#but there will be another small doodle this weekend so watch out

[bluesgras]

i was making color references i thought i ought to share em!

[aemondsbabe]

Taunt

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

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

pairing: michael gavey x reader

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

word count: 10.5k (dear lord)

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

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how would you go about doing that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I’m bus–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you?” 

“Fine, yes.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You.” It comes out as a breath. 

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

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

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

“None?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bettyfrommars]

The Boy is Mine (Betty's Version)

word count: 1.2k

18+MDNI, mature themes, getting high, allusions to smut, eating, nerds in love

The Scene: a romantic night at the trailer

My wee contribution for @carolmunson's writing exercise The Boy is Mine. I've never attempted a prompt like this before, and I usually write au's, so I wanted to give it a try. It's a quick little thing, I hope you enjoy 💚🚬

--

“Have you ever tried a vanilla frosting covered pickle before?”

You held a big, fat dill up to the light and spooned a helping of frosting onto the tip before sticking the silverware in your mouth to lick it clean. 

Eddie slid in next to you at the kitchen counter, meeting your curious eyes over the offering in question.  “Is this you getting back at me for dumping all the raisinets in the popcorn last time?”

"Not at all. These were two of the four things left in your fridge," you stabbed it in his direction, making his eyes cross down the end of his nose.  “And you know I like raisinets in my popcorn.”

He frowned, thoroughly confused.  “I had vanilla frosting in my fridge?”

“That and a demonic voice asking for Zuul." Nibbling at the end, you chewed with your lips curled back like a bunny.

Eddie floated nearby, humming the Ghostbusters theme song, jutting his chin back and forth to the tune.  He paused to wave a hand in front of your face when you were unresponsive for too long, hovering as if your body might start contorting from the unnatural combination.  

“It’s not bad,” you nodded, fixing your eyebrows high. “Here, try it—-”

You charged forward, wielding the pickle.

“You are so stoned right now,“ he shuffled back, giggling.  Both pairs of eyes in the trailer that night were comically bloodshot.  

You missed your target and booped his cheek with it instead of his mouth, leaving a white glob there, eliciting a few dueling snorts of laughter.  

He took hold of your wrists, dancing you in a circle so that your back was against the wall, searching your face as he wet his lips.  “If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem.” 

“I’ll give you a problem,” shifting forward, your foot tangled between his, making you stumble against his chest and drop what was in your hand. It landed with a weighty thunk and rolled into the shadows of the hall.

“Oh nooooooooo,” you turned to him, faces mirroring horrified shock, followed by a laughing jag so intense that no sound came out, each of you buckling at the knees.  

When you managed to regain some composure, he smooshed his chest into you with a hmfph, blinking butterfly kisses on your cheek with his lashes.

”Hey I’m—I’m sorry there’s not much in my fridge,” he murmured, lifting his head but averting his gaze.  “I’ll have more money this weekend.  I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’m not the one complaining about the food in this fine establishment,” you tucked his hair back behind his ears, and then you untucked it.  “But I’m glad we could feed the floor a pickle.”

“And what a treat for the floor that was,” he ran his thumb along your jawline.  “Shall I roll another one?”

You found his hand to intertwine your fingers.  “I don’t think I’ll be able to drive home if I have any more of Rick’s secret sauce weed.

At that, he held a finger up in the air, and then spun to flip open the lid of the lunchbox that was at the end of the counter. 

 “Well, that’s the thing.  You’re staying here with me tonight,” he put a rolling paper down and pinched some green from inside a clear baggie.  

The flat of your palm traveled up his spine as you rested your chin on his shoulder to watch him work his magic. Next to the lunchbox sat one of his small, spiral notebooks covered in doodles.

“I hate my bed when you’re not in it,” his hair hung down to shield his face as he concentrated.  “I hate this world when you’re not with me.”

Your teeth found the meat of his arm for a nibble, tasting the cotton of his t-shirt.  “That’s very romantic.”

“It’s just you and me, monkey,” he lifted his arm up so you could slide in next to him.  He lit the end and put it to your lips.  “Promise you’ll stay?”

You nodded on a tight inhale, holding the smoke in your lungs.  

“There’s ramen in the cupboard and we can split the last beer,” he talked while you exhaled, nuzzling his neck, feeling the vibration from his voice as he spoke. 

“I need a glass of water first,” you mumbled against his warm skin.

He passed you the joint and went over to the dish rack to pick up something.  “I ran out of, like, nice cups, is this okay?”

It was his class of ‘86 mug.

You gave a thumbs up and he filled it with water from the tap. “You know how much I went through to get this thing. Only the best for my liege.”

