian gives Rhys a look that screams don’t you dare. Rhys lets out a sigh, slumping back in his chair. “Cassian and I will talk about it, ok?” You nod against Cassian’s chest. Unwrapping yourself from him you leave Rhys’s office and wait patiently in the sitting room for their decision.

Your mind drifts to Azriel as you wait. He had you all to himself last night, making love to you softly, just taking each other in before he left for the next month.

Azriel held you all night whispering how much he loves you and he’ll miss you and your other mates. You had shed a few tears when Azriel kissed you goodbye that morning. You didn’t want to let go of him.

But you did. Watching them fly off to danger never gets easier. Especially Azriel.

Forty-five minutes later Rhys calls you back to his office. You rush back upstairs, ready for the decision your mates made.

Cassian is sitting rigid in the chair across from Rhys. His jaw clenched as if he’s biting his tongue. You approach slowly, taking a seat next to Cassian, trying not to look at him.

Rhys clears his throat to break the tension. “We,” he emphasizes, “have decided you can come with us. It’ll be a week long trip, we’re leaving in the morning after breakfast so make sure you’re packed.” Rhys says with a small smile on his face.

You grin looking between the pair. “Thank you,” as you turn to Cassian he gets up and leaves. The door to his own office down the hall closes lightly. You deflate in your chair wondering why he’s so angry.

Rhys lets out a tired sigh. “Don’t worry about him, darling. He’s just mad because I overruled him.” He smirks and goes back to the document laying in front of him.

As you head back to the sitting room you can’t help but feel dismissed by your mates. Something about Rhys’s decision just not sitting right with you.

You know Rhys didn’t mean anything by what he said about “overruling” Cassian. You could tell they had an argument. And the last thing you wanted to do was cause tension between Rhys and Cass when they’re about to go to Windhaven.

Turning around you head back upstairs, lightly knocking on Cassian’s door. Entering slowly, he doesn’t take his eyes off of the paper he’s scribbling on.

Clearing your throat you whisper his name. Cassian’s head shoots up, making uneasy eye contact with you. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head. “Nothing. I just wanted to talk.” You cross your arms looking away from your mate, uncomfortable by his borderline hostility.

Cassian relaxes into his high back chair to ease the tension between the two of you. “What’s wrong,” his tone was gentle. You look down at your feet, pushing at the carpet with the toe of your shoe. “If you don’t want me to go to Windhaven I’ll stay home.” You say solemnly. You expected Cassian to breathe a sigh of relief, not be silent.

Looking up at your mate you’re met with a frown pulling at his lips. “Come here, love.” You go to stand between his legs, Cassian’s hands hold yours to his chest. “It’s not that I don’t want you to go. More than anything I want you to be with Rhys and I. But I also want you safe, and I feel like it’s not safe for you there. I’m on edge whenever we go anywhere dangerous and it—I just,” he cuts himself off with a deep breath.

Slipping a hand from his grasp you tangle your fingers in his dark strands. “I didn't think this was going to be so stressful for you, Cass.” You place a soft kiss on his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Cassian’s eyes take on a hard look, “Don’t. You do not need to apologize for how I’m feeling. If anything we should be the ones saying sorry. It’s not fair to shut you out while Rhys and I make decisions like that.” Cassian stands to fully embrace you. “Please come with us. I can’t leave you knowing how upset you’ll be, especially alone.”

You hug him tighter. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Of course I am,” Cassian kisses the top of your head.

You look up at him, batting your eyelashes at him. “I love you.” Cassian gently cups your face, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I love you more.”