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jezebelblues · 29 days ago

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𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 | 𝐇.𝐒 | 𝟏 *ੈ𑁍༘⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲��𝐮 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭, 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧��𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥.

pt 1, pt 2 (completed)

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐂𝐖: drug usage/selling, angst, college!harry, fem!reader, smut in pt2 if that’s what ur here for, allusions to violence, friends to lovers if u squint

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 13.8k

❏ i was trying to compress this into only being one part but i felt like each piece of them growing closer was too important to the plot to be deleted </3 but i’m posting pt 2 like right after this so !! btw this is so fratrry coded but bro is not in a frat. he’s just a broke college student that sells drugs fr

masterlist

off campus housing was a curse sometimes.

but, if you had the option between dorming it out or paying for an apartment yourself, maybe it could be categorized as both a blessing and a curse.

but for YN and harry, it’s just a curse.

a dorm wasn’t in the cards for them in general—it was hard enough drowning in loans for tuition itself, and adding thousands more for shitty campus housing was just overboard.

but still, the illusion of choice would’ve been nice.

they lived in carson hall, off campus apartments that were filled to the brim with students. there might’ve been a few tenants in the building that weren’t a student, but they were probably there for the same reason as everyone else—affordability.

$850 per month felt like a rarity, and it was pretty much unheard of in new york. so, if you were a broke student that couldn’t dorm, this was your saving grace.

if the walls in the unit weren’t brick, it was cheap drywall that had the paint chipping off. there was a radiator that broke every month like clockwork, sat right underneath a window with glass so thin it shook with the breeze.

there was no carpet except for in the main lobby, everything else was either tiled linoleum and creaky wooden floors installed in the 90’s. there was a communal laundry unit in the basement that required four quarters exactly, nothing else. sometimes it’d swallow the coins, sometimes it wouldn’t, and sometimes it’d eat their coins and wouldn’t turn on at all.

there was a maintenance man that lived on the first floor—living there for half the rent since he was on call 24/7 on the weekdays to fix anything the apartment complex needed—but you’d have to be the luckiest person on earth for him to respond. if the washer ate your quarters, chances are, you won’t be getting them back. and if the sink continued to drip water in rhythm with your heartbeat, you’d be better off watching a youtube tutorial on plumbing basics than calling for the maintenance guy.

but, it was four walls and a roof—not to mention, it was only a five minute walk from the dining hall (the heart of campus, obviously).

YN and harry didn’t know each other, not exactly. they lived on the same floor, and harry was the guy that was known for dealing to make rent and loan payments.

and YN was the girl that always had sleepy eyes and smelt of vanilla and cinnamon—sugar and spice.

but that was it between them, fleeting glances of acknowledgment and the lingering scent of vanilla laced with weed in the hallway.

all until the first knock tapped against his door at one-thirty in the morning.

it was one of those nights where the due dates of assignments pressed down heavy, like it was daring you to breathe under the weight.

harry’s radiator was hissing again, spitting steam into his tiny apartment, a kind of mocking applause for everything breaking down. his desk was cluttered with blueprints—half-sketched, smudged, unfinished—and on the counter, the last edible he'd cut sat wrapped in foil, waiting for whoever was desperate enough to buy it.

the knock was soft. hesitant. not the kind of knock that screamed cops or where's the party? harry almost didn't get up. whatever it was, it could wait.

but something about it—how it lingered, quiet but insistent—dragged him to the door. barefoot, wearing nothing but a ratty tshirt and sweatpants, he swung it open without bothering to check who it was.

YN.

the girl who always smelled like a fucking christmas cookie. she stood in the hallway like she'd been arguing with herself for hours, her arms wrapped around her torso to keep warm. she didn't say anything right away, just looked at him with wide, tired eyes.

harry leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "are y’lost?"

her voice came out softer than he expected. “i need…something.”

he raised an eyebrow, scanning her quickly—her pink sweatpants, the hoodie that was two sizes too big, the way she kept glancing at the floor like she hated being here. "that's specific. milk? a lightbulb? help moving a body?"

"for my roommate," she rushed, ignoring the bite in his tone. "she's—she's having a panic attack or something, some stupid argument with her boyfriend i think—and i don't have anything that can help."

harry stared at her.

her voice cracked, the desperation cutting through the cool front she was trying to hold. "it's late, and the pharmacies are closed, and i just—someone said you might have something."

"someone.” he repeated, pushing off the doorframe, his tone sharp enough to slice through her composure.

"please."

something about that word caught him off guard. not the word itself, but the way she said it—like she was embarrassed to use it, like it physically hurt to ask him for anything. harry sighed, stepping back. "wait there."

he crossed the room to the counter, digging through the shoebox that held the operation he kept as low-key as possible. the old baggie of edibles rustled faintly in his hands, and for a second, he thought about saying no. this wasn't his problem.

but he grabbed one anyway, turning back to find her still standing in the hallway, arms wrapped tighter around herself. he shoved the baggie into her hand. "take this and go."

she hesitated, looking down at it. "is it safe?"

harry's laugh came out sharp and humorless. "you knock on my door at one in the morning, asking for something t’fix a panic attack, and you're worried about FDA approval? yeah, it's safe. s’low-dose."

her fingers curled around the bag. "how much do i owe you?"

he shook his head, already tired of this conversation. "don't worry about it. just go."

YN started to turn, but her gaze caught on the cluttered desk in the corner—blueprints stacked in uneven piles, a half-empty coffee cup balancing on the edge. "what's all that?" she asked, her voice quiet but curious.

"none of your business."

he stepped forward and shut the door before she could ask anything else. the lock clicked, and for a long second, he stood there, staring at the closed door, wondering why the hell he'd helped her at all.

friday nights strained. not the kind that made you feel like you’d accomplished something. no, this was the other kind. the kind that made harry want to throw his phone into the east river and spend the rest of the weekend in bed, ignoring the world.

by eight pm, the texts started rolling in like they always did.

can u drop to sigma chi?

emergency. we need molly asap. paying extra if u can get here by 10.

it wasn’t glamorous. it wasn’t even fun. but it paid the rent.

harry sat at his desk, staring at the mess of blueprints he hadn’t touched all week, his phone lighting up next to him with another text. the math was simple: weed, molly, shrooms, lsd. nothing heavy, nothing messy, and no one under twenty-one.

he grabbed his backpack, already packed from the night before—a hollowed-out calculus textbook buried inside. it was beat to shit, but nobody looked twice at a guy carrying around a heavy book and a bookbag on campus.

the first stop was sigma chi. always sigma chi.

by the time he got there, the party was in full swing. the air reeked of spilled beer and too much cologne, bass pounding through the walls like a heartbeat that refused to die. harry slipped in through the side door, past a crowd of girls laughing too loudly and holding plastic cups like they were accessories.

the guy waiting for him was leaned against the fridge, his baseball cap turned backwards, a grin plastered on his face. “harry, my man!”

he didn’t answer. didn’t smile. instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small baggie, handing it over like he was exchanging a pack of gum. the guy shoved some crumpled twenties into harry’s hand, already too distracted by his phone to say anything else.

“you’re a lifesaver, bro.”

he left through the back door without another word.

weekends were always like this. frat houses, dorm rooms, random street corners. most fridays, he had ten stops, maybe more if people got desperate.

his phone buzzed constantly. texts rolling in every fifteen minutes:

can you meet by the bodega?

do u have anything stronger? asking for a friend.

the last one made him roll his eyes. he didn’t do stronger. stronger got people killed, got cops asking questions. harry wasn’t stupid. this wasn’t about partying or fun; it was money.

he started dealing during his first year at nyu. not because he wanted to, but because the scholarships didn’t cover everything, and student loans only went so far.

at first, it was just weed. his guy, jeff, lived in brooklyn—a family man with a college degree, a wife, and two kids. harry used to think guys like jeff had it figured out: the house in a decent neighborhood, the minivan parked out front, the soccer games on weekends. but his life was no more stable than harry’s.

jeff’s business wasn’t just selling weed—it was growing it, right in his basement. his wife knew, of course. they kept it far from the kids, locked up tight behind a door that might as well have been a vault.

he hadn’t started out as a dealer, either. he ran his own small business—some business marketing firm that couldn’t compete with the bigger guys. now, the basement was his fallback, extra income, and harry couldn’t help but see a version of himself in jeff. same fire, same hustle, same gnawing ache of more, more, more.

“this isn’t enough,” he had said one night, halfway through weighing a fresh batch. the house smelled faintly of citrus and pine, a scent jeff swore masked the weed smell. “you ever thought about branching out?”

harry frowned, leaning back against the workbench “branching out how?”

“psychedelics—shrooms, lsd. same crowd, bigger profit. no one’s getting hooked, no one’s overdosing. it’s clean.”

harry’s gut twisted. he didn’t like the sound of it—too messy, too big. “i dunno, mate. weed’s easy. i don’t want t’get in deeper.”

jeff leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “i get it. but you’re already in. and if you play it smart, you don’t have to worry about the cops, or junkies, or any of that shit. i know a guy in the bronx—mutual friend. you’d like him. solid guy, clean product.”

he hesitated, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table. “y’really think it’s worth it?”

jeff smiled faintly, shrugging. “depends on what you want. if it’s just enough to scrape by, keep doing what you’re doing. but if you want to breathe a little? yeah. it’s worth it.”

harry didn’t jump in right away.

it took a few weeks of thinking, weighing the risks against the reward. but eventually, he made the trip to the bronx. the guy jeff pointed him to was older, late thirties maybe, with a clean apartment and a habit of over-explaining. harry liked him immediately.

the product was good. better than he expected. shrooms, lsd tabs, packaged clean and easy to move. the kind of stuff that sold itself to the right crowd.

molly came later.

it started with frat guys asking for it at parties, offering triple what harry charged for weed. at first, he turned them down. molly was different—harder to control, riskier. but the money kept knocking at his door, and harry, tired of scraping by, finally let it in.

his guy in the bronx knew a supplier. harry kept it lowkey—low doses, clean product, no bullshit. but it still weighed on him, the way every step deeper into this life felt like standing on thin ice.

jeff always said this kind of hustle didn’t last forever. harry just hoped he’d find a way out before it swallowed him whole.

his voice stayed in his head more than he liked to admit—you can’t do this forever, kid. something’s gotta give.

but that was the problem, wasn’t it? harry didn’t know what would give first—his luck, his sanity, or the thin line he kept walking between survival and collapse.

the deeper he got into dealing, the more he saw how easy it was for people to lose themselves in it. not just the buyers—people like jeff, too.

there was this one night, months after harry started moving psychedelics. jeff had called him over, saying he had some fresh product he wanted harry to try. he drove out to brooklyn, expecting the usual.

but when he got there, he looked different. tired in a way that felt heavier.

“you good?” he had asked, leaning against the workbench.

he nodded, but his hands trembled slightly as he sealed a bag. “yeah, just a long week. car broke down, furnace is acting up… you know how it is.”

he did. too well.

when he left that night, the bag of weed tucked into his backpack, he couldn’t shake the thought—this doesn’t end well. jeff had everything harry thought he wanted—a family, a house, a life that looked solid from the outside. and still, it wasn’t enough.

he lit a cigarette as he drove back to the city, the smoke curling around him in the dark car. he couldn’t let this life be all there was. couldn’t let it pull him down the same way it was pulling jeff.

but even as he told himself he’d find a way out, harry’s phone buzzed with another text, another buyer, another deal.

just enough was never enough.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. he was tired. bone-tired. the kind of tired that lived in his spine and refused to leave, no matter how much sleep he got.

but he typed back anyway.

because this was life. grinding himself into the ground so someone else could forget their bullshit for a night.

and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t afford to.

the rain wasn’t letting up. the kind that soaked you through in seconds, cold and sharp like a thousand tiny needles stabbing your skin. the stairwell in the building was already a deathtrap on the best days—cheap tiles, no traction, old wood.

he was on the couch when he heard it. a thud, heavy and hollow, like someone had dropped a bag of bricks—or fallen. then the curses followed, muffled but furious, the kind of sound that pulled him out of the half-sleep he’d been drifting into.

he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. for a second, he thought about ignoring it. again, wasn’t his problem. but something about the sound got under his skin.

grabbing the sweatshirt hanging off the back of the couch, he pulled it on and opened the door, peering out into the dimly lit hallway.

that’s when he saw her.

sprawled on the stairs, her sweater soaked through, hair sticking to her face, and an armful of books scattered around her like shrapnel.

fucking christ, harry thought, leaning against the doorframe. he crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you always this graceful, or is it a wednesday night special?”

she looked up, and if looks could kill, he’d have been dead on the spot. her cheeks were flushed, probably from a mix of frustration and exertion, and her jaw was clenched tight enough to crack. “are you always this much of an asshole, or do i just bring it out in you?”

harry let the smirk grow into something closer to a grin. “you okay?” he asked, his tone half-mocking, half-genuine.

YN didn’t answer right away. she was too busy untangling herself, her knee hitting the step as she tried to gather the mess of books and papers that had spilled everywhere.

harry sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “hold on.”

he jogged down the stairs, crouching to pick up a book near her feet. the cover was soaked, the pages already curling at the edges. he flipped it over in his hand, inspecting the damage. “you’re gonna fail with this,” he said, holding it up. “this thing’s toast.”

she snatched the book from him, glaring. “you’re toast.”

he chuckled under his breath, bending to pick up another one. this time, it was a notebook—thick, overstuffed, with half the pages threatening to fall out. “what are you even carrying all this for?”

“this is college, is it not?”

harry straightened, stacking the notebook on top of the book in her arms. “you’re gonna wreck your back lugging all this around.”

“not everyone has money for a decent bag.” she muttered, not looking at him as she grabbed the papers from his hand.

that made him pause. his jaw tightened, his usual sarcasm flickering into something harder, heavier. he opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it just as fast.

he shifted, handing her the last book. “here. try not to break your neck next time.”

she snorted, a bitter laugh slipping out before she could stop it. she pushed herself up, wincing as she shifted her weight onto her right leg.

“you sure you’re okay?” harry asked again, watching the way she was favoring her left leg.

“i’m fine.”

“right.” harry muttered, crossing his arms as she started up the stairs. he followed her halfway up, more out of habit than concern, and watched as she struggled to balance her books against the wet fabric of her sweater.

when they reached the landing, she stopped, glancing back at him. “thanks,” she said, the word sounding like it physically hurt her to say.

harry shrugged. “don’t mention it.”

as she turned to head toward her apartment, she added over her shoulder, “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked again, shaking his head as he watched her limp away. he didn’t respond, just leaned against the wall, waiting until she disappeared into her unit before heading back to his own.

he dropped onto the couch, dragging a worn notebook off the coffee table and flipping it open. but his focus was shot. all he could picture was her on the stairs—soaked, pissed, and too stubborn to admit she wasn’t fine.

her comment stuck with him, too. not everyone has money for a decent bag. harry hated how much that hit home.

the world didn’t give a shit if you couldn’t afford what you needed. if you didn’t have it, you improvised. it was why he was out here selling weed and molly to spoiled frat boys and girls with trust funds so deep they could drown in them.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. his phone buzzed on the armrest beside him, breaking the silence.

it was one of his regulars, some sophomore who thought a couple grams of shrooms would make her weekend transformative.

yeah. same spot. 9pm.

he tossed the phone onto the table, leaning back against the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. this was the life: fixing busted radiators, chasing down half-earned engineering credits, and grinding himself into the ground so some kid could take a trip they’d forget by monday morning.

later that night, he was back out, a ballcap sat over his curls, backpack slung over his shoulder, heading to the usual corner just off washington square park. it wasn’t raining anymore, but the streets were still slick, reflecting the city lights like oil spills.

he spotted the girl waiting for him, leaning against a lamppost with her arms crossed. she waved when she saw him, a little too eager.

the exchange was quick, the shrooms passing from his hand to hers, the cash tucked into his pocket in one smooth motion. no small talk, no lingering.

when he got home, the hallway was quiet, except for the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead. YN’s door was closed, no sounds coming from the other side.

he paused for a second, staring at it. he shook his head, unlocking his door and stepping inside. the idea that popped into his brain was stupid, irrational. he didn’t owe her anything. she was just the girl down the hall, who gave as much shit as she took.

but still, he dug into his closet, pulling out the old army surplus bag he’d stopped using after high school. it wasn’t much, but it was better than what she had now.

the next morning, harry slipped out of his apartment early, the bag in hand. he dropped it just outside her door, no note, no explanation, before heading out to his first lecture of the day.

when YN found it later, she stared at it for a long moment, her brows knitting together. she didn’t have to ask who left it. and even though she muttered asshole under her breath, she brought it inside with a faint smile.

because she needed it. and harry—whether he’d admit it or not—knew that.

the next time they saw each other, he was coming up the stairs, his backpack slung low, the smell of rain clinging to his sweatshirt. it was late—nearly eleven—and he was tired, the kind of exhaustion that sank into his chest and refused to let go.

YN was coming down, her new bag bouncing lightly against her hip. she was in scrubs and a college hoodie, hair tied back, but there was a tension in her face that hadn’t been there before. maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was the unmistakable look of someone dragging themselves through another brutal shift.

they almost passed each other without a word. almost.

but as they crossed paths, she stopped, her hand gripping the railing. “hey.”

harry stopped mid-step, turning to look at her. “hey,” he echoed, noncommittal.

she tilted her head toward the bag. “this you?”

he leaned against the railing, shrugging like it was no big deal. ��needed something better, right?”

her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to figure out if he was messing with her. finally, she shook her head, letting out a dry laugh. “why, though? why do you care?”

he blinked, caught off guard. he didn’t have an answer for that—at least not one he could say out loud. instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging again. “call it charity,” he said. “or don’t. i don’t really care.”