Something colorful on the sofa caught your eye and you left the kitchen to get closer, squinting at what you thought you saw.  “Where did that throw pillow come from?”

“Where did what come from?” 

“This,” you lifted up the white square edged with a floppy ruffle.  Someone had embroidered a raccoon on the front, and the raccoon was holding a Garfield mug. 

“Wayne’s new girlfriend, the one he practically lives with these days. She made it.” He spanked his palm on his hip with each step as he brought the mug over to you.  “It’s pretty cute, right?”

“I love it,” you ran your fingers down the embroidery, finding immense joy in the expression on the raccoon's face.  “Is this supposed to be Wayne? It looks more like you.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” his arms found you once again, pining you close to his side. “It’s not even true, don’t get my hopes up. If only I were so handsome.”  

After a few gulps of water, you put the pillow down and turned to slot a hand on the side of his neck. “Want me to start the noodles while you find us something to watch?”

“What sounds good?” He mumbled against your mouth, nudging your nose with his.  “I recorded that Sunday night movie you wanted to see, the one about the time travelers. But I’ve got some other stuff, Rick gave me a whole box of tapes he didn’t want.”

“You recorded Time Bandits for me? Wait, when did you get a VCR?”

“I didn’t,” he brought his head back, sucking in his lower lip, and then he opened up his arm, gesturing to the contraption under the TV.  “I mean, you can rent them now.  Stevie boy gave me a deal.”

The sides of your mouth quivered.  “Just so you could record my movie?”

“Well,” he shrugged, looking down to play with your fingers in his hand.  “I knew you’d be at work that night, so.”

The kiss that came next was deep and urgent, and it stirred a frenzy in both of you. In a few seconds, the mug was on the ground, and you were undressing each other, pulling shirts off so you could be as close as the confines of your bodies allowed.  

“Fuck the movie,” he mumbled, breathy against your mouth, unbuttoning your shorts while you undid his belt and pulled him onto the couch. 

—----

The next morning, limbs tangled up with Eddie on his bed, you were just stirring when you heard Wayne come home.  Eddie groaned, shifting to roll over and spoon you from behind while you listened absently to the sound of his uncle taking his boots off and dropping his keys on the counter from behind the closed door.  

Wayne took a few steps down the hall toward the bathroom, a pause, and then: “Son? Are you awake? Why is there a frosting covered pickle on the floor?"

------

Smooches 💚

[justmeinadaze]

Take It Out On Me Part 3 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

A/N: I bare you this! The letter that Steve's dad leaves is literally something like my best friend's mom gave her. I was so shocked! Like what parent does this and talks this way!

Enjoy <3

Warning: Dom Steddie and Sub Plus size reader and all that implies (I regret nothing!), Smut of course with the angst and the fluff. Carol and Tommy are mean to the reader and embarrass her at Steve's party. Steve briefly talks about his trauma. The dad leaves a note for Steve basically telling him he needs to be better. Dirty talk for sure, chocking, slight degrading if you squint.

Word count: 4705

You nibbled on the fries in front of you as you watched Steve and Eddie talk to each other. How had you never known that they even knew one another? 

After you guys left the school, Eddie offered to drive you but you felt more comfortable taking your own car, following them to a diner right in the middle of downtown Hawkins. You couldn’t help but pause when Steve held the front door open for you, raising an eyebrow as he gestured inside. It was such an odd contrast especially when it came to him, seeing him be so polite. 

“Do you two come here a lot?” You blurted out your question a bit too quickly causing both their heads to turn towards you, giving you an odd look. 

“Like on a date or? I mean, Harrington doesn’t really treat me like the beautiful being I am but…”

“No, I mean…”, you giggled and they smiled. It was the first time since they met you that they genuinely heard you laugh. “Why didn’t I know you guys were friends? Even he said your friends don’t know about him.”

“That is a great question. Stevie? Thoughts?”

“We hang out.”

“Getting high in my trailer after school or on weekends doesn’t count.”

“Oh yeah? And what is this? What are we doing now?”, he chuckles.

“Does it bother you?”, you ask Eddie.

“I’ve never really thought about it if I’m being honest.”

“What are you doing?”, Steve asks with a sharp tone.

“I-I-I’m just trying…to get to know you. Understand.”

“Really? Because it seems like you’re trying to cause problems between me and Munson here.” 

Your eyes meet his annoyed ones filing with your own frustration. “Is that normal for you, Steve Harrington? To think everyone has a motive?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He turns to look at Eddie who smiles as he shrugs. “Well, look who found her voice all of the sudden.”

“Did you ever think maybe I always had a voice but it was constantly stifled by people like you!”

“Define people like me.”

“Stuck up, preppy daddy’s boys who only care about what other people think of him instead of growing a pair and just being himself!”