YN stared at him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. then she nodded, her grip on the railing loosening. “thanks,” she muttered, her tone softer this time.

“don’t mention it.”

but before he could take another step, she smiled—the tiniest twitch upward. “no, seriously. don’t.”

he smirked at that, glancing back over his shoulder. “you’re welcome, cinnamon.”

her brows shot up at the nickname, her mouth opening to protest, but harry didn’t stick around to hear it. he was already heading back to his apartment, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

that should’ve been the end of it.

but the next day, when harry opened his door to grab the mail, there was a coffee cup sitting just outside, still warm, with no note or explanation.

he frowned, picking it up and staring at it like it might explode.

then, from down the hall, YN’s door opened, and she leaned out, raising an eyebrow at him. “drink it or don’t—i don’t care.”

he held up the cup, smirking. “what’s this? donations?”

“no,” she grinned, already retreating back inside. “just paying it forward, asshole.”

the door clicked shut, and he stood there, shaking his head, the faintest chuckle escaping him as he sipped the coffee.

their classes in south hall were evening ones, usually letting out at nine pm sharp.

YN stepped out of the biology lab first, tugging her sleeves down against the chill that crept into the building after dark. her bag was slung over her shoulders, the college crewneck rumpled from hours of sitting in the same chair. her jeans were stiff from the cold, her shoes scuffed with wear, and her hair fell loose around her face, sticking slightly to her cheek. she brushed it back absently, her eyes on the door ahead.

harry caught sight of her from the second-floor stairwell as he left his chemistry lecture—a rolling stones hoodie hung loose on his frame, sweatpants sitting low on his hips, his green sambas (that he bought second hand, his proudest find) practically falling apart at the seams.

he hadn’t planned on saying anything. hell, he wasn’t even sure she’d noticed him. but as he watched her push through the doors, her breath fogging in the cold, he felt something tug at him.

he hesitated for half a second before jogging down the stairs, his curls bouncing slightly as he caught up to her “hey.”

she glanced over her shoulder, her steps slowing just enough to register him. her brows furrowed when she saw him. “you’re in chemistry,” she said, like it was an accusation.

harry blinked, a bit confused as to what she was hinting at—but going with it anyway. “m’yeah. good observation, sherlock.”

“no, i mean,” she gestured vaguely behind her. “your class is upstairs. what’re you doing down here?”

harry shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. “walking home. duh. our lectures must end at the same time.”

YN gave him a skeptical look, her pace picking up again as they stepped into the night. “you don’t have to do that,” she said quickly, her tone dismissive. “i’m fine.”

he fell into step beside her anyway, the straps of his backpack swinging slightly as he walked. “cool. didn’t ask.”

her jaw tightened, and she shot him a look. “seriously, i don’t need a babysitter.”

“good,” harry muttered, unbothered. “’cause I’m not volunteering.”

she sighed, tugging her bag closer to her body as they trudged through campus. the sound of their shoes against the pavement filled the space between them.

as they turned the corner, the streetlight flickered above, casting long, uneven shadows across the sidewalk. harry noticed the guy first.

it wasn’t unusual to be sketched out by randoms over here, their apartment was on the edge of campus—lots of stragglers where university police didn’t quite patrol.

he was leaning against a stop sign, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. his gaze was lazy, his posture too casual, the way people got when they wanted you to feel like they were watching you without actually looking.

harry stepped closer to YN without thinking, his shoulder brushing hers as he moved between her and the road.

“seriously?” she muttered, stopping mid-step to glare at him.

harry didn’t look at her, his eyes locked forward as they passed. “what?” he asked, voice calm. “said i’d walk with you. didn’t say i wouldn’t get in the way.”

she scoffed, but she didn’t pull away. he brushed it off, and in a way, she appreciated that—the way he acknowledged her nerves but didn’t say anything. the way he acted like it was just a miss-step rather than a reassurance.

when they reached the entrance of their apartment building, YN stopped, finally turning to face him. her arms were crossed now, her expression sharp. “you didn’t have to do that.”

“you’re welcome.” his eyebrows knit together in stifled laughter, looking straight past her as he opened the heavy door to their building, holding it open for her to walk through.

they went up the narrow stairwell quietly, each step creaking under their weight.

she pursed her lips, stepping past him to unlock her door. but just before she disappeared inside, she glanced back at him, her tone softer this time. “thanks, i guess.”

harry tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “don’t mention it.”

the door clicked shut behind her, and harry lingered for a second, staring at the empty hallway beyond. then he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, turned, and headed to his own door. his rings clicked against his keys as he unlocked it, the faintest smirk still on his lips.

the walk back from the hospital felt longer tonight.

the clock had just ticked past ten, but the streets were alive with people heading to bars, parties, anywhere but where she’d been. YN tugged on the sleeves of her hoodie, pulling them down farther, the fabric worn soft from too many washes. her scrub pants swished faintly as she walked, her badge clipped to her pocket, catching the glow of passing headlights.

her shift had been hell. the kind of night where you didn’t have time to think, let alone breathe. a kid came in after a bad bike crash, his face pale, his leg bent in a way it shouldn’t have been. then there was guy that coughed up blood over her sneakers—not to mention running around the er the entire rest of shift to do the work the nurses couldn’t get to.

her feet dragged as she pushed through the door to her building, climbing the stairs to the second floor one step at a time.

the music hit her first.

it wasn’t loud, just a faint rhythm seeping through the crack of harry’s door. something easy, mellow.

as she walked past his door, her steps slowed, her gaze flicking toward it. for a second, she lingered, her pulse ticking faster than it should’ve. but then she kept walking.

she tried to focus on her own door, just a few steps away, but her mind wouldn’t settle. work had been brutal. her roommate would be on a two hour facetime with her boyfriend, giggling about nothing. her friends were either pulling late shifts or at some frat house, three beers deep by now. and the quiet—god, the quiet—was going to eat her alive.

before she even realized what she was doing, she spun on her heel, walking back the way she came. her hand hesitated over harry’s door, her fingers curling into a loose fist before she knocked.

the door swung open after a moment, and there he was.

he stood there in loose jeans and an old band tee, his curls falling into his face like he hadn’t bothered to push them back. the rings on his fingers glinted faintly in the dim light behind him, chipped black polish catching her eye.

“cinnamon,” he grinned, leaning one arm against the doorframe. his voice was low, amused. “what’s up?”

behind him, she saw the room wasn’t empty.

lounging on harry’s couch was louis, a guy she vaguely recognized from her english lecture—he was always late, always cracking jokes that somehow landed. and in the kitchen, leaning lazily against the counter, was a tall guy she didn’t quite recognize.

she took the smallest step back, shaking her head. “sorry,” she mumbled quickly. “didn’t realize you had people over. never-mind.”

he raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking from her to the empty hallway behind her. “y’sure? you look…” he trailed off, his lips quirking slightly. “rough.”

she glared at him. “thanks. really needed that.”

he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “you’re knocking on my door at ten o’clock, cinnamon. that’s gotta be for a reason, yeah?”

she hesitated, her fingers twitching at her side. the guy in the kitchen glanced over briefly, then went back to whatever he was doing, and louis didn’t seem to notice her at all. “forget it,” she muttered, stepping back again. “i’m fine.”

he didn’t move, his eyes narrowed as they locked onto hers. “bullshit.”

her jaw tightened, her shoulders straightening. “i was just gonna ask if you had anything. you know, to…” she gestured vaguely, avoiding his eyes. “take the edge off.”

his smile returned, slow and knowing. “didn’t peg you as the type.”

YN glared again, her cheeks flushing slightly. “for a dealer, you’re really bad at pushing sales.” she said flatly, spinning on her heel.

he chuckled lightly, stepping out into the hallway a bit. “hold on a sec.”

she paused, turning halfway back to face him.

he glanced over his shoulder, toward the couch and the kitchen, before meeting her eyes again. “come back in ten,” he nodded. “i’ll get rid of ‘em.”

she blinked, caught off guard. “you don’t have to—”

“i said ten.” he cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument.

before she could say anything else, he stepped back into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. YN stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door like it might open again. she bit the inside of her lip, fidgeting with her key and going inside.

and at exactly 10 minutes, she was back in front of harry’s door.

this time, she didn’t hesitate. she knocked twice, easier than before.

the door opened almost immediately.

harry stood there again, his curls pushed back out of his face this time. his expression was unreadable, somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “told you ten minutes.” he stepped back, leaving the door open for her. “c’mon.”

his apartment wasn’t what she expected, though she wasn’t sure what she’d pictured. it was small, dimly lit by a single desk lamp in the corner. the faint scent of weed hung in the air, but the room was surprisingly neat, except for a pile of papers and notebooks on the table.

lounging on the couch, louis was pulling on his jacket, his face lighting up in surprise when he saw her. “oh, hey. you’re…” he snapped his fingers, squinting. “chem lab, right? morning lecture?”

YN nodded stiffly, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. “english,” she corrected. “i see you there sometimes.”

“right, right,” louis said, grinning. he turned to harry. “new buyer? good taste, man.”

harry rolled his eyes, stifling his own smile. “out.” he muttered, shoving a hand toward the door.

louis smirked but didn’t argue. he grabbed his bag, tossing a wink at YN before stepping into the hallway. the guy in the kitchen followed, slipping past her without so much as a glance, the scent of cheap cologne trailing behind him.

he shut the door with a sharp click, locking it before turning to face her. “there. happy?”

she crossed her arms, leaning against the wall near the door. “i didn’t ask you to kick them out.”

“you didn’t have to.”

she sighed, her gaze shifting to the desk in the corner. the blueprints stacked there caught her attention—clean lines, precise calculations, a world that felt miles away from hers.

“you gonna tell me what you want, or are we just standing here all night?”

her eyes snapped back to his, the sharpness in his tone cutting through the haze of her thoughts. “got anything that’ll knock me out for a few hours?”

he raised an eyebrow, walking past her to the desk. he opened a drawer, rummaging around before pulling out a small baggie with a single edible inside. “low-dose,” he said, holding it up. “won’t knock you out, but it’ll take the edge off.”

YN hesitated, glancing between him and the baggie. “how much?”

harry shook his head, tossing it onto the counter. “on the house.”

“i’m not—”

“just take it,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “call it a favor. or a bribe. whatever makes you feel better.”

she stepped closer, picking up the baggie with careful fingers. her eyes flicked to his, searching for something she wasn’t sure she’d find. “thanks.” she muttered, her voice quieter now.

harry leaned against the edge of the counter, his arms crossed. “you look like shit, by the way.”

she huffed, shoving the baggie into her hoodie pocket. “and you’re still a dick.” she shot back, heading for the door.

“fair enough.” he muttered. but just as she reached for the handle, his voice stopped her. “hey, cinnamon.”

she turned, her brow furrowed. “what?”

harry’s smirk softened slightly, the easy confidence in his tone faltering just enough to feel real. “you ever wanna talk, you know where i live.”

YN didn’t respond, didn’t trust herself to. she just nodded once and slipped out the door, her footsteps fading down the hall.

the next day, it was closer to four pm when YN got home from work.

she barely noticed the faint buzz of her roommate’s call as she slipped into the bathroom, peeling off her scrubs and stepping under the hot spray of the shower. the water hit her like a reset button, the ache in her shoulders easing as the steam curled around her.

when she finally emerged, her hair damp and loose, she threw on a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized sweater—something warm, something safe. the apartment was quiet now, her roommate having left a while ago, probably off to see her boyfriend.

it was around six when the knock came.

YN glanced up from her laptop, her brows furrowing. she wasn’t expecting anyone. she hesitated for a second, debating if she even wanted to answer, but curiosity won out.

when she opened the door, harry was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk softened into something more uncertain. he looked like he’d been pacing before this, his curls slightly disheveled, his hoodie hanging loose over a pair of black sweatpants.

“hey.”

YN raised an eyebrow. “hey.”

“you any good at chem?”

she blinked, “chemistry?”

he nodded, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “yeah. like, the basics. stoichiometry, balancing equations, all that shit.”

she tilted her head, leaning against the doorframe to mirror him. “i passed it with like an 85% so, i guess?”

he smiled, “fantastic. y’busy right now?”

“why?”

“thought maybe you could help me out. i’ve got a test coming up, and i’m…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “not great at it.”

“you want me to tutor you?”

he beamed, sarcastic, knowing. “sweet of you t’offer. let’s go.”

she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. she sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “fine. but if i’m doing this, we’re going to the library. your apartment smells like weed, and i can’t think in there.”

he chuckled, stepping back as she grabbed her bag from the couch. “fair enough, cinnamon.”

the campus library wasn’t crowded, the usual sunday night stragglers scattered across the tables in hushed clusters. harry led her to a table in the back, far from the main entrance, where the buzz of conversation faded into the quiet hum of fluorescent lights.

he dropped his backpack onto the table, pulling out a battered notebook and a copy of the textbook that looked like it had been through hell. “alright, professor,” he said, smirking as he slid into the chair across from her. “teach me.”

“this is gonna be painful, isn’t it?”

harry grinned, flipping open the textbook. “probably.”

she sighed, leaning forward. “okay, first question—how the hell did you even make it to college if you don’t know the basics?”

harry shrugged, unbothered. “charm and good looks.”

she groaned, dropping her pen onto the table. “you’re gonna fail.”

“no,” he drawled with a smile, “that’s why you’re here.”

despite herself, YN smiled, shaking her head as she reached for the textbook. “alright, let’s see what we can do.”

the first twenty minutes were pure pain.

she flipped through harry’s beat-up textbook, squinting at the faint pencil notes scrawled in the margins. “alright,” she muttered, tapping her pen against the page. “let’s start with balancing equations. that’s pretty straightforward.”

harry slouched in his chair, spinning his pen between his fingers like he was bored out of his mind already. (and he was. if he was honest, he didn’t need help with chem at all). “straightforward for you, maybe. i’m just here trying not to flunk out.”

she furrowed her eyebrows, shooting him a look. “you’re not gonna flunk out. you just need to—” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “try.”

“i’m trying right now. see? look at all this effort.” he gestured toward the open book in front of him.

she sighed, leaning across the table and grabbing the pen out of his hand. “no. this is you sitting there, being useless. pay attention, harry.”

“yes, ma’am.” he mumbled, sitting up slightly straighter. his voice carried the faintest edge of mockery, but he kept his eyes on her, watching as she wrote out a problem on a fresh sheet of paper.

after another ten minutes of stumbling through coefficients, YN thought she saw a flicker of understanding cross harry’s face. he pointed at the page. “so you just make the numbers match? like, both sides need the same amount of atoms?”

YN stared at him, deadpan. “yes. that’s literally it.”

he leaned back, running a hand through his curls. “jesus. why the hell does it sound so much harder in class?”

“because you don’t listen in class,” she laughed, “and i’m guessing you don’t read the textbook either.”

he grinned, leaning forward again. “why would i, when you’re clearly better at explaining it?”

she rolled her eyes, turning the page in the book. “charm and good looks only get you so far, harry. you’re gonna have to put some actual work into this.”

“oh, so you do think i’m charming.”

YN didn’t dignify that with a response. instead, she handed him the pen and pointed to the next problem. “solve it. no shortcuts, no guesses. i wanna see the work.”

he groaned but did as he was told, his brow furrowed as he scribbled on the page.

by the time the clock struck eight thirty, they’d managed to get through most of the chapter. YN had to admit—he wasn’t completely hopeless.

and all he could do was smile—she bought it. if engineering didn’t work out, he thought, maybe he could be an actor. or a pathological liar.

“see?” she said, leaning back in her chair. “you’re not terrible at this. just lazy.”

harry huffed a laugh, closing the textbook with a loud thud. “lazy? you wound me, cinnamon.”

“you’ll live. anyway, i think we’re done for tonight. unless you wanna keep going?”

they walked out of the library together, the crisp night air hitting them like a wall. the campus was quiet now, most of the students holed up in their dorms or off at whatever weekend plans they’d made.

as they reached the edge of the quad, he glanced at her. “thanks for helping me out.”

she shrugged, her hands tucked into her hoodie pocket. “no big deal. just don’t make it a habit.”

“what if i do?”

YN shot him a look, her brow furrowing slightly. “then you’re buying the coffee next time.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm in the cold air. “deal.”

they reached the entrance, and YN hesitated for a moment before heading inside. “night, harry.”

“night, cinnamon.”

as the door clicked shut behind her, harry lingered on the steps for a moment, lighting a cigarette.

he smiled to himself again, he couldn’t help it. he was proficient in math, one of his best subjects—bordering the edge of genius, basically. but she didn’t need to know that, not when he just stole a couple hours from her, not when it was the perfect excuse just to hang out with her.

it was wednesday when she next saw him.

the clock on YN’s laptop read 11:03 pm, the harsh blue light illuminating her tired eyes as she highlighted yet another passage in the dense textbook sprawled across her lap. the apartment was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle from her roommate’s room and the faint hum of traffic filtering in through the drafty window.

she hadn’t moved from her spot on the couch in over an hour, legs curled under her, a growing pile of sticky notes cluttering the coffee table. her focus was razor-sharp, though her back ached from the awkward position she’d settled into.

when the knock came, she didn’t flinch. didn’t even glance toward the door. she knew exactly who it was.

with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, she set her laptop down carefully, nudging it closer to the stack of notes as she rose from the couch. her socked feet padded softly across the floor, her hand instinctively reaching for the lock. she swung the door open and leaned against the frame, her shoulder pressed into the wood as she tilted her head to the side.

“cinnamonnnn,” harry drawled, his voice almost melodic, the nickname rolling off his tongue like it had been hers all her life.

he stood there in a slightly oversized sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a pair of gray sweatpants that were smaller than the ones from the other day—joggers maybe. a green packers beanie was snug over his curls, though a few stray strands peeked out, curling against his forehead. his hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, and he rocked back on his heels like he had all the time in the world.

YN narrowed her eyes slightly, the faintest smile ghosting her lips. “harryyyy,” she mimicked, dragging out his name in the same exaggerated tone.

“you busy?”

yes. “no.”

his dimples deepened as his grin grew wider, like he knew she’d lie. “hang out with me for a bit then.”

she let out a quiet laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. “to do what? it’s almost midnight.”

“come walk with me.”

her lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping as she gave him a hesitant look. he didn’t push, just waited, the silence between them comfortable, expectant. “you’re such a bad influence,” she muttered, shaking her head as she turned back into the apartment.

“oh, yeah,” harry said, stepping forward to catch the door before it closed. “terrible.”

she tugged a sweater over her head, the fabric swallowing her as she slipped her feet into an old pair of sneakers. they were loose, the kind she could slip on without bothering with laces.

when she stepped past him, harry held the door open before letting it fall shut behind them as they ambled into the narrow hallway.

“where are we going?” YN asked as they descended the stairs, the cool air of the building’s lobby settling around them.

“you’ll see.”

she huffed, though the corners of her mouth tugged upward as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. he moved like the world waited for him, unhurried but purposeful, his long legs carrying him down the steps in easy strides.

when they pushed through the front door and into the night, the cold air hit her immediately, making her shiver as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

their path wound deeper into campus—the air quiet, save for the rustling of dead leaves underfoot and the occasional distant honk of a car. the faint glow of streetlights filtered through the thinning trees, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.

harry walked slightly ahead, shoulders hunched against the cool air. she walked beside him, somewhat, perhaps a step behind, though the edge of her elbow would brush against his arm every so often. it wasn’t an accident, not really.

their breaths puffed out in white clouds, swirling in the breeze before disappearing. the last of the dead leaves fell from the trees with a soft crackle, catching in the wind before tumbling to the ground.

his pace slowed slightly, letting her match him, and he nudged her with his shoulder—just enough to jostle her. she looked up, her brow furrowing as she glanced at him.

“what was that for?”

he smirked, his gaze flicking ahead. “thought you were fallin’ asleep over there.”

she rolled her eyes but let her shoulder bump into his lightly as they walked. “sure. ‘cause nothing screams excitement like following you into the middle of nowhere.”

he let out a low chuckle, his breath visible in the cold air. “you’re dramatic, you know that?”

“you didn’t answer the question earlier.”

“what question?”

“about where we’re going,” she said, her voice teasing. “you could be leading me astray so you can murder me without any witnesses.”

he turned his head to look at her, his brows lifting, “i did answer, you just didn’t accept it.” he paused, pursing his lips as if he was in thought. “it would be a good plan, though. quiet enough out here. no one’d hear a thing.”

she snorted, her steps faltering slightly as she tried not to laugh. “you’re a terrible murderer. you’d leave a trail of evidence a mile wide.”

“would not.”

“would too.”

he turned to her fully now, his eyes narrowing as he stepped backward in front of her. his hands were still stuffed in his pockets, his pace matching hers even as he walked in reverse.

“alright, then,” he said, his voice laced with mock seriousness. “if i were to murder you—and that’s a big if, by the way—how exactly would i screw it up?”

she bit back a smile, “well, for starters, you’d forget to hide the body properly. probably just leave me in the middle of the path, thinking no one would notice.”

he let out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking as he shook his head. “that’s ridiculous.”

“is it?” YN countered, raising a brow. “you’re the one who thinks this is a good place to kill someone.”

his grin widened, the faintest dimple appearing in his cheek. “you’re paranoid, cinnamon. that’s your problem.”

“and you’re too cocky. that’s yours.”

they fell into a rhythm again, walking side by side as the breeze picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of city streets and damp leaves. their arms brushed again, neither of them pulling away, the warmth of the contact lingering longer than it should.

harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the smirk on his lips softening slightly. “for the record,” he said, his voice quieter now, “i know exactly where i’m going.”

she smiled, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. “good,” she said lightly. “cause i’d hate to have to come back and haunt you if you got me lost.”

their steps grew softer as the buildings behind them thinned out, replaced by clusters of trees swaying in the light breeze. the path curved slightly, the faint hum of traffic fading into the distance.

he walked slightly ahead, his head turning now and then to glance at the towering oaks that lined their path. the trees began to part, revealing the outline of icahn stadium in the near distance. the track and field stretched wide beneath the faint glow of a single overhead light, casting long shadows across the ground. the bleachers stood tall and imposing, their sea of blue seats reaching into the sky like a wave frozen in time.

harry slowed to a stop as they approached, the chain-link fence surrounding the stadium standing between them and the field. he didn’t guide her toward the gate, knowing it would be locked after hours. instead, he stepped closer to the fence, pulling his hand out of his pocket and giving one of the links an experimental tug.

she watched him, her brow furrowing slightly. “if you think we’re going on a run,” she said, her voice flat, “you’ve completely lost it.”

he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as his fingers curled around the chain link. he glanced at her over his shoulder, “shut up and c’mere, cinnamon.”

YN hesitated for half a second, then stepped forward, the grass folding beneath her sneakers. the light breeze brushed against her skin, carrying the faint scent of earth and damp metal. he stepped back slightly, giving her room as she reached for the fence. without waiting for further instruction, she started to climb, her hands gripping the cold metal tightly as she hauled herself upward.

he watched her movements closely, his hands hovering near her hips in case she wobbled. “i got you,” he muttered, his voice soft enough to blend with the wind.

she didn’t respond, focusing instead on the rhythmic pull of her arms as she reached the top of the fence. for a moment, she perched there, the view of the stadium stretching out before her, before swinging one leg over and carefully lowering herself to the other side.

harry gave the fence one last tug, then started climbing after her. his movements were quick and efficient, as though he’d done this a hundred times before. his sleeve bunched at his elbows as he reached the top, pausing briefly to glance down at her. “how’s the weather down there?”

she glanced up, brushing her hands off on her pants. “you’d better not fall. i’m not catching you.”

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he swung over the top and landed easily on the grass beside her. “wasn’t planning on it,” he breathed, brushing his hands off before shoving them back into his pockets.

they stood there for a moment, the quiet of the field settling around them like a blanket. the overhead light flickered slightly, casting their shadows long and thin against the ground.

she stared at him for a moment, then sighed, shaking her head as she followed him. “you’ve got way too much energy for this late at night.”

“and you were too stubborn t’say no.” harry shot back as he walked ahead, his steps light against the rubber surface. “used to hate running, y’know,” he breathed, glancing at YN as he spun around. he walked backward with an ease that made her slightly nervous, like he’d trip over himself any second but never actually would. “hated everything about it—your legs aching, your chest burnin’, that horrible feeling in your throat after.”

she caught up, her pace steady as she smiled faintly, her breath visible in the cool air. “now it’s your thing.”

he paused for a split second, his eyes catching hers in that unreadable way of his. then, to her surprise, he smiled. “yeah,” he nodded slightly. “now it’s my thing.”

the bleachers loomed ahead, their steel frame groaning faintly in the wind. harry reached them first, stepping aside to let her go up. “go on,” he muttered, gesturing upward with a nod. “all the way to the top.”

“what, you’re not going to race me?”

he smiled, his hand brushing against the cold metal railing. “wouldn’t be fair. your legs are shorter than mine.”

she narrowed her eyes but couldn’t help the faint laugh that slipped out. “wow. okay. guess i’ll just take my time then.”

she started up the concrete steps, her hands gripping the railings on either side. the cold bit at her palms, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of her feet against the uneven surface.

harry followed a few steps behind, his stride naturally longer than hers. “this is painful t’watch,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “are you always this slow, or is it just for me?”

YN stopped abruptly, her hands tightening around the railings as she shifted her weight. her hips jutted out slightly, throwing him off balance as he climbed.

he cursed under his breath, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady himself. his fingers found her hips, his grip firm but fleeting, as though he realized too late what he’d done. “jesus,” he muttered, pulling back as quickly as he’d touched her. “bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

she turned her head just enough to catch the faint flush creeping up his neck. she smirked, leaning her weight into the railing. “sorry—shorter legs and all.”

harry just blinked before the corner of his mouth twitched. he stepped back, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “you’re a child.”

she laughed softly, turning back to the stairs and continuing her climb. “yeah,” she called over her shoulder, her voice teasing. “but you’re still following me.”

they climbed higher, the steps echoing faintly beneath their feet, but harry's pace started to falter again—restlessness bleeding into his movements. "oh, for god's sake," he laughed, his patience snapping like a brittle thread. his fingers drummed against the railing briefly before he stopped altogether, grasping onto her wrist.

his grin was lopsided, dimples flashing as he let go of her hand and flung himself past her, his long legs taking the steps two at a time as he rushed toward the top. only a second and a half later, she met him up there, finding him standing there with a proud grin, his hands resting on his hips like he'd just conquered something monumental.

“impatience isn’t a virtue, by the way.”

he kept his smile, his dimples cutting deep as he lifted his hand in front of her face, palm out. his fingers wiggled dramatically, “talk to the hand, sista."

she paused, staring at him like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or push him off the railing. her expression cracked first, laughter spilling out before she could stop it. she swatted his hand away from her face as they leaned into each other, his own giggles breaking free in a low, rumbling sound that shook through him.

their laughter folded into each other, her shoulder pressing lightly into his chest as she tried to steady herself, his larger frame giving way slightly under the weight of their shared amusement.

harry’s laughter softened as he reached up, his fingers tugging at the edge of his packers beanie. his curls bounced free as he pulled it off, the cold air nipping at his now-exposed hair. without a word, he stretched his arm around her, carefully plopping the hat onto her head.

“what are you doing?” she asked, her voice laced with with something delicate as she adjusted it, the oversized beanie swallowing her hair and tilting slightly to one side.

“you looked cold,” he said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. his fingers lingered at the edge of the beanie for just a second before he gave her forehead a gentle push with the flat of his palm.

it wasn’t hard—just enough to tip her head backward a little, like an afterthought, his grin barely contained as she blinked up at him.

“seriously?” YN smiled, tilting her head forward again, a faint laugh escaping as she fixed the hat and gave him a mock glare.

he didn’t reply, already stepping to his left with an exaggerated flourish, gesturing toward the narrow row of faded blue seats that stretched across the top of the bleachers. “c’mon.”

he slid into one of the seats first, his long legs folding awkwardly into the tight space as he leaned back and let out a contented sigh. he patted the seat beside him without looking at her.

she hesitated for a beat, brushing her hair out of her face before following him into the row. the cold metal of the seat pressed through her sweats as she sat down beside him, her knees brushing against his for just a second as she settled.

she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. harry’s beanie slipped forward slightly, brushing against her eyebrows, but she didn’t bother adjusting it. instead, she rested her chin on her knees, her gaze drifting across the empty field below as the wind whistled faintly through the bleachers.

he shifted beside her, digging into the pocket of his sweats. his movements were easy as he pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lime green lighter. sliding a cigarette between his lips, he leaned back, flicking the lighter once, twice

nothing.

his fingers were stiff from the cold, the wind catching the flame before it had a chance to hold. he tried again, his brows furrowing slightly as he muttered something under his breath.

YN turned her head, watching him with quiet curiosity. “you good over there?”

harry’s lips quirked around the cigarette. “just peachy,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as he tried one more time.

without a word, she reached over, her fingers brushing against his as she took the lighter from him. “hold still,” she murmured, leaning sideways as she cupped her hand over the cigarette perched between his lips, shielding it from the breeze.

her movements were practiced, easy, like she’d done this a hundred times before. she flicked the lighter once, and the small flame sprang to life, steady this time. she lit the end of the cigarette, her hand still shielding it from the wind as she glanced up at him. “there.”

harry took a drag, the ember glowing softly in the dim light, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. his gaze flicked to her, an unreadable expression crossing his face before his lips tilted into a small, lopsided grin.

she shifted back into her seat and pulled the beanie lower over her ears, her chin finding its place against her knees again. they sat in the quiet for a while, the whispers of the wind weaving around them, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or harry’s exhales.

she looked him over, the way his curls danced around his face, the way his lips wrapped around the cigarette, how the ember’s reflection flickered in his eyes. she bit the inside of her cheek before she muttered softly, almost to herself, “you’re british.”

he let out a breathy chuckle, the sound slipping through his nose as he took another pull from the cigarette. he sighed slowly, the smoke curling up into the cold night air before he turned his head toward her, his smirk faint but amused. “good eye, sherlock.”

she kissed her teeth, rolling her eyes as she prepared to retort, her lips parting—

but harry cut her off before she could. “—cheshire,” he breathed, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that caught her off guard, soft and lilting. “born there, anyway. mum moved me and my sister here when i was thirteen.”

“for a job or..?”

he nodded, the glow of the cigarette tip briefly lighting his features as he took another drag. “she got an offer she couldn’t turn down. packed us up, left everything behind. started over.”

YN tilted her head slightly, watching the way his gaze lingered on the field below, distant but steady. “must’ve been hard.”

he shrugged, “it was… weird. missing home, trying t’fit in here. but she did what she had to do. mum’s always been good at that—doing what has to be done.”

there was a warmth in his voice, a quiet admiration that made her chest tighten. she didn’t push for more, sensing that he’d already said more than he usually would. “your accent is starting to fade,” she said instead, her lips curving into a small smile.

he smiled faintly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “guess so. comes back strong when i’m drunk, though.”

she laughed softly, shaking her head as she turned her eyes back to the field.

he shifted slightly in his seat, his arm brushing hers as he glanced over, his cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. “what about you?”

she blinked, turning her head toward him. “me?”

“yes, you. where’s home?”

she hesitated for a moment, “about an hour north,” she mumbled, her voice carrying the faintest edge of something wistful. “right on the border between here and connecticut.”

he nodded, leaning back slightly as he tilted his head toward her. “family?”

YN huffed a quiet breath, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “brother’s in the army. mom and dad work all the time. and i’m just here.”

his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes studying her for a moment, thoughtful and quiet. “just here?”

she shrugged, hugging her knees closer to her chest as she rested her chin on them again. “yeah. they’re busy, you know? always have been. it’s not bad or anything, it’s just… how it is.”

harry didn’t respond right away, the glow of his cigarette catching the faint flicker of emotion in his gaze. “you don’t go home much, then.”

“no. they’re fine without me. and i’ve got everything i need here. school, this place… the occasional packers beanie to keep me warm.”

he chuckled gently at that, the sound low and warm as he reached out to tug the edge of the beanie further down over her ears.

YN tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the horizon as she broke the silence with a question that felt heavier than the moment. “ever fall in love?”

he turned to her, his brows furrowing slightly at the unexpectedness of it. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, cigarette still lit between his fingers. “once or twice.”

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips twitching into a faint, almost knowing smile. “yeah,” she said softly. “me too. once or twice.”

his eyes lingered on her, studying the curve of her profile in the dim light. “what happened?”

“life, i guess. we grew apart, wanted different things.” she paused, her fingers idly tugging at her sleeves. “it wasn’t awful. just… wasn’t meant to be.”

he nodded slowly, his eyes drifting to the field below as he leaned back again, stretching his legs out in front of him.“same here.” he sighed. “things got complicated. fell apart before it could really go anywhere.”

YN turned to face him fully now, her cheek resting on her knees as she studied him. “do you think it’s worth it?”

“what, love?”

she nodded.

he was quiet for a beat, his features softening as he mulled over her question. “yeah,” he said finally, his voice low but certain. “for the right person.”

silence.

“—he treat you right?”

“what?”

he flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “the guy you loved. did he treat you right?”

she hesitated before she nodded, check still flush against her knees. “most of the time.”

his jaw twitched at her answer, “most of the time isn’t enough, y’know?”

“think you could do better?” she teased lightly, though there was an edge of genuine curiosity in her tone.

harry turned to her then, his eyes meeting hers, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest smirk. “yeah,” he said simply, taking another drag. “i know i could.”

her cheeks flushed slightly, but she didn’t look away. instead, she lifted her chin off her knees, her lips curving into a small, sly smile. “yeah right, harry.”

“i don’t say shit i don’t mean, cinnamon. not like that.”

YN didn’t respond, just shook her head faintly as she turned her head back to the field, her chest tightening in a way she didn’t quite know how to name.

he stayed quiet too, the silence settling over them again, but this time it felt heavier, charged with something unspoken that neither of them was ready to unpack.

he let the cigarette drop to the concrete, the faint glow of its ember dying as he ground it under his sneaker. the scrape of rubber against stone was sharp in the quiet, and then he straightened, towering over YN as her gaze followed him.