Eddie watched you both with a small smirk as you and Steve glared at each other. Something flashed through the man’s eyes before he glanced at the metalhead, nodding before rising from the table and heading out the door. 

“Wow, sweetheart. You really got under his skin.”

“I did?”

“Steve Harrington doesn’t just silently leave. He always has to have the last word. I’m betting it was the ‘daddy’s boy’ part.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, baby. You don’t.”

#################

The next day, Steve didn’t say a thing to you or even look your way. In class he sat where he was supposed to and during detention that afternoon, he placed himself behind Eddie on the opposite end of the classroom.

Eddie wasn’t out right ignoring you like his friend but he wasn’t really trying to initiate a conversation with you either. He grinned when you walked by during lunch and gave a loud “Hey, princess!” when you entered the room after school. 

On Friday, nothing changed and it killed you. You had no idea why but it did. Steve was still an asshole, right? Even though you admitted you didn’t hate him, you still didn’t care about him. Right? So why during your final afternoon in detention, are you staring at him as he doodled in his notebook?

I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. Is he going to ignore me forever now? Should I apologize? I miss his lips. Wait…what the fuck am I saying?! This is incredibly frustrating!

“Alright boys and girl, congratulations. You have made it through your week of punishment. Eddie I’m sure I will see you again. Steve and Y/N, please, for the love of God, behave.”

The three of you smile as you get up and exit the classroom. They both walk ahead of you as if they had no idea who you are. 

“Steve?” You call his name as soon as you enter the parking lot. When he doesn’t respond, you run ahead of them, trying to block their path. “Steve, please.”

They both shift around you as they continue to talk to each other. “You’re coming tomorrow night, right?”

“I’ll be there.”, Eddie grins. You watch in awe as they both get in their cars and Steve speeds away. “See you on Monday, sweetheart! Behave now.”, he winks before starting his van and disappearing down the road.

###############

“Why are we here?”, Masie asks as she looks around at all the drunk students. 

“Come on. It will be fun.”

It took some sleuthing but you found out from another girl on the basketball team that Steve Harrington was throwing a huge party on Saturday night. Your blood boiled as you realized he purposely invited Eddie in front of you to make you feel even worse. 

“I’m, um, I’m going to go find the drinks.”

“Please don’t leave me alone for long!”, your friend shouted as you left her side. 

Steve’s home was gorgeous, much nicer than your own. Kids were packed in tight as they danced to the music beating against the walls of the house. Carol’s hair came into your view and you hastily tucked into a nearby room. As you looked around you realized you must be in his father’s study.

There was a desk with papers scattered all over it. The bookshelf against the wall was filled to the brim with law books and encyclopedias. On a nearby table, you noticed a bunch of photographs of Mr. Harrington and his wife. 

Where are the pictures of Steve? Maybe he just doesn’t have any in here…that’s odd. You would think he would want to have pictures of his son close by where he works. 

You circled around to the desk, brushing papers aside as you skimmed them until something caught you attention. 

Steven,

I am very disappointed in your behavior as of late. You’re barely passing your classes. You haven’t gotten any better at basketball or swimming. You refuse to save any money for college (If you can even get into one at this point) and your mother found drugs hidden in one of your drawers. 

You spend a lot of time with that freak or girls you don’t intend on staying with. I am ashamed and so far, son, you are not living up to the Harrington name. 

I’ll give you one more year to shape up. If you can’t it together by graduation I will NOT pay for your schooling. Do you understand me?!

Sign and return to my desk. I will file it with my other investments when I get home. 

Sincerely,

Bill Harrington                                          

 X Steven Harrington

“It’s not polite to snoop, Y/N.”

You jump at the sound of his voice as you turn to find Steve leaning against the closed door with a drink in his hand. He smelled incredibly strong like liquor making your heart break. 

“Your father gave you this?”

He pushes off the wall, coming to stand beside you as he cranes his neck to look at the paper in your hands. 

“Yup. This is one of the tamer ones.”

“Steve, he talks about you like…your property.” He shrugs as he takes a seat in the office chair. “I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just a preppy, daddy’s boy who needs to grow a pair, right?”

Your head hangs as you place the letter back down on the desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No. You didn’t.”

As you start to head for the door, something stops you. You spin around and his arms open in surprise when you place yourself on his lap, leaning your head on his shoulder. His chest heaves underneath you before his limbs come back down to wrap around you as his head leans against yours. 

The loud sound of glass breaking startles you both. “Fucking hell. I can’t have one God damn moment; I swear.” You slide off his lap and he angrily opens the door to find out what happened. 