“let’s go,” he mumbled, his voice even but lacking the warmth it held earlier.

something had shifted.

it was subtle—barely a flicker—but she felt it. the easy banter from earlier seemed to pull back, replaced by something quieter, something more guarded.

she didn’t question it, though. not yet.

harry gestured toward the steps, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he waited for her to stand.

she sighed softly, pulling his packers beanie tighter over her ears as she rose, the cold biting at her cheeks while she fell into step beside him as they made their way back down the bleachers.

when they reached the chain-link fence again, harry stepped forward first, gripping the metal links as he tested its sturdiness like he had before. he didn’t say anything, only nodded toward the fence as he stepped aside to let her climb.

YN rolled her eyes but moved toward it anyway, her hands curling around the cold metal as she pulled herself up. harry’s hands hovered near her hips just as they had earlier.

she glanced down briefly to meet his eyes before she swung her leg over the top and climbed down the other side.

he followed quickly, his movements smooth and quick, landing on the grass beside her with barely a sound. they fell into step together on the walk back, the cool night air nipping at exposed skin as the distant hum of traffic filled the silence.

harry’s hands stayed buried in his pockets, his head slightly lowered as his long strides matched her shorter ones.

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, sensing the subtle shift in his demeanor. he wasn’t closed off, not entirely, but there was a distance now, like he was holding something back. "you okay?" she asked softly, her voice cutting through the silence.

"mm-hm,” he hummed, his tone even, but distant. "you?"

she nodded, even though something about his shift made her chest feel heavier. "yeah."

she didn’t press, didn’t push. instead, she let the silence stretch between them as their footsteps echoed softly against the pavement.

by the time they reached their building, the city felt quieter, the world around them settling into the stillness of the late night.

and though neither of them said a word as they split, the weight of the unspoken things between them lingered, threading itself into the space they shared.

another few days passed, and the walk back to the apartment felt lighter than usual.

YN had just said goodbye to a friend before rounding the corner to the building, her smile lingering as she adjusted the strap of her bag. it wasn’t often she felt this at ease.

but that lightness disappeared the moment she reached the stairwell.

as she climbed to their floor, her eyes landed on harry. he was standing at his door, his shoulders tense, his head down. his key trembled in his hand, the metal scraping against the lock as he missed the slot for what had to be the third time.

it was wrong. harry was steady. always steady. whether he was handing off a bag of weed or walking down the street like the world revolved around him, he had this uncanny knack for keeping his cool.

but not tonight.

she slowed her steps, her brow furrowing as she got closer. “harry?” her voice cut through the stillness, sharper than she intended.

his head snapped up. for a brief moment, she saw something raw in his eyes—panic, maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it came. his mouth twisted into a faint smile, the one he always wore like armor. “you’re back early.” his voice was rough, low, like he’d been grinding it against a wall.

she took a step closer, her eyes scanning him. “was about to say the same thing.” her gaze flicked to his hand, the one holding the key, the knuckles split and bruised.

“what happened to your hand?”

he stiffened, tucking the injured hand into his hoodie pocket. “nothing��.”

“bullshit,” she muttered, shoving her keys and phone into her pockets to free her hands. “let me see.”

he let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “don’t worry about it, cinnamon.”

the nickname barely registered; her focus stayed on him, on the tension in his shoulders, the blood crusting his knuckles. “harry,” she said, her tone firmer now. “you’re bleeding. just let me—”

“it’s fine!” he shouted, his voice cutting.

YN snapped her head back up, averting her gaze from his hidden hands, right to his eyes. his chest rose and fell, his breathing shallow and uneven. she didn’t speak, just stood there, watching the way his jaw tightened like he was trying to swallow something bitter.

he finally sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “fuck.”he mumbled, almost to himself.

she moved closer again, slower this time, her voice softer. “let me help.”

his eyes flicked to hers, guarded but not as sharp. his lips parted, like he wanted to argue, but no words came out.

inside her apartment, the air felt too still, too quiet.

harry sat stiffly at her small kitchen table, his hoodie now pushed back to reveal the messy curls tumbling over his forehead. he cradled his injured hand in his lap, his jaw set as YN dug through her cabinet for the first aid kit.

“you really don’t have to do this,” he muttered, his voice low.

“yeah, well,” she sighed, pulling the kit down with a thud. “i’m doing it anyway.”

when she sat across from him, the silence between them grew heavy. she reached for his hand, but he hesitated, his fingers curling slightly.

“harry.”

he huffed but relented, letting her take his hand in hers.

the damage was worse up close. his knuckles were split and swollen, streaks of blood staining the spaces between his fingers. she inhaled sharply, her brows knitting as she reached for the antiseptic.

“jesus,” she muttered, shaking her head. “what the hell did you do?”

he didn’t answer right away, his eyes fixed on the floor. when he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “ran into someone.”

she paused, the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball hovering over his knuckles. “like?”

“someone who didn’t want to pay up front.”

her stomach twisted. she pressed the cotton to his knuckles, and he hissed through his teeth, his fingers twitching under hers.

“hold still.” she murmured, her voice softer, airy.

he didn’t respond, just watched her work. her touch was careful but firm, her hands steady as she cleaned the cuts.

“you can’t keep doing this.” she said quietly, not looking up.

harry’s lips twitched, a dry laugh escaping him. “you worried about me?”

YN shot him a look, her expression somewhere between annoyance and concern. “maybe, harry. you ever think about that?”

his smile faded, and for a moment, his eyes softened—just a fraction, but enough for her to notice. “it’s nothing.”

“it’s not nothing.’” she countered, wrapping a clean bandage around his hand. “you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“maybe.” he whispered, watching her tie off the bandage.

“and you’re okay with that?”

his gaze flicked up to hers, and for a moment, something vulnerable passed between them—something unspoken but heavy. “depends on the day.”

she swallowed hard, her fingers lingering on the edge of the bandage before she leaned back.

“you’re an idiot.” she grumbled, standing to put the kit back in its place.

he grinned faintly, flexing his fingers against the bandage. “yeah, but you’re still patchin’ me up, aren’t you?”

she glanced over her shoulder, her lips pressing into a thin line. “someone has to.”

he stood, his frame filling the small kitchen as he neared the door.

“harry?”

he glanced back, his eyes soft as he looked at her expectantly.

“please be careful.”

his jaw clenched before he managed a tight nod, and then the door clicked shut behind him, leaving YN alone in the silence, the weight of his words—and his presence—lingering in the air.

it was thursday again, and the walk back from their evening lecture became an unspoken agreement.

it wasn’t something they talked about—there were no texts exchanged or plans made. but every tuesday and thursday, as the evening classes let out, they’d meet by the lecture hall’s exit. sometimes harry would already be there, leaning against the wall, pretending he wasn’t waiting. other times, YN would hang back near the doors, scrolling through her phone until she saw him.

tonight was no different.

harry was already outside when she came out of her bio lab, her bag slung over her shoulder and her hair a little messy from tying and retying it during the experiment. he fell into step beside her as they turned toward home, his bandaged hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his backpack slung low over one shoulder.

“that bad?” he asked, glancing at her as she adjusted her strap.

she sighed, shaking her head. “some idiot forgot to label their samples, so the whole lab got an extra hour of let’s go over the basics again.”

harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “you lot are a buncha losers, huh?”

“says the guy who’s probably failing chem,” she shot back, grinning.

he shrugged, unbothered—simply because it wasn’t true. “aggressively coasting.” he corrected.

what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

she rolled her eyes, giggling despite herself. the conversation drifted, easy and familiar, as they made their way through campus.

it was when they turned onto the last block before their building that harry stopped.

she noticed it immediately—the way his body went still, his eyes narrowing as they flicked to the other side of the street.

a man stood there, leaning against a lamppost, his hands shoved into the pockets of a heavy coat. he wasn’t doing anything—not technically—but there was something about the way he stared at the building’s exit that set harry on edge.

“go inside.”

she frowned, looking at him. “what?”

harry’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving the man across the street. “just go inside, YN.”

her confusion deepened as she followed his gaze. “harry, what’s going on?”

he turned to her then, his expression sharper than she’d ever seen it. “i said go the fuck inside.” he snapped, his voice low, biting—the words cutting through the cool evening air like glass.

she flinched, her eyes widening slightly. but before she could say anything, harry was already crossing the street, his shoulders squared and his hands shoved into his pockets.

she stayed where she was, her heart racing as she watched the scene unfold.

harry approached the man with a deliberate calm, his posture loose but his movements sharp. she couldn’t hear the first thing he said, but the man straightened immediately, his eyes narrowing as he looked harry up and down.

the conversation wasn’t loud, but it was tense—harry’s voice low, steady, while the man’s tone was sharper, more aggressive.

she could only catch snippets.

the man stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides, and for a moment, YN thought it was going to escalate. but harry didn’t flinch. he held his ground, his voice even as he spoke again.

finally, the man pulled something from his pocket—a small bag, crumpled and poorly sealed—and shoved it into harry’s hand. he gave him a look, muttering something under his breath before turning on his heel.

he crossed the street, his shoulders tense, his face hard as stone. when he reached YN, he brushed past her—his shoulder catching hers, a silent signal that screamed follow me.

she hesitated, but only for a second before trailing after him. he didn’t look back as he pushed through the front door of their building, letting it slam shut behind them.

the silence between them stretched thin as they climbed the stairs, harry taking them two at a time, YN struggling to keep up with his longer stride.

“harry,” she started, her breath slightly uneven, “what the hell just happened?”

he didn’t answer, his hand gripping the stairwell railing tightly enough that his knuckles whitened.

“don’t ignore me,” she pressed, her voice sharper now. “who was that guy? why were you acting like—”

“drop it, YN.” he muttered, his voice sharp and clipped, but she wasn’t having it.

“no, i’m not dropping it!” she snapped, her tone cutting through the empty stairwell. “you don’t get to just walk away from this without explaining. i saw the way you looked at him. you knew him, didn’t you?”

he reached their floor and stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall, his back still to her.

“you knew he was trouble the second you saw him,” she continued, stepping closer. “so tell me why, harry. what’s going on—are you okay?”

he turned then, spinning on his heel so fast that she nearly bumped into him. his eyes were clouded, sharp, and for a moment, the force of his glare made her breath catch. “s’not your fucking concern, YN.” he spat, his voice cold and low, each word biting like frost. “it’s not like we’re friends. so just fucking stop.”

she froze mid-sentence, her jaw slack as the words sank in.

harry’s breathing was uneven, his hands balled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t look away.

she closed her mouth, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes stayed locked on his. after a long pause, she gave a single, curt nod. “got it.”

her voice was quiet but sharp, like the edge of a knife.

she stepped around him, her gaze never wavering as she turned toward her unit. the weight of her presence lingered, heavy and unforgiving, even as she unlocked her door and disappeared inside.

he stood there for a moment, staring at the empty hallway. his chest felt tight, his fists still clenched, but he didn’t move. he didn’t look for her.

because if he had, he would’ve followed her. and he wasn’t sure what he’d say—or if it would even make a difference.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles concept #harry styles au #college!harry #frat boy harry #fratrry #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles series

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sheep-from-rad · 2 months ago

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Hi! Sorry if this is weird or anything, this is my first time sending an ask lol

But I just finished reading your writing about the singer/influencer reader and omfg I love your brain. Like imagine the reader did a cover of/wrote like spit in my face by ThxSoMch or Cigarette Ahegao by Penelope Scott (love her sm btw-) cause just imagine the GUILTTT

Imagine the Batfam listening to their music and just hearing the bitterness in their voice as they sing “Screwing everything up, doing everything wrong, In my defence I wasn’t supposed to be around this long, so” HGDECANZZKNFBVD

Anyway, I love your writing and I hope you have an absolutely amazing week! Take care of yourself too- drink water, eat some food and try to get some sleep ml <3

Nah anon you're cool. I love reading asks. ALSO credits to Luludelulusramblings, they made the originally made Influencer reader. Batfam belongs to DC as usual. Singer reader post: here

You know, in the Art History year 1901-1904, Picasso started the Blue Period where he only painted in the shades of Blue. It started due to the death of his friend, later his financial struggles, and of course the current state of the society. Blue Period art was so good but so doleful and depressing that no one wants to hang it in their house. Singer! Reader started their career covering mainstream songs, band songs, maybe even vocaloid.

Their blue period started months before they planned to leave the manor. It was a simple cover of MARINA’s ‘Are you satisfied?’ A lot of burnt out overachievers ate that cover, even Tim himself. The song is basically the reader questioning the Wayne last name. Sure it was a goldmine to others but to them it’s a ticket to misery. One song cover turned into many song covers, enough to make a long playlist to play at 3 a.m. when you’re about to have a breakdown.

The whole playlist? Batfam avoids it because it reminds them of the times they could have been giving you love but they didn’t BUT at the same time they can’t really avoid it. It became like those guilty pleasures playlist. Damian loves and hates reader’s ‘The Family Jewels’ cover because it reminds him of the fact that he and the reader are basically on the same boat. They were just children who needed attention and love. He got that attention and love immediately because of the whole league of assassins backstory. He won’t admit it but the weight of the role weighs like tonnes of iron on his shoulders.

Jason, Bruce and Cigarette Ahegao will roll together so much. That man has twice the amount of trauma Bruce had and his coping mechanism sucks. All the aggressiveness was just a coping mechanism, underneath he’s a man with conflicted feelings and those years of being dead and suddenly being resurrected didn’t help. Let’s face it Bruce is a tired man who lives a double life. He's a man who dresses up like as a bat making sure the city is safe but he can't cover all grounds. The neglect on reader was unintentional but neglect is neglect.

Dick with reader’s cover of ‘Stressed out’ by Twenty one pilots, no explanation needed. ‘This is me trying’ by Taylor Swift with Cassandra, Stephanie, and Tim. Cassandra and Stephanie being raised by villains and Tim being an overachiever to have his parent’s attention. His parents being always away and realizing he basically did the same thing to the reader by making them feel invisible.

Double guilt if they left the playlist on autoplay and ‘Daddy issues’ plays. Any version but I think the original fits the bill. Reader ends their blue period with a cover of Mother Mother’s ‘Burning Pile’ basically saying ‘Yeah fuck it, it’s over. I’m burning it, I’m leaving it, I’m closing the chapter’. But to the Batfamily, it meant renewal and turning a new leaf, an invitation to make things better.

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angelixxsweetheart · 5 days ago

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we need more jinx x top reader, we need more jinx x top reader, WE NEED MORE TOP READER PUH LEASEEE.

happy new year btw!

Jinx x top!reader

happy new year too you too!!

men and minors dni

NSFW MENTIONED

warnings: thigh grinding, begging, fingering (giving)

requests are as empty as my head is after writing this btw

Your hands were holding on to your lovers hips as the girl with eletric blue haired braided together to long strands was bouncing on your thigh. The only sounds filling the room were the sounds of skin slapping against skin and Jinxs sweet small whimpers and moans as she grinded down against the flesh of your thigh. "Good fucking girl" You cooed out, your lips ghosting over the skin of her uncovered collarbones, leaving kisses and light nibbles as your girlfriend only winded in response.

"Please, please" She begged out, not even sure of what exactly shes begging for as your hands were guiding her up and down your thigh in an agonizingly slow pace, already covered in her juices dripping down on your skin. Maybe she wanted to go faster, maybe she wanted to take control. But right now, she was just sitting there and being the good girl for you.

"Please- wanna feel you..." She pathetically moaned out, pink eyes staring into yours as you just carried on with moving her hips. "Move and I stop" You had warned her beforehand as she already tried to get herself off with your thigh. This was the punishment she was receving because just prior that day, the two of you went out to the movies with a few friends and Jinx could not keep her hands off you. Always sneaking over your thighs and taunting teases and vulgar comments into your ear about how pretty you look.

You decided to make it a little easier for her, your hands speeding up their paces as she moved on your thigh, her sensitive and already swollen clit meeting your skin while moans left her dark painted lips. "Go- gods, baby please" She begged again. "Wanna feel you inside me" Her words left you incredibly wet, but something about seeing the usually so snarky blue haired begging for release was intoxicating.

And with that you hooked your other leg underneath Jinx, spreading her pale thighs apart so that youll have more access to her beautiful pussy that you loved to dig your tongue inside and devour her like your last meal. Just not this time. This time, your fingers found their way to her cunt, trailing over the skin and ghosting her clit.

"Baby!" Jinx immediately yelled out, in need of feeling you more, feeling you fill her up. You only bit down into the crook of her neck, soothing the light bite with your tongue licking her skin. She was a mess, and she was your mess.

Your fingers went the same path once more, feeling her squirm and that caused you to come to a halt. "You want me to stop?" You asked her in a low tone, eyes staring into hers as you awaited the answer. "N-no, keep going...I need you so bad" She insisted. And so your fingers found her pussy again, this time letting one of your digits slip into her wet hole and feel her warmth welcome you.

She moaned in response, trying her hardest to not move her hips on your finger as she was so desperate to cum already. All the teasing from before made her insane. "Another" She demanded and you were quick on thinking about just pulling out and leaving her to not reaching her high. But she was your pretty girl. And you adored it when she rode your fingers, when she makes a mess all over you.

So you follow, two of your fingers moving in and out of her wet cunt while curling up and hitting the same spot that made Jinx arch her back and moan out in pleasure. "This what you wanted? From teasing me?" You taunted into her ear, your lips finding the skin of her neck and sucking on it, leaving dark marks on her ghostly pale skin.

"Im close- so close, baby" Jinx only moaned out in response as if blurring anything out, panting out as she suddenly stared to bounce and move her hips up and down your fingers, the base of your hand hitting her clit in response which only made her moan louder. But you kept on moving, you loved seeing her fucked out expression, how her eyebrows knot together in pleasure, how her small tits moved when she bouced and how her eyes roll back as you made her feel so very good no one else was ever able to.

"Fuck.." You gasped in response, the heat between your own thighs growing in response as you felt how her pussy easily swallowed up all your fingers. "Cum for me, angel" You could only encourage between holding in moans.

And she did. Her wall tightened around your fingers, her hands gripping into your shoulders as her hips desperately grinded down your digits. The sound of her moaning your name, her fucked out expression and the mixtures of her sounds almost enough to make the heat between your legs unbearable.

The pace of your fingers slowed down as Jinxs stopped bouncing on them, you pull them out and moved them to Jinxs lips to push them apart. "Im not done with you yet, y'know that" You then warned her, the feeling of her wet tongue twirling around your digits as she licked them clean, tasting herself off them.

#arcane #arcane x reader #jinx #jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #jinx x fem!reader #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #wlw yearning #jinx lol #jinx x you #wlw ns/fw #wlw #wlw smut #angelixxsweetheart

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bugglia · 3 months ago

Text

made a few redesigns with my au

I'm naming it robot club, btw (reference to breakfast club)

headcanons (???) for the robots

EDGAR (ELECTRIC DREAMS)

dude invested in buying a cello and plays it regularly

he also plays different instruments, trying to experiment.

when he's really lazy, he just makes music on this program he downloaded.

ALSO he can change from red devil edgar to regular edgar

He's got a suit for it, so uhh yeah. Just peels the red off because it's like a cover or whatver.

PAINTER (PRESSURE)

if you didn't notice, buddy STAYS STRAPPED. Literally a gun on his side.

He likes to physically paint after a while, but then it's another situation like Edgar's. If he is feeling lazy, he'll do it on his art app.

He probably designed his new robotic body lol.

Painter also collabs with Edgar from time to time.

KAREN (SPONGEBOB)

you can't see her too well, but that's because she's extra small.

She lives in bikini bottom but casually attends to the robot club when plankton is doing some other stuff.

She's pretty chill with that one robot from this book I can't remember. I'll get back to you on it. But it's because they were both mothers.

SCP-079

they put this mf in a straitjacket

he doesn't really have a body underneath. At first, he denied having one. But the club (minus some members) were so generous, they wanted to give him one

It's a fucking pole on a metal box with wheels.

So, he kind of has only the exoskeleton rn lol.

also he had been an actual menace and caused a few crimes alongside AM. (Note that most characters in the robot club have gotten some of their "true steength" kind of minimized. But I think it's only AM, GLaDOS and SCP-079 that was affected.

SPEAKING OF AM AND GLADOS... 079 LITERALLY HANGS OUT WITH THEM FOR SOME REASON??? 🤧

why am I acting surprised I wrote this

#my art #my artwork #electric dreams #electric dreams 1984 #electric dreams edgar #painter pressure #p.ai.nter pressure #scp-079 #scp 079

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julietsbody · 1 year ago

Text

cherry cream pie

words : 3,142

tags : 18+!!!!!!!!!! mdni , p in v sex , semi - public sex , fingering , sadism , yes coriolanus is a pervert… peacekeeper!snow , district 10!! no aftercare mentioned!!! coriolanus is also just an asshole in this , per usual

p.s. : this is also posted on my ao3! ( divider by s-hyia btw )

it’s safe to say some of the peacekeepers got drunk on their power.

one of them, especially, was the one with a platinum blonde buzzcut, you didn’t know his name, but often times he would stop by your shop and either be extremely kind, or a complete asshole.

coriolanus dreamed of control, craved it. a sickening thought, to imagine the bruised skin, deep purples, burgundy reds, bright yellows. the ideas of making someone cry, hot tears rushing down their flushed cheeks, he imagines his fingers dipping into their skin, leaving dents.

the idea of someone scarlet from his touch.

sadistic, that’s what many would call it, call him.

but he denies it, heavily, even though deep down he knows he has a certain hunger for corruption, for control. his gaze is calloused on you, he tends to always station himself near your stand, watch you smile at the costumers, greet them with warm words and soft exchanges.

he watches your skirt threaten up your thighs whenever you bend over, chastely grabbing items without any knowledge of the man who’s imagining fucking you from behind.

sometimes you do acknowledge it, though, you never share the looks, but he watches you shift uncomfortably under his gaze, the edges of your lips dipping to a frown.

he imagines what colors he could paint on your skin from his harsh touches, when he grabs your jaw roughly, would it leave dents of white where the pads of his fingers dug into your skin with pink outlines? when he slaps your ass, would it leave a hand mark? when he bites your neck, would it leave teeth marks? when he makes you bleed, how long would it take for you to heal? when he bruises you, what colors would appear to haunt you?

it was a priority for coriolanus to find that out.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

“do i scare you?” coriolanus questions once, noticing the way you immediately glare at him whenever he’s around.

you shake your head slowly, lips barely parted, he wants to shove his fingers between those lips, pry your mouth open and spit down your throat.

the skin under his right eye twitches, and he continues, “you sure?”

you hesitate, “yeah—“

“you don’t like me?” he swipes a finger on the vanilla cream you always top the pies with, bringing it up to his lips, “i keep you safe, you know.”

“you intimidate me,” you respond reluctantly, watching his lips move around his finger, relishing in the taste of the buttercream.

“so i scare you,” he corrects, and curtly smiles when your frown deepens.

“you don’t,” your southern drawl, with that sweet sugar - coated voice, it’s enough to have him imagining you moaning out his name. coriolanus, don’ stop, ‘m gonna cum… suddenly, his uniform is tighter, and the air is hotter.

“why do i intimidate you, then?”

he acts as if he doesn’t carry a fully loaded machine gun with him at all times, but you ignore that, “no.”

you don’t want to entertain him, you see it in his eyes that he thrives off of this, he adores to see people cower underneath him, fear him.

“say it,” his voice is firmer, he’s trying to scare you into saying it.

right, power trip.

“if i tell you, you’ll use it against me.” you confess.

his head tips up, a new tint shading over his eyes, “how do you know that?”

“it’s just what i know,” you cross your arms, and he notices the way it accentuates your breasts, pushes them together and pulls them up, making the plush flesh more noticeable, nipple threatening to peak out from your dress, “it’s just the way you are.”

coriolanus doesn’t say anything, his eyes moving up to your collarbone, he imagines biting it, teeth sinking into the thin flesh and grazing the bone. bone against bone.

“you’re trying to find what makes me vulnerable, what makes me scared,” your tongue moves out your mouth, wetting your chapped lips.

“is it working?” he wants to reach in, to touch you, to pull your soft flesh onto him.

“no,” you move away, and again, coriolanus is stuck there, alone, with his fantasies.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

coriolanus doesn’t like to lose, especially when he’s obsessed with something, he doesn’t like to let it go. his recent obsession was you, in your gingham prints, thin denims, your sweet scents, and the way your pupils always dilate when you see him.

“is your father here?” he startles you, at your own home, watching you jump in fright and your hand quickly moves onto your chest to ease your pulse when you realize it’s just him.

how did he know where you lived?

“no,” you exhale, humiliation heating up your cheeks. you were wearing more casual clothing, not your fancy dress, just some shorts and a gingham top. he wants to rip the fabric apart, to wrap his fingers around your throat, leave bruises, “how do you know where i live?”

he shrugs, “someone told me.”

so he was asking about you, you glare into his cocky smirk, “who?”

“i can’t say, doll,” he memorizes the way your ass peaks out from the denim of your shorts when you try to turn away from him, and he moves closer to grab your wrist, “why do you hate me?”

you inhale, staring up at him, “i don’t hate you, let go—“

he doesn’t let go, “you do hate me.”

“you’re tryin’ to make me vulnerable, officer, please—“

“do i make you vulnerable?”

and suddenly you stop, you stop trying to resist his touch, you stop staring at him angrily. and it becomes unbearably clear why you hate him so much, you hate him because you’re attracted to him, you hate him because you desire him, because you blush every time his teal eyes crawl down your frame, because you get shy every time he’s around— and being aggressive is your way of hiding it.

“you do more than that,” you admit, swallowing.

“yeah?” his other hand moves to hold your jaw, pads of his fingers squishing the skin together ever so slightly, watching the way your lips pucker when he does.

“offiicer—“ you exhale, and he only smiles.

“do you think about me, doll?”

“yes, and i hate you because you won’t leave my mind.”

truth, all you think about is the officer, the way his hands flex and his joints pop when he does, the way he grips his gun with ease, the way his muscles flex underneath his uniform. the way he’s so, so strong— strong enough to throw someone around with ease, the way your thighs rub together whenever he stations himself near your stand.

“what do you think about, when you think of me?”

his jaw ticks, and yours loosens, “how strong you are.”

“is that so?” his eyebrow cocks for a second, and your eyes flicker to the hand wrapped around your wrist, engulfing it with ease.

“yes, and the way you look at me— like you want to eat me, to hurt me, to do things to me,” the things in question, to fuck you.

“do you want me to?” he admires the way your cheeks flush.

“yes,” you hush out, barely audible.

“what was that?”

you glare up at him, again, “officer.”

“doll,” he threatens, nails digging in to your skin, immediately making you grow submissive, “repeat it.”

you hiss at the sharp feeling of his nails drawing crimson from your skin, “yes, yes— officer.”

“did you touch yourself, thinking of me?”

you nod.

coriolanus’ lips are against yours when he slots his against yours, teeth clashing against teeth, a hungry kiss. he was biting at the delicate skin of your lips in a way that makes your body writhe, prying your lips apart and forcing his tongue into your mouth. he wants to brand you as his own, wants to carve SNOW’s into your skin and watch the blood drip from each letter.

his tongue curls as it moves around your mouth, a possessiveness to it, a desire to taste the sweetness that coats you. his lips were unrelenting, taking advantage of the way you melt into his harsh touch, the way you fall pliable in it, the way you become obsessed with every way he manhandles you.

his lips chase yours when you pull away, “my pa’s gonna be back any minute, officer—“

“better be quick, then, hm?” he removes his fingers from your jaw, pulling them down to your breasts and gripping them through the poorly made fabric.

his lips move to press open mouthed kisses onto your neck, teeth nipping at the delicate skin.

he rips the fabric apart, easily, hearing you gasp at the feeling of your breasts against the cool air, the way he takes your nipple between his fingers, rolling the delicate skin across the pads of his calloused fingers. then he pinches, and chuckles when your hips buck into him, a whine slipping from your lips.

it was pathetic, for such a hard - headed woman like you to be brought down to being so submissive for him.

he moves you back against a counter, his maw spreading open until his teeth are caught on your neck, biting down. your fingers clench onto the wood of the counter, hissing from the pain of his bite, “officer, that hurts—“

he only hums, he was glad it hurt, and when he pulled away, a metallic taste burns on his teeth.

he kneads the flesh of your breast, pressing a gentle kiss to where he had bit you, watching the crimson that ever so slowly bubbles to the top of the broken flesh and seeps out.

oh, how could you explain this to your pa?

he smiles at the thought of you crying in front of your father, saying nothing happened, saying it was an animal that bit you.

your doe eyes peer up at him, glossy from your tears, and his head only tilts to the side, finding no sympathy for the pain he inflicted upon you. his hand dips down from your breast to your denim shorts, “you okay, doll?”

yes, coriolanus didn’t feel any guilt, but he still wants to make sure you’re okay enough to go on.

you nod immediately, “yes, just hurts.”

he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, catching one of the salty tears rolling down, “i’m sorry.”

he isn’t sorry.

his fingertips dip underneath your layers of shorts and panties, reaching to your cunt while he mumbles sweet praises, like how beautiful you look when you cry, how wet you are for him, how he’s always thought of this.

his lips fall to your shoulder, fingers rubbing circles on your clit as his lips part again, first planting a soft kiss, then biting again. a masochistic moan slips from your lips, and he feels your wetness grow. you liked this, you liked the pain, and it makes him smile against your delicate skin.

his fingers tease against your entrance, and when he feels your hips buck against them, trying to pull his fingers in, he moves them away. your desperate whimper only makes him laugh, admiring the way your thighs shake.

“you’re desperate, aren’t you, doll?” his lips trail with sloppy kisses down to your breast, taking your nipple between his lips.

“yes, yes— officer, i want—“ you exhale, a hand moving to pass through his buzzed hair, “want them inside me, please.”

“is that so?” he’s trying to ruin you, his eyes moving up to your face, watching more tears spill from your doe eyes, the desperation all too much for you.

“yes— i’ll be good, officer, i promise.”

and so he plunges two fingers into you without hesitation, admiring the way you suck him in so easily, swallowing the flesh through your puffy walls. it was obscene, to hear you moan from the feeling of his long fingers moving inside of you, the wet squelches as he pumps them into you and curls them against your sweet spots.

it was as if he knew your body better than you, yourself did, he knew how to make you cry out, how to make your back arch, your eyes squeeze shut, and your legs shake.

he bites your tit, and your back is arching against him.

in this moment you realize why he’s biting so much, not only does it seem like he’s trying to consume you, it’s also that he’s marking you, claiming you as his own, branding you through his teeth with every bite.

his pace quickens, making your eyes flutter shut and have your hips grinding against his fingers.

as soon as he feels the movement of your hips, he stops. and your eyes immediately flutter open, frowning at him, “officer—“

“hm?” he moves up, carefully ripping off your shorts, nearly tearing the fabric when he takes your panties down as well, causing a pile of your fragmented clothes on the floor.

he then forces your legs apart once more, delivering a harsh slap to your cunt. you whimper, forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him, to find some kind of mercy in his eyes, some part of him that wants to treat you good. you find nothing.

instead, his hand is back on your jaw, fingers trying to pry your mouth open, “open, princess.”

so your lips part, and he immediately spits down your throat, “swallow.”

and you did, you swallow the liquid coated in his dna, and his fingers return inside of you, pounding into your cunt immediately. his hands turn mean, painful as they move onto you, nearly bruising your walls as his fingers fill you up so well.

your body jolts with sparks of pleasure, a satisfaction you fear may be unbearable, and the fear of someone catching you seems to dissipate underneath his touch.

his nails find themselves digging through the skin of your face again, the delicate flesh becoming bruised from him. it’s hot, the air is humid, the lava that coats your skin. it was as if you were in front the gates of hell, being tormented by your sins, and coriolanus’ mumbles of you being a filthy slut is what makes him the tormenter.

you gasp, fingers finding his wrist and grasping it, “officer— ‘m gonna cum.. please…”

he smiles, sharp teeth appearing underneath his lips, a wolf and a bunny, “yeah? gonna cum for me, doll?”

you nod, whimpering in agreement as he shows absolutely no mercy for you, even allowing his thumb to swipe against your swollen clit, making your eyes roll back. he doesn’t stop until your walls are fluttering around him, legs violently shaking from the orgasm that wracks your body.

you were sure he would be done there, but he wasn’t. his fingers pull out, and he immediately delivers another harsh slap to your cunt, making you jolt as maroon continues to pour from your neck, tracing down your collarbone and falling threatening close to your breasts. the same crimson that coats his teeth, the teeth that bit you, that wanted to consume you like you were just another one of those pies that you make.

he moves to undo his belt, ignoring the way his gun clatters to the ground, he could care less if it went off, too.

he was too busy drunk off the idea of what you’re going to feel like around his cock, how your walls will suck him in with pure ease, like you were molded to fit onto his cock. molded just for him, he licks the metallic crimson on the crevices of his teeth as he frees his cock, lining it up with your entrance.

“this is gonna hurt, princess,” he murmurs out as he slowly eases in, teeth gritting at the feeling of your walls tightening around him.

your eyes widen, pupils blown out and jaw hung slack, his cock stretching you out so much you were sure you were being split in half.

his free hand presses against your stomach, other crawling to wrap around your neck, soaking with the pomegranate juice that poured from you.

he feels how his cock pokes at your skin once he bottoms out, forming a bulge inside of you. cute, you were so small compared to him, he just wanted to rip you apart, to throw you around, shove you in all different positions and fuck you until you were just a drooling, sloppy, unintelligible mess. until all you could think about was his cock, and the fact that his cum was oozing from your cunt.

his fingers pry into your skin, hips moving to snap into you with no sign of softness.

“fuck,” you mumble out at the feeling of his cock spearing you.

he watches the pain ridden tears slip down your cheeks, “you’re okay, princess, you’re okay.”

this is the only time he will reassure you, hips slowing down to allow you to adjust.

maybe he did have some mercy within him.

it doesn’t take you long to nod up at him, signaling that he can move faster again, and he doesn’t take long to follow up with that. his hips start pounding into you again, wracking your body against the counter, he can feel it shaking, the way the floor creaks with every powerful thrust. his hand moves from your stomach, raising and delivering a sharp slap to your face.

unprovoked? yes. but he adores the way blood rushes to your cheek, painting it a pretty pink as you sob out form the mixtures of pain and pleasure, and the overstimulation of your past orgasm following another.

“such a pretty slut, just for me,” he mumbles out, delivering another slap to the same cheek, watching your face scrunch from the stinging pain.

“officer,” you moan out, your orgasm fastening with each slap.

“yes, princess?” he grits out through his teeth, nearing his orgasm as well.