You leave the room to find Masie who was sitting outside on one of Steve’s patio chairs talking to someone you two had class with. You joined her physically but mentally you were somewhere else. Sifting through the last few years, you wondered if there had been any clues to Steve’s relationship with his father. All you remembered was an asshole, Tom Cruise style wanna-be.

He never once let on there might be trouble at home. Hell, he was having a party in the house right now like he didn’t care what his dad thought. 

The feeling of something cold dowsing your body, jolted you back to reality. You stood up, watching as liquid spilled down your head, into your clothes, and on to the concrete below your feet. Your eyes met Tommy’s who was now holding an empty pitcher in his hand. 

“Shit! Y/N, I am so sorry. I didn’t see you there. Not that you’re hard to miss. Maybe it’s because you weren’t invited.”, he snickered. 

Masie stood up, placing herself in front of you. “Have you lost your fucking mind? That was extremely uncalled for!”

You panicked as your eyes looked around the pool area to see people staring at the display that was unfolding. As your body began shutting down, you felt leather being placed around your shoulders. 

“Come on, sweetheart. You’re ok.”

“Speaking of uninvited…”, Carol giggled. 

As Eddie started to turn you around, you both ran into the host of the party. Steve’s eyes scanned your fragile frame and the snarky smiles on his friend’s faces. 

“Everybody out! Out now! You heard me! Parties over!” Carol and Tommy looked around confused but didn’t move as he gently reached for your friend’s arm, tugging her towards you. “You guys, go inside. There are some towels in the washroom by the kitchen. Why are you two still here?! I said out!”

“Are you fucking kidding?”

“No, I’m not. This is MY house. Now get… out…”, Steve growls. 

Tommy wraps his arm around Carol’s shoulder as they leave his backyard. After a quick run through to make sure everyone had left, he found the three of you in his kitchen as Eddie ran a towel through your hair.

“Do you have some clothes, man? Something she can put on.”

“I-I-I can’t go home like this. M-m-my dad will kill me if I come home smelling like alcohol.”, you cried. 

“He will. Her parents are strict as hell especially her mom.” Masie rubs your back comfortingly. “She told them she was having dinner with me tonight so she could come here…for some reason.” She squints her eyes at Eddie. 

If only she knew that he wasn’t the only reason. 

“Why don’t you tell them she’s spending the night with you?”

“IS she?” Your friend glares at them both. “Because I’m not leaving her here alone with you Steve Harrington.”

“Maze, it’s ok.”

“Um, Y/N, it’s not ok! Did you see what his friends just did to you?!”

“YES, I DID! I did… I’m fine, ok? Eddie, will take me home tomorrow.”

Her eyes shift between everyone before focusing on the metalhead. “I will be calling her house at noon tomorrow. If she doesn’t answer, I’m calling Chief Hopper. Do I make myself clear?”

“A bit dramatic but yes.” As soon as she leaves, Steve gestures to Eddie, who takes your hand as you both follow him up the stairs. “I like her. She has a lot of spunk.”

“Masie Collin’s has always been that way.”, the other boy sighs as he opens his bathroom door. 

“Ah. I’ve never met her before.” He focuses on your body as he removes your beer-soaked clothes, passing them to Steve who stumbles backwards into the wall. ���Apparently, I got here too late. Do you need to go lay down, Harrington?” 

The man nods slightly as he pushes past you both but instead of turning towards his bedroom, you hear him stomp down the stairs. Eddie turns on the shower, waiting patiently for it to warm up. 

“Okay, Sweetheart. Go ahead and take as long as you need. I’ll go riffle through his drawers and see what I can find for you to wear.”

As he turns to leave, you reach out and grab his arm. “Will…will you stay with me?”

“Do you want me to stay in here with you or do you want me to join you?”

“Will you stand in the shower with me, please?”

Eddie steps forward, brushing your hair behind your ears with his fingers. “I said do you WANT… Talk to me like you want it.”

“Eddie, I want you take a shower with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

He softly smiles as he takes a step back and removes his shirt before sliding down his pants with his boxers. You take his hand as he guides you into the tub and you sigh at the feeling of the hot water hitting your body. 

Eddie chuckles as he reaches for the shampoo in the corner. “Well, you won’t smell like alcohol but let’s hope your parents don’t know what Steve smells like.”

He grins as you laugh, putting product in his hands, and rubbing it into your scalp. Eddie continued to help clean your body, exhaling pleasure filled breaths anytime his lips would randomly land on your skin. 

A tiny squeak left you when his fingers grazed between your legs. “Oh. Sensitive.”, he quips with a mischievous smile. 

“I’m still a little sore.”

Eddie’s eyes widen in joking surprise. “Geez, are our cocks that big?” You