“‘m gonna cum, officer, please let me—“ he’s gripping your throat so hard, you can barely breathe, “—cum.”

“you can cum, doll, cum on my cock,“ he spits out, admiring the way your body constricts at the lack of air.

and you cum, right on his cock, and he follows with his orgasm as well.

a creampie, that’s what you had become, just another pie full of cream.

he pulls out, watching his cum spill out of you.

“see you next time, princess.”

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus x y/n #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #smut #tom blyth

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predestinatos · 1 year ago

Text

love me down? — CL16 𓍢ִ໋ ᰔᩚ

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: it's time to confront feelings over mcdonald's and a beach view

word count: 4k

tags: a bit angsty not gonna lie, vulnerable!charles is so interesting to write, finally they get it together (kind of), smut at the end - absolutely filthy btw.

minors dni ──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! warnings & note underneath

note: so so sorry for the delay in updates! i've been busy on my dissertation, staying home alone for a few days and traveling along with writing some articles for my uni newspaper so things have been crazy here. but i appreciate all the support and patience.

warnings: rough sex, kitchen sex, spit is involved, charles is very... domineering

“Thank you” you smiled softly to the girl handing you the McDonald’s bag and the two big cups of coke, which you promptly asked for Charles to hold as you proceeded to drive away.

Your hands gripped the stirring wheel as you drove – upon Charles’ insistence that he wanted to see you doing it, and also because it would raise less suspicion and attention if you both did so. The night was calm and slightly warm, allowing for the windows to be opened and the breeze ran through your hair wildly.

You felt his gaze on you, noticing how he stared unapologetically at you from the corner of your eye, a warm smile plastered across his face, his eyes half open – details that you didn’t notice but knew, out of the sheer amount of time you were now spending together, his expressions becoming familiar and recognizable, like a painting you hang on your bedroom and see every morning when you wake up.

“Stop staring, it distracts me,” you said jokingly, your shoulders tensing as you smiled shyly and tried to fix your hair with one hand, the other remaining on the wheel. “Now you know how I feel” he replied, popping a French fry in his mouth.

You allowed yourself half a second to look at him with confusion, your eyebrows furrowed as you moved your head questioningly. “What do you mean?” you asked, as you opened your hand towards him and demanded for him to give you a french fry.

“I mean when we all hang out and you sit at the back of my car and all I can see is you from the rearview mirror” he replied, his arms stretching towards your mouth instead of your hand, placing the food in it carefully. You knew the order of these actions was deliberate – first he admitted to something, then he would shush you somehow, as if to let that admission disappear or go unnoticed, or for him to think of something to say that would somehow lessen it.

The cold tone of his eyes remained on you, however, letting silence fill the car, as you noticed you hadn’t put music on, relying on each other’s voices and company instead. With your mouth still half full, you kept questioning his attentive gaze: “we haven’t all hung out in your car in ages, though.” You swallow, hoping he understood what you said between chewing and speaking.

Charles laughed softly, both at your statement and at your attempt to multitask, which he tried to unconsciously replicate by removing the Coca-Cola cup from the bag without taking his eyes off of you. “I know,” he realized that was all he could say, and that it was enough for you to understand its underlying meaning.

You were now arriving at an empty beachside, one which both of you knew because that was where you spent your teenage years amongst the people you loved. “I thought you hated me though,” you said, more seriously than you intended, your hand on the gearstick as you moved it to reverse. He shrugged as he took his seatbelt off, placing one leg under the other one, his sweatpants revealing a comfort he had acquired with you over the past months. “I thought so too,” he replied, chuckling.

You turned the car off but didn’t find his tale all that amusing, how both your and his feelings were now drifting unknowingly and dissolving, getting harder to recognize and pinpoint.

Noticing your discomfort, Charles’ hand once again went through his hair, nervousness hard to disguise, his dark brown locks suddenly in a desperate need to be fixed. You grabbed your order from the bag placed upon his lap, unthinkingly. Months prior, just the idea of being in a car with him seemed ridiculously unrealistic, and now touching him was voluntary and thoughtless, which highlighted the contrast of your words.

“I’ve always found you attractive” his voice interrupted, as he took a bite of his cheeseburger. You reflected his movements, but looking at him, eyebrows raised and interest spiking. The short seconds he took to chew and swallow seemed like an eternity, the urge to hear him continue almost as big as his urge to keep talking. “Even when you annoyed the shit out of me” he laughed shortly, and this time you did too, your head rising towards the ceiling of the car. “It’s true! It just made you even more insufferable” he repeated, his free hand adjusting a lock of your hair behind you ear in caring amusement.

Your eyes met his as you took a sip of your drink, interrupting him before he went on a full monologue. “Thank you for the flattering confession,” you joked back, mimicking him by putting a lock of his hair behind his ear – an almost impossible task. “Come on, I knew you felt attraction towards me as well,” he tilted his head and leaned back, arms crossed smugly, trying to hide the slightly damaged ego. “You were alright,” your answer made him bring his hand to his chest dramatically, a comical expression screaming ‘how dare you’ in sheer playfulness.

“Grumpy men aren’t my type” you continued, placing a French fry in your mouth with feigned innocence. “Bratty girls aren’t mine either yet here we are” Charles replied, a soft gleam in his eyes as he looked at you, the breeze entering the car through the open window and touching his hair softly, daring to caress him when you couldn’t, wouldn’t.

Here we are. That sentence reverberated through your body like an enigma you couldn’t solve. Where exactly were you two? In a limbo of unspoken feelings and mere subtle hints of tenderness, an unbreakable vow of secrecy that can only be expressed through metaphors? In a car, desperate to feel each other’s devoted affection, yet refraining to do so, like a painting in a museum you can’t get too close to?

Charles knew he had said the wrong thing, or at least not the good enough thing for the moment. This back and forth used to be amusing and entertaining when nothing was at stake. But now it seems like both of you had gambled too much, and the few chips you had were holding you together at a table where whatever happened could not be seen as a victory.

He said the only thing that came to his mind at that moment. An earnest and genuine “I’m sorry” left his lips as he looked outside the window. You let out a breath, accepting the apology despite the fact that you didn’t quite know the reason for it. Was he apologizing for the comment that ignited this tension? For letting things spiral to this in the first place? You weren’t sure he knew it either, yet you knew he meant it enough for you to not hold it against him.

But maybe it was your turn to get into his head, as selfish as this sounded. You didn’t hold it against him but that didn’t mean you didn’t have half thoughts and half feelings to let out. “It was hard not being bratty with you,” you heard yourself say, as his head turned towards you. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, despite the fact that you felt heat rushing to your cheeks as you spoke. “You got under my skin like no one else. Still do,” you bit your lip, holding back a smile that threatened to creep up on your face. It was hard to hide your amusement at his own bewildered look, incredulous at what you had said could imply.

“You don’t know how many times I wanted to be alone with you” his voice, almost a whisper, traveled through the car along with the nightly air and the soft waves crashing far away. You swallowed dryly, despite the cold cup resting between your legs and the comfort it could’ve provided you in a time like this.

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, curiosity, or maybe sheer tension, filling your body as you felt him getting closer to you, closing the gap between both of your seats. “I did, eventually,” his breath hit your neck, his knowledge of this particular weakness of yours making you even weaker, realizing you gave him the power to get to you like this. His chuckle filled your ears and sent goosebumps throughout your body like an orchestra of sensations. “And it’s not like you made it particularly easy for me,” he continued, kissing your neck lightly enough to make your body shiver, his hand now resting on your leg and caressing it with sensuous ease.

“Really?” you played along, irony lacing your lips the way you both liked to play. “How come?” your voice broke upon the sentence as his murmur of affirmation to your question mixed with his kisses down your neck and his now tightened grip on your leg blurred your senses.

Before he could properly reply, your phone vibrated in your pocket, disrupting the tension building up between you two. You cursed under your breath as you pulled it out, reading the name on the screen and locking it again, deciding to reply later. “It’s my sister,” you say, even though you knew you needn’t justify yourself. Nevertheless, you did. You hoped he’d do the same in his own case.

“Oh, is everything alright? She’s in Austria, right?” he asked, genuine curiosity lacing his words. You nodded in response. “Yeah, she’s alright. It’s a drunk selfie, I’ll text her later,” you laughed as you continued, your drink finishing just like his. He laughed, more to himself than to you, as he shook his head negatively. “That’s brave for a Linguistics student” he joked.

His words made you realize something, which you couldn’t help but point out to him, question him about. “How do you know those things? About my sister, I mean” you clarified, your eyes interlocked with his. “You’ve mentioned it sometimes when we all hung out,” he shrugged, the answer seeming so simple and uncomplicated, almost making you feel ridiculous for asking. Yet you stood, motionless. “I may seem annoyed, but I am listening, you know.”

You felt your body freeze at his words, a realization of something you had never considered before. Because it’s not only that he was listening; he remembered. Things you didn’t particularly say to him – in fact, you ignored him most times, only using the basic politeness when strictly necessary – were engraved in his mind when they did not have to be. They could’ve been mere writings on sand for him, ones which the sea would wash away carelessly, yet they weren’t.

And suddenly, you were tired. Of the breeze, of the jokes, of the hiding, of the unknown. Of crying, of laughing, of shrugging it off and trying not to think about it. Of the lack of answers, of the increasingly infinite number of questions. You’ve felt sadness, but now it was time for anger – unfortunately, you did not know whom to aim it at. To him? For not being able to admit the very same thing you couldn’t admit either? To yourself? For protecting your emotions from the person who has shown in the past his inconsistencies, his lack of commitment and emotional availability?

He felt it then. He did not know how or why – whether your breath give it away, how you blinked more rapidly than usual and your eyelashes seemed to bat away the painful realization – but he felt that if he did not do something, say something, before you did, all this would end. And in those brief seconds everything flashed before him: the endless amount of decisions and routes that he could take here, how it would be easy in the short term to accept what you had to say and let you drive him home, drink it away, fuck it away, text someone else, kiss someone else. But the long term painful knowledge of feeling your skin on his when he wakes up at 4am in your room, to witness your eyerolls when he jokes around, to witness your existence quietly – that suddenly felt unbearable.

Your fists were clenched in repressed anger, so were his, though the reasons differed – but the source of them didn’t. It had now become a race against time, daring each other to speak, to do something before the other did, scared of the words that might come out each other’s mouths.

You beat him to it – maybe the only game where you actually won, yet a victory that tasted as a loss, where the podium took more from you than it gave, no morning glory or praise in your eyes or his. “I don’t think I can keep doing this” was all you said as you forced yourself to look into Charles’ eyes, notice how you could tell something in him shifted despite his lack of movement. Despite the fact that he had seen in it coming, he couldn’t help but feel a sharpness in his chest that threatened to break his whole body apart from the inside out. He had nothing to lose anymore, and knowing this, he knew he had to at least put up a fight with himself.

“It’s a shame because I think I’m starting to get feelings for you,” he tried to act natural, almost slightly careless but it did not work, not when your eyes stared deeply into his, confusion written all over them. “I mean I can’t get you off my mind. These hang outs we have are all that I look forward to. I mean that I wish I could just tell you how much I crave your presence at every moment. That part of me feels such anger towards you precisely because you make me feel weak. I hate myself for feeling these things almost as much as I do for not expressing them to you earlier. And I care. I care so much I wish I could be brave enough to ask you to text me when you get home, when you wake up, when you go out. I want to talk to you or stay in silence or eat or do anything, I don’t fucking know what I’m saying but I want this to keep going and I am so fucking selfish for it, I know I am.”

Charles bit his lip, out of nervousness, anger, or sadness – neither of you quite knew. All you knew was that the words that came out of his mouth could never be unsaid, that whatever happened after this could never repair whatever dynamic you two had, and even though you both knew that the first time he stayed after your party, it was now a reality you had to confront.

“Don’t do this to me, Charles” you begged, your voice breaking slightly as it whispered his name, the taste of it so different from before, so foreign it seemed like you were calling someone else. “It’s really fucking mean of you to do this,” you continued, as your hand flew to the car key and started it, your intention to leave the conversation in the sand, let it be consumed by the sea, erased, cleaned.

You drove and drove, although you felt like the car was operating itself, your mind not as much on the way to Charles’ place but more on retracing the steps that brough you two here. He didn’t highlight his presence either. Both of you felt so insanely alone in that car it was almost maddening, a solitary confinement worse than any other punishment: being alone together.

And so when your car came to a halt in the parking lot and you inhaled deeply, accepting the fact that this was probably the last time you would ever have him like this, considering what you’d do differently had you known that when you woke up, he tried one last time.

His hand was so close to opening the door but refused to do so before both his body and his mind had the answer to the question that would solve it all. Every single one of his next movements would depend on how you replied, and he was, not for the first time, immediately aware of your control over him. “Knowing all this, knowing it would come to this in the end- would you have kicked me out of your apartment that night?”

For some inexplicable reason, you did not hesitate then. Your head moved, so slightly it could go unnoticed, in a nod. Then, as if you were watching your own self from afar, you nodded once more, clearly, affirmatively, and confidently, despite your runny nose and teary eyes. You adjusted your hair once again, the mess a reflection of your own thoughts and his – tangled and complicated.

Yet, your reply triggered all of Charles’ courage, made his words come out strong and reassuring at the same time, as he tried, not desperately but incessantly, to make you see what he couldn’t show. “Then why can’t we keep going? You want me to show you I need you, here I am. I need you. I need this, and this might be the most vulnerable I can be with you right now but I am trying. I’ll say it as many times as you want and I’ll leave if you want me to because that’s how much I need you. I need you so much I’m willing to let you go if that’s what you want.”

His reply made you feel your own heart speeding, its pace matching his, though you were both unaware of it. Your hands were shaking at the same rhythm as his hands, the ones that were now opening the door in defeat, but that were stopped by you gripping his arm, feeling him finally, pleading him to stay. He barely had the time to close the door again, leaving it ajar as he turned to you and felt your lips on his, soft and needy and begging for him to stay. He deepened the kiss hungrily, his teeth biting your bottom lip in confirmation of his presence before you.

Remembering where you two were, you pulled away, looking at his unusual post kiss expression. Although the red lips and blissed eyes remained, he was serious, rather than smug, questioning if this was a last goodbye or a beginning. You smiled to yourself at that, his innocent look when he lost control of a situation giving away his honesty.

The atmosphere was still tense despite the fact that the air had been cleared out by his words and the tears washed away by the foggy windows, yet you couldn’t help but bite your lip, holding back a laugh as you said, “so does this mean I have to cancel things with Oscar?”

Charles’ soft giggle and playful “fuck off” made you feel at home more than ever, as you knew now that he was comfortable with you holding that door. And as he stepped out of your car, he leaned down and popped his head in once again, teasingly asking you “want to come inside so I can answer that for you?” – to which you merely smirked as you removed your seatbelt.

As soon as the elevator doors closed and until you made all the way to the 16th floor Charles’ hands were on your waist, your legs, your chest, and everywhere possible, as he tried feeling all of you at once, greedily caressing your skin. You needed him just as much, your own arms around his neck as your hands pulled his soft hair, sometimes with enough strength his groan was audible, but so addictive you couldn’t get enough of it.

The elevator doors opened and somehow you made it into his apartment, not registering any inch of it – you had grown to know it all too well to have to look around for the last few months. With your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands holding you by your thighs, he took you to the closest spot he could find and placed you there, your ass suddenly feeling the cold surface underneath. Sitting on his marble kitchen counter, you watch as his attitude shifted back to the cocky and possessive one you knew so well. Charles didn’t hesitate to take his shirt off, followed by his sweatpants, which revealed everything already. However, the sight of his naked body between your legs drove you insane, your head spinning with the heat of desire. Completely naked, yet standing above you, his voice, so distinct from the soft and vulnerable from before, demanded: “take your clothes off”

You complied, never breaking eye contact as he fisted his own cock, its length making your mouth water and your entrance embarrassingly wet, yet that embarrassment quickly faded as his gaze lowered towards it, dark lust spreading across his eyes. Unapologetically, he eyes you up and down, eyes resting on your breasts, your nipples hard, your whole body giving away how delirious with desire you felt.

“God your body is insane” he started, his hand still on his erection, moving frantically and out of pace, trying to replicate the feeling of being inside you, yet unsuccessfully. You dropped your shy attitude, replacing it instead with a newly found confidence highlighted by the confirmation of his primal desires.

“Quit jerking yourself off and fuck me, Charles” your voice sounded aggressive and soft at the same time, and caught him so off guard you saw his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he let out a ravenous growl.

Without warning, he pushed himself into you, burying his length deep inside your cunt, your wetness allowing him to move perfectly. “Fuck it’s like you were made for me” his voice, now much deeper, erupted against your neck, his face buried in it as one hand held on to your thigh tightly, and your pain was nothing when compared to how full he made you feel, how your whole body responded to him with absolute pleasure. “You were made for me, weren’t you?” he asked, pulling away from you to grip your face in his hand, a gesture so possessive and animalistic it made your eyes water in a haze. You tried nodding, although it was hard given how strong his grip was, how out of control and light-headed you felt, making it impossible for you to speak either.

His thrusts continued, aggressive and ravenous, as he unleashed all of his cravings on you. “Open your mouth” he ordered between breathy growls that pushed you over the edge. You obeyed, mouth open and tongue out as you looked at him in the eyes, some of his hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, his muscles tense and his body a complete masterpiece as it moved inside you. You knew what he was going to do, yet it still took you by sheer surprise, a cry leaving your lips as he spat directly towards your mouth, pulling your hair back to be able to look at you clearly.

You couldn’t even imagine the wreck you now looked like before him – completely blissed out and lustful, desperate for release. “All mine, f-fuck” you heard him say, despite the fact that you could barely think or even see, the sensations all mingled as one as you carved your nails in his toned arms.

“You’re mine, Charles” you tried finding your assertive voice, remind him he wasn’t the only one in charge, that you too had an upper hand in this. “All fucking m-mine, just like you want” you cried out as you felt him exploding inside you whilst your name left his lips.

The feeling of him coming and filling you was enough for you to come as well, your body shaking around his as he remained inside you, letting you keep every part of him.

As you stilled your breaths, his lips dropped a soft kiss on your forehead and his hand caressed your cheek. The change caused you to giggle, your brain still foggy from the intensity of the session you just had. “Let’s take a shower. Together” you finally said, allowing him to know that everything he had said was as reciprocate as he desired.

You two didn’t have a name or definition yet, but for now, the mutual need for each other’s presence was enough.

@buendiabebeta @janeholt3 @ruleroftheuniverse @trentsgirl @teenagedreams-cl @cmleitora @marialovesf1 @champagneholland

#f1 #formula one #formula 1 #f1blr #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 smut #f1 smut #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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hitomisuzuya · 2 years ago

Note

Have you ever read the AU from the user @/celabi about Scummy Scara, gosh, it's so... Delicious. Could you think of something about a perverted and obsessive Scara with an innocent reader?

Btw, Don't forget to be hydrated and sleep well at night, I love your content ♡♡♡

Why yes, I have. Honestly, I was a little intimidated to write to this because, sheesh, their Scummy Scara series is just so, mm, like you said, delicious. I just want to do it justice. And truthfully, I have always wanted to try my hand at writing Scummy Scara. Thank you so much for the kind words. I hope my first attempt at writing Scummy Scara went okay.

"S-Scara, please! The noises are so, ah, ah, embarrassing," You pleaded between your moans, a blush on your cheeks. The second Scaramouche saw the blush on your cheeks, it made him moan into your cunt, slurping louder as he sucked just to see it darken more, his tongue lapping like a starved dog like you were his last meal.

You were so innocent.

So corruptible.

Imagine how you would blush if you knew that missing pair of panties you'd been trying to find was in his dorm room, laying wrinkled and stained in his cum underneath his pillow. The wind had lifted your skirt a little that day, giving him a delicious, brief peek at your panties.

The blush on your cheeks would be one for the ages if you found out that he snuck into your room one night, and found you sleeping topless because it was too hot in your dorm room.

Well, of course it was. Scaramouche had purposely messed with the air conditioner in your room so that it wouldn't turn on correctly. He was pretty sure he fucked it up to the point where you would need a new one.

Scaramouche had to bit his fist to keep his moans quiet as he jacked him off over your sleeping form. He had multiple pictures saved on his phone how filthy your chest looked painted with his cum.

The shy, hesitate sigh you breathed out before you wrapped your plush, perfect thighs around his head made his cock harden. He moaned loudly with bliss into your cunt. He could've stayed like this for hours.

You tasted so sweet, so perfect. Better than any of that sugary shit you seemed to love so much. However, he was open to smearing some melted, dark chocolate on your pussy, licking it off as he tongue fucked you into oblivion.

Every sweet noise his tongue coaxed out of you was memorized in his ears. Next time, he would take care to record them on his phone. He would plug his headphones into his phone, jacking off as he listened to how good he was making you feel.

This man was always driven to make his perfect, innocent darling squirt all over his tongue. You deserved nothing less than a toe curling orgasm each time he worshipped your cunt with his tongue.

Scaramouche came in his hand when your release gushed on his tongue. He didn't even notice that he was stroking his cock, he so was wrapped up in pleasuring you, pussy drunk on how heavenly you tasted.

He could never resist continuing to fuck his tongue inside of you during your orgasm. It only made his tongue more ravenous the way you tightly gripped his hair, pushing his face deeper against your cunt. It was absolutely insatiable when you started bucking your hips up into his tongue, your body twitching from overstimulation until you came screaming on his tongue, reduced to a babbling, panting mess.

Your innocence was falling apart into tiny little slivers for him to scatter to the wind right before his eyes. You were desperately bucking your hips into his tongue with no restraint now.

"Brace yourself, kitten," Scaramouche growled into your cunt, "I need to taste more of you. I can't get enough. You don't mind if my tongue dives in for a third time, do you?"

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #scummy scara #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n

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aggieharkness · 10 days ago

Note

Hello! Baking (or rather cutting out) Christmas cookies was a bit like a cold, tense hell with Christmas music playing in the background.

So I'd like to request reader baking Christmas cookies (or just normal cookies) with Lilia. Put as much fluffy, funny, feel-good feelings as you can in there, please. I'd really appreciate it.

Happy holidays!

The world is perfect when I'm with you

Pairing: Lilia Calderu x reader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve and you and Lilia share a few quiet moments at home baking cookies and simply enjoying the time to be with each other.

Warnings: romance, pure fluff, dancing, baking cookies.

Authors note: Oh my God, I love the idea. You don't know just how happy it made me to read this, like I was bouncing on my bed. I hope you like it and that it brings you happiness and comfort. If there is anything at all that you don't like, tell me and I'll change it, or if you want more, I'm here. Thanks for the request. btw.

This is a Christmas gift for you!! Happy Holidays!

The world is perfect when I'm with you

The house was filled with music. Christmas carol after Christmas carol played through the Bluetooth speaker you had bought a few months ago, echoing against the walls of Lilia’s tiny living area. She wasn’t one for festivities such as Halloween or Easter, but God, she adored Christmas. The first year you had shared the holidays with her it had surprised you just how invested she was, putting up an old beat-up tree, fairy lights everywhere, even around the bedposts, but you never complained. Her big brown doe eyes had shone with such joy and happiness that you just couldn’t bring yourself to burst her bubble in any way. The house had looked beautiful once she had finished, a small nativity scene in a corner of the room, a remnant of her past life in Sicily. This year wasn’t any different, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. The first of December hit the calendar, and she was like Sonic the Hedgehog pulling out boxes of lights and ornaments, leaving the tree to you, a brand new one covered in fake snow that you had gifted her a couple of years ago. She loved knowing that you were helping and making sure the house was just like she wanted it to look, little angels and random glass balls hanging from the branches, golden tinsel wrapped around it along with a string of lights. It looked beautiful next to the TV. For three weeks you helped her set up the house until you were finally able to take your vacation days, leaving your job until the sixth of January.

Morning had come, bursting through the windows in gentle warm rays of sunlight that bathed over Lilia’s form as she slept, those lovely peppery curls shinning under the orange beams, her body cuddled against yours. Every morning since you both had closed up the shop for the holidays had been exactly the same sweet routine; you waking up first to meet the dawn while she slept for a bit longer, basking in the way your hands followed the shape of her soft ringlets, and your tender kisses lulled her away from the land of dreams. It was simply the best way to begin the day. You both had stayed in bed talking about nothing and everything cuddled against each other until the sun was well high up in the sky, the pinks and purple hues that had painted the world above now a clear blue cyan while the world was buried underneath a crisp layer of snow that had fallen through the night. You had not noticed, wrapped around Lilia, lost in her kisses. She got up first, her hair falling from the bun she had had when you had taken her to bed, her ivory gown letting you catch a glimpse of her otherworld body as she made her way to the bathroom, the light hitting her just at the right angle making her nightdress completely see through. She looked bloody fantastic for being over a hundred and fifty years. The rest of the routine followed like clockwork, coffees and scrambled eggs included, making way for the moment you were both in right now.

Lilia’s body swayed from side to side to Michael Bublé, a Christmas classic for her, her voice not only harmonising perfectly, but overtaking and overpowering the music so easily and effortlessly that you had to stop pulling bowls out of cupboards simply to watch her. Over the kitchen counter she was beating three eggs along with melted butter and sugar, ingredients spread everywhere because when she had got up, right before she had left for the bathroom, she had bent over your body, your eyes drifting to her cleavage until her eyes had claimed your attention, telling you that you were making cookies today. Had you been Agatha or maybe even Jen you would have complained telling her that it was boring, but you were you and the prospect of baking with Lilia was like a perfect Christmas gift.

-Lils, how much flour do we need? – your eyes lifted from the big packet of flour that you had just left on the table, her usual red and blue robe flowing when she moved to stand beside you, a yellow apron with the words “Look at these buns!” protecting her clothes.

-280 grams baby, or one full cup. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

-Everywhere you go. Thanks, hon.

-Take a look at the five and ten.

-It's glistening once again.

-With candy canes and silver lanes that glow.

It was wonderful to sing with her even if your voice could never compare; she did not care. Anything that she did with you was simply perfect. Her hands left the bowl of wet ingredients on the table, holding onto yours before you could grab the sifter. She pulled you away from the table, moving your arms from side to side rather dumbly, twirling you on the spot before your chest was pressed against hers. The music was forgotten in the background, drowned by both yours and Lilia’s laughter as your bodies bent exaggeratedly from right to left. Christmas suited her, it was as if this holiday had been made for her, the lights that she had placed all around the room blinking on and off within a pattern, the bright colours mixing with the warm light bursting through the windows. Lilia twirled the both of you around the kitchen table until the song ended, “Feliz Navidad” now playing instead. Her lips landed briefly over yours, pecking you sweetly before she put you back to work with the dry ingredients.

-Don’t forget the baking soda. Last time you did, the cookies became a rock-hard mass.

-Hey! How was I supposed to know that the baking soda wasn’t in the baking soda bottle but in the saffron one? You are the one who loves to recycle.

-Why would I want to throw away a perfectly usable jar? Besides it’s not my fault you forget your glasses in the bathroom all the time.

-Oh yeah? – you grabbed the top of her apron and pushed her against you. – Where are yours now babe?

-You little…

-Ah! No cursing, you don’t want the dough to get upset and not rise, do you?

-I don’t know why you listen to Rio, that it’s obviously a myth.

-Do you want to risk it? – she shook her head, her pout transforming into a bright smile before she kissed you once again, humming happily against your lips.

There were still a few deep tones of the black coffee she had had for breakfast on her lips that your tongue picked up and savoured before turning back to your bowl. Sifting the flour so there would be no lumps you followed the powder with your eyes carefully, making sure every single drop was inside the bowl this time. Over a week ago you had been supposed to bake an apple pie for Sharon’s book club but there had been a few minor hiccups, one of them being you sifting the flour all over the table because you had been looking at Lilia while she talked about a client that had come in requesting the lottery number. When she turned around, she saw you covered in the white powder, bursting into unladylike snorts of laughter that had her entire face turning red, needing to sit for a moment to fill her lungs and calm herself down. Through the corner of her eye she watched you fill the bowl and congratulated you on not spilling it, a kiss on your temple, her hands busy slicing a couple of chocolate bars. She was teasing a bit, but every praise was always genuine when they came from her, a bubble of happiness wrapping around your heart. A pinch of salt and the baking soda and the dry ingredients were ready for the rest of the mix, Lilia wiping her hands on a tea towel before beginning to pour the eggs, sugar and melted butter mix. Instead of using a whisk you had grabbed a spatula from the sink, washing it before beginning to gently fold the batter until it was smooth but thick.

-Can you turn the oven on? I’m almost done with the chocolate.

-Can’t we just bake them with, you know… a flick of our wrist?

-I swear, Halloween Town has made so much damage. Being able to do something doesn’t mean we should, and you have never seen me turn chicken thighs back into a chicken, have you?

-No, but can we?

You knelt on the floor removing trays and plastic Tupperwares so they wouldn’t melt, turning knobs until the light came on and the fan began to work. You were thankful for all those squat trainings you did as you lifted the ceramic trays you had removed from inside the oven and placed them over the bed covers noticing that Lilia had not answer the question. When you turned around she was biting into a perfectly backed chocolate chip cookie, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on her lips.

-Why didn’t you tell me we actually could Lilia?!

-Because half of the fun is letting the smell of fresh baked cookies fill the house.

She stretched her hand, the half-eaten cookie waiting for you. You rushed back to her and took one big bite, moaning at the taste of the chocolate and vanilla essence, Lilia popping the rest in her mouth, pecking your lips after a moment. Even though she could clearly bake at the snap of her fingers she still moved to put parchment over a metal tray, grabbing a scoop from a drawer. She had already mixed the chocolate into the batter, the dough cold to the touch when you went to pick up some with your finger. So, she could chill it in a second instead of putting it in the fridge, but she did not want to bake them with her magic? A waste of time in your opinion, but then again, she might be right, as usual. The house did smell delicious for days after baking. Lilia had placed a bottle of olive oil on the table so you could lather your hands in it, the first scoop of batter landing in your palms so you could round them before placing them on the parchment paper, over two inches in between each cookie so they could rise and expand in the over without ending up as one giant monstrous thing. It had happened before. The first batch of eight cookies was done in just a few minutes, but there was still a bit of batter left, not that Lilia hadn’t thought of a solution already, another tray waiting for what was left. Just as you finished rounding the last one the oven begun to beep, and Lilia bent to put the trays inside, setting a timer for around fifteen minutes.

-Now for the sugar cookies. I’ll get the ingredients ready while you clean up the table, okay baby?

-Sure, just let me move this flour bag to the counter first.

Innocently you picked up the heavy bag, waddling slightly towards where Lilia had cleared a spot for it on the counter, feeling it slipping a bit off your hands, your steps faster so it wouldn’t end up on the floor. In slow motion you let it plop on the counter, just in time, your fingers barely holding onto it, but the motion had caused a white cloud of flour to come out of the bag right towards Lilia’s spot. Your hands shot to cover your mouth, eyes wide, when you turned to look at her, fighting the laughter that wanted to erupt out of your mouth. Lilia’s beautiful face with her rosy cheeks, big characteristic nose and plump lips was utterly covered in a thick layer of white. She blinked a few times, flour falling off her eyelashes giving her an even more comical look with her chocolate doe eyes staring at you through the white mask. Some of it had made its way to her hair, mixing perfectly with her curls. She opened her mouth to speak but she coughed instead, a small cloud of flour puffing in front of her right before sneezing, part of the powder falling onto the top of her dress and over her yellow apron. There was silence for a moment, not even YouTube Music was playing as she stared at you, hands on her hips. An instant later “Let it snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!” was filling up the room with its jolly tune, your laughter impossible to keep quiet.

You roared loudly, a hand still trying to cover your mouth while the other was holding onto your stomach, eyes moving from her face down to the floor. Lilia was staring dumbfounded at you, an offended look on her face as you laughed. Her hand shot to grab your arm pulling you towards her, eyes watering when you rose up to gaze at her. She stopped your laughter quickly, her hand throwing a handful of flour to your face, making you blink away the flour surprised at her action. Staring at each other there was no sound coming from either of you before Lilia chuckled, you following until you were both laughing, your hand grabbing more flour and throwing it in her direction, Lilia dodging it just in time. When you saw that she was putting her hand in the bag you rushed away from her giggling excitedly, feeling her behind you as you rounded the table, her flour missing you by an inch. She was now actively chasing you all throughout the house, your body sliding through the curtains and into the store. You were both leaving a trail of flour on the floor, but neither of you cared.

-I’ll get you for this!

-I’m sorry! I didn’t… - you could hardly breath from how much you were laughing, screaming in delight whenever she got close enough to grab you but never actually doing it. - I didn’t mean it!

-Come here!

You rushed to the door, pulling the glass gates open and stepping into the empty street. Sure, you were not wearing clothes appropriate for snow, your feet cozy inside your slippers, legs dressed in a pair of black leggings, but you hadn’t thought of that. Moving over two feet away from the house, Lilia following you out into the street, you took one step until you felt her hands grabbing onto your waist, pulling you against her. You yelped gleefully while laughing, feeling her arms snake around you, the perfect crispy snow reaching your mid-calf, the air cold, a contrast against Lilia’s delicious warm body.

-Got you. – she whispered in your ear, her breaths rapid and hot against the skin of your neck. You smiled while resting your head in the crook of her neck, very little flour left on your faces now.

-So you did.

-If it was all a ploy so we could come out and play in the snow you know you could have just told me.

-Hmmm, not a bad idea, but it was an accident.

-I know, baby. I’m not mad, but you are cleaning up when we are done baking.

Your mouth was open in shock, a retort forming in your tongue as you turned your face to look at her, but it never made it out of your mouth, her lips on yours kissing you tenderly, her soft ringlets caressing your cheeks. The chocolate cookie had left a wonderful sweet taste on her lips, or perhaps it was the bite you had had, either way, it seemed to fit her perfectly. You both stood over the snow for a few minutes observing the usual boring street covered in glistening white all over, on the roof tops, over the signposts. It was beautiful as long as you had Lilia behind you pecking your cheek. She turned you around after a while, holding onto your hands, pulling your frame back inside the cozy home. The oven had just begun to beep when you crossed the curtain to the back, Lilia rushing to them so they wouldn’t burn letting go of you. She was beautiful, spots of flour still clinging to her skin, like on her forehead or the tip of her nose, but they didn’t seem to bother her as she placed one tray on the stove and the other on the counter over a plate so it wouldn’t leave a burn mark on the old wood. You could spend every minute of your life watching her do anything.

They smelled absolutely delicious, the aroma spreading through the room to every corner, gently sliding into the shop. Over the bed covers you had left a rack which she picked up and left on the counter, you watching from your spot against the back wall as Lilia worked flawlessly, transferring the cookies along with the parchment paper to let them cool down. There was no room for the hot trays now, but that was no issue. Lilia turned, locking her eyes with you and then winked, lazy tendrils of yellow magic wrapping themselves around the trays and lifting them in the air, floating with gentle swaying motions over your heads. Everything related to Lilia’s magic was always so very mystical, visions, readings, the usual divination magic that she was used to, so it was wonderful to see the more practical, fun side of it, it meant she was relaxed and happy. She moved her hand beckoning you to join her, pulling out a pair of clean bowls after she had left the dirty ones in the sink.

-Why don’t you start with the icing?

-What happened with cleaning up the table?

-Flour on my face happened, doll. But don’t worry, there’s not much on the table now, I’ll just move those cups to the side if I need to.

-You don’t trust me anymore? – you pouted with a fake saddened tone as she took a stick of butter and a few eggs out of the fridge, turning her body towards you, a hand on the counter and the other on her hip, head lulled to the side. She sighed but smiled, your pouting making you look just so adorable.

-You know I do, otherwise I wouldn’t have given you the fun part of the recipe. You get to paint the cookies, baby.

-Yeah, but it’s fun doing things together. I want you to paint with me.

-Who said I wasn’t going to? You just make the icing and leave it on the side while I start on the batter and then we can cut them together. Does my baby like that?

Nodding your head she moved her hands to your cheeks kissing your lips tenderly, a smile on her lips when she parted from you. Happy that you had got, yet again, another kiss you took a small bowl from the cupboard above your head, checking the recipe that was stuck to the exhaust hood above the stove with a magnet before picking up two eggs, separating the yolks from the whites. Lilia kindly took the yolks and put them aside to use them at lunch time while you beat the whites with the whisk a bit. You didn’t need to do it, you just liked to before putting the icing sugar in, which you could not find in any of the cupboards. You pulled doors open, drawers, you even searched the fridge, it wouldn’t have been the first time any of you had accidentally put something in that didn’t belong there, but it was nowhere, and you could have sworn you had bought some not long ago. Lilia saw you moving frantically all over the kitchen and asked loudly what you needed over the music of “Jingle Bells Rocks” that was now playing. Upon hearing what you needed she moved aside to present you with a bright orange bottle.

Of course, she must have picked it and put aside when she had begun to gather ingredients. She was measuring the sugar, your eyes watching how her hands, dressed in rings on multiple fingers, tapped the bag and moved to the beath of the song. With a small cloud of floating icing sugar you mixed it all, a white paste forming in the bowl to which you added a little bit of corn syrup to make it glossier, just a touch that you liked. Now came the fun bit, taking the food colouring and crating the weirdest shades you could come up with. With a spoon you poured some of the mixture into an empty glass, adding a drop of red that turned pink upon mixing it with a teaspoon, so you added a few more, happy with the bright red that you made and setting it aside. Lilia looked at your science experiment from the corner of her eyes, hands adding spoonfuls of flour into the wet ingredients, folding the powder in. You were like a little kid with a bunch of sharpies and crayons painting lines and figures excited to see the final outcome, Lilia’s brown eyes looking at you as you mixed red and blue to create purple, although right now it looked a bit more like a suspicious brown. She let you finish mixing the colours, reminding you to leave part of the icing white, before adding the last few touches of a pinch of salt and baking powder, the dough clumpy in the bowl, as it should be.

-Are you done with the arts and crafts, babe?

-Yeah, I think. How do you make grey?

-You don’t. I didn’t get any black colouring. Why would you want to add grey to Christmas cookies?

-Well, I don’t have an idea right now, but I like to have a range.

-Come on, Van Gogh, let’s roll the dough.

While you closed the last bottle of colouring Lilia placed the dough on the table, her strong arms and hands kneading and rolling to combine it and let it form a big smooth ball. You were mesmerised by the way her muscles moved up and down even through the lose sleeves of her dressing gown, her chest bouncing gently to the motion, your eyes glued to soft flesh of her neck and collarbones through the low-cut dress she was wearing, her amulet swaying along. It was incident to stare like that, but she was just too captivating, and she knew. She could feel your eyes watching her every move, a shiver running down her spine, but she never stopped kneading, there would plenty of time for her to take you to bed later. She gave it a few more punches before patting the little ball of dough, signalling that she was done.

-Should I get the rolling pin?

-Yeah, this is ready. It’s in the second drawer, next to the bottle opener.

-It’s too early for a glass wine, right?

-Yes, darling. It’s my company so bad that you need to get drunk at 10 am? – she raised an eyebrow while looking at you, a hand on her hip over her apron. Only a couple of feet separated you, but it was too much of a gap for you, snaking your arms around her neck while her hands automatically moved to your waist, her lips ghosting over yours.

-Never. You are far too alluring and beautiful, I would hate to get drunk and forget tomorrow how you looked today, or how your perfume compliments the smell of cookies so well.

A childish giggle escaped her mouth, muffled when she bent to peck your lips. She was clingy today, or amorous, either way you were not complaining. Parting from you she patted your hip, a sign that she needed you to get her the rolling pin, which of course you did. Anything she needed. There was a certain level of excitement building in your chest as Lilia rolled the dough until it was a quarter inch thick, the sheet overtaking half of the kitchen table, the best part coming at last.

-Right, where are the cookie cutters, babe?

-They should be in a box in the cupboard over the sink. Let me check. – pulling a chair from under the table you stepped on it to check in between the toaster and a juicer that you had got her for her birthday, date that she still refused to tell the girls in the coven, Sharon included as she could be a bit of babble when she had a glass or two of wine in her system. You searched but the box was nowhere to be found. – I can’t find them, did you move them, hon?

-No, not that I remember. Have you looked behind the coffee bags?

-Yeah, they’re not there. Where… Ah… I know where they are.

-Where? I’ll get them while you come down.

-Does the car have gas? – she was resting her backside against the edge of the desk as you stepped down, returning the chair underneath the table.

-What? What does the car have to do with anything?

-I lent them to Agatha.

-What? Why?

-I don’t know, I stopped asking her what she needs things for. I’m not getting another story of her and Rio’s sexual exploits during an expo or whatever. She just asked for them, so I lent them to her.

-You mean gave them to her. We are going to have to buy new ones. Well, it’s not too much of a loss, just grab a couple of knifes and we’ll freehand the cookies.

You practically hopped your way to the upper drawer to pick a pair, rushing back to her side and handing her one. You stared at the dough as if calculating, figuring out exactly what you wanted to do and after a moment, you began to create what you were sure was a candy cane, super proud of the shape until you looked at Lilia, who had had the same idea, and noticed how your lines were hardly straight and the curve was more a 90º angle.

-Why does yours look like an actual candy cane?

-Practice. Oh, yours is not that bad, baby. What is it?

-Ha ha. You know very well what it is.

-Yes, sorry, just teasing.

It was now a competition for you, eyes squinted and your teeth biting down on the tip of your tongue as you tried to keep the knife straight through every line, connecting them all and creating a star, or what you thought should be one, because it looked more as if it had just been run over by a car. Lilia laughed when she saw it and in a childish move you planted your index finger right on her Christmas tree, squishing it while sticking your tongue out. She gasped while calling your name.

-Y/N!

-You laughed at my star!

-It doesn’t look like one, baby.

-And now your tree doesn’t look like a tree, so we are even.

-Darling, it doesn’t matter if they are not perfect, we know what they are supposed to be and that’s all that matters. So what if your star needs a bit of therapy? Now my tree needs a chiropractor. Let’s continue, alright?

-Just don’t laugh again.

-I promise, scouts honour.

She pecked your lips and forehead before tuning back to the dough. The next form was supposed to be a snowman, but it looked more like a bunch of amorphous meatballs, a giggle sliding through your lips at the sight. You turned to check Lilia’s attempt at a reindeer which was more along the lines of a corgi with horns. You could not help it, it brought a cackle out of you, her peppery curls bouncing around her face as she wiped her head to look at you.

-I didn’t laugh at yours!

-Yeah, but… what the hell is that Lils?

-It’s a… It was supposed to be a reindeer.

-I’m sorry honey, but it looks nothing like one.

-Well, it’s a new breed. From Canada.

-Shall we name it? – your hand went to her shoulder, your head resting over it as you both watched the figure.

-Agatha, for stealing our cookie cutters.

She laughed at her own joke, your own snorting only adding to the humour of the moment, without a care in the world. Both of you carried on making shapes and forms, some of them better than others, some being additions to the “new breed from Canada”. You had pointed at each other’s creations laughing and praising, giving some of them names until you had the entire coven in cookie form, but you and Lilia’s figures could not be those weird interpretations of snowmens and trees, so you let her carve yourselves as two beautiful gingerbread women. It had started out as Christmas cookies but in the end, when Lilia had begun to move them to the floating trays, there had been more amorphous beings than accurate forms, but neither of you cared one bit, “Fairytale of New York” following “Santa Baby” on your Christmas playlist. Lilia’s head perked up at the sound of the music, pushing the door to the oven with her hip until it closed, setting a timer for ten minutes. She grabbed your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours as she pressed you against her, swaying to the song.

She must have been a singer and a dancer at some point in her life, there was just no way she could be that good and not have had shown her gift to the world at least once. You would ask her one of these days, but as of now you were happy to dance with her in the kitchen, listening to her sweet voice follow the tune. The moment was perfect, down to the song, to the way the sun caught in her hair as she twirled you both around the room, her citrusy perfume filling up your lungs along with the sweetness of the cookies. How could you have ever been blue? How could you have ever thought that happiness was not in for you? Lilia had come into your life and the world was suddenly a beautiful place where nothing could ever go wrong. Staring at her eyes it was as if they were the melted chocolate you had tasted on her lips earlier, warm and loving.

-They've got cars big as bars, they've got rivers of gold.

-But the wind goes right through you, it's no place for the old.

-When you first took my hand on a cold Christmas Eve.

-You promised me Broadway was waiting for me.

-You were handsome

-You were pretty, Queen of New York City

She laughed at the nickname, head lulled back, her feet never stopping, moving from side to side. The living area wasn’t precisely Buckingham Place, but you two made it work, and as Lilia’s moved both your bodies, her dressing gown brushing the foot of the Christmas tree, she truly showed you how much that tiny little room could give. The warm light that had bathed the room suddenly disappeared, the bright colourful lights that she had placed in every corner overtaking and lighting up the room in a dance of colours and shapes. Your eyes drifted to the window seeing the sky covered by big fluffy white clouds, a gentle breeze having picked up outside the house, the first few snowflakes beginning to fall, but Lilia claimed your attention when she pushed your body away form hers while still holding your hands.

-The boys of the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay and the bells were ringing out for Christmas day.

She pulled you back against her body once again, her arms around your waist, your hands resting on the back of her neck twirling her soft curls in between your fingers. Her forehead was pressed against yours, the movements slow as the song carried onto the last few verses letting the words drip from her lips in hushed tones only for you to hear. The two of you had closed your eyes letting the warmth of each other’s bodies wrap around you, basking in the way you could feel the love seeping from every pore, from every word that escaped her lips. It wasn’t until she sang the last verse, her breath tickling your nose, that she did press her lips to yours, hiding her face into the crook of your neck after a few moments to escape the reality outside those four walls. “Auld Lang Syne” followed, the softer tune perfect for you both to simply sway on the spot, your hands caressing Lilia’s hair and neck, your cheek resting against her ear as she breathed in your perfume and shampoo, humming happily. Neither of you wanted the moment to end, feeling as if being like this, in each other’s arms, was just the perfect way to live Christmas Eve before the craziness of going over to Sharon’s with the rest of the coven happened. You wanted to savour every second you had with Lilia and only Lilia. For once the world could wait, stop moving altogether until you were ready to carry on with life, though you doubted you would ever let the happen.

Right on time the last few notes playing marked start of another song, the oven starting to beep. Lilia did not wish to move, but she had to, extracting herself after a minute to pull the trays out, letting them float around just like she had done before. You helped her transfer the chocolate chip cookies onto a plate, setting them aside so she could let the sugar cookies out of the trays and onto the racks. But you were impatient, she knew, and with a flick of her wrist, your eyes shinning gleefully as you watched a few sparkles of golden magic fly from her fingertips, they were cold enough to be placed on the kitchen table to be decorated.

-Do you have any ideas you want to share, darling?

-Not really, well, maybe. I think we should paint the Coven with their signature colours.

-Alright. Let’s start with Agatha, that way if she looks bad it won’t matter much. She owes me a bunch of cutters.

It was playful banter, she didn’t really hate Agatha, quite the opposite, she took care of the woman as if she were a daughter, looking after her, looking out for her, protecting her from the world as if she were afraid someone could break her. It was one of the main things that had attracted you to her at first, her caring, nurturing nature. She picked up an empty pipping bag and let you fill it up with the purple icing before cutting the tip. The first blob fell right in the middle of the reindeer, and since there wasn’t much she could now she carried on. The shape was horrid, but she assured you that once the details were added it would bring it all together. You weren’t very sure. The eyes looked a bit disproportionate, and the antlers were a bit thick, but all in all Lilia thought it looked good, and you didn’t want to disagree.

-My turn now, let me do Sharon. In green?

-Yeah, we have two green witches, we’ll just make Rio’s eyes brown and call it a day.

You might not have been gifted with the knife, but you sure were better with the pipping bag than Lilia. Your reindeer was more accurate, green but accurate, the small beady eyes perfectly positioned but the antlers… the looked like a bunch of worms. It suited a green witch you supposed. Lilia was quick to praise and tell you that it was beautiful, kissing your temple and watching as you did Rio’s as well, a perfect reindeer in front you down to red nose and everything. You were so excited, bouncing in her arms, her words filled with love and joy as she told you just how pretty it was. Her hands moved on to Jen, the shape of the snowwoman much easier than that of a reindeer in pretty shade of pink, the eyes and buttons brown, along with a blue scarf and orange nose. She put it aside to let the icing harden your hands working on Billy as she did Alice, both snowman that looked pretty decent taking on account that Lilia’s orange pipping bag burst in her hand just as she was finishing Alice’s body, icing all over the table and a couple of candy cane cookies.

-What a mess!

-Baking is messy, Lils. Don’t worry, there’s enough icing left to make more orange.

-But…

-It’s perfectly fine, honey, honestly. Just clean that up and I’ll make more. And those two cookies can be like orange flavoured candy canes. See? Problem solved.

-My baking hero.

Grabbing a glass after she pecked your cheek, you were quick to blend the right shade of orange, putting it inside a new pipping bag and handing it to Lilia so she could finish Alice’s body. It was beautiful to do this together, Lilia’s lines wiggly and the consistency a big lumpy when she tried to do the first few stockings until she gave up and moved on to the stars, easier in her opinion. You tried to write names on the stockings once she had moved them to your side of the table, but they were more like scribbles that no one could understand, still the colour code every member of the coven had settled for kind of helped to identify which was for which. The moment was both cozy and hilarious, pointing at the figures you were both painting, commenting, laughing and scraping to begin again only to end up with the same wiggly lines and mismatched colours. Lilia once in a while added her own touch to one of your cookies, be it a weird bow or a string of tinsel around a tree while you gave hers a more artistic touch by adding sparkles to her candy canes or little dots of colour on her reindeer’s antlers claiming that they were Christmas lights. She had laughed hard at that stating in between laboured breaths that it looked as if the poor thing had crashed a farmers’ market, and to be honest it kind of did, laughing along with her, your body pressed against her arm as you both shook and cackled. But neither of you cared, they were yours and in their horrid looks they looked perfect to you. The only thing left was to paint were you and Lilia’s gingerbread women, something that you were left in charge of as Lilia didn’t want to risk it. The pressure was real as you did Lilia’s face, her curls a mix of white and brown icing before you moved onto the clothes giving her a yellow jacket, white blouse and blue pants, the outfit you had met her in when she had been thrown out of the Witches Road after fishing her task. She had been covered in mud back then, but you weren’t one to add brown and destroy her beautiful cookie. You put as much effort in your own, dressing yourself in a pair of black trousers and a red blouse, your hair in a bun above your head.

-They look beautiful babe. Mirror images of reality.

-It’s easy when you have the perfect model in front of you. – she smiled at the compliment, a gentle pink hue dressing her cheeks. She blushed so tenderly and so beautifully.

-Flattery will get you everywhere with me, darling.

-I certainly hope so.

-As much as I love the idea of letting you have your way with me, why don’t we let these cookies settle for a bit and go out?

-Everything’s closed.

-I didn’t say that we had to go somewhere in specific. You like snow, don’t you?

-Of course!

-Then get your winter boots on and let’s make a real snowman!

-Really?!

You jumped on the spot nearly knocking over the table, Lilia’s hands shooting to grab it, your lips on her cheek before rushing to the other side of the room. You apologised while running to your closet, grabbing a jumper, a pair of thicker trousers along with some Harry Potter socks and rushing to the bathroom, your voice reaching her ears as you sang loudly, your voice filled with joy, knocking over things that were on the sink.

-Do you want to build a snowman?!

-Oh, God, not “Frozen” again.

#lilia calderu #lilia x reader #patti lupone #avis amberg #avis amberg x reader #agatha all along #patti lupone x reader #we thank miss lupone simply for existing

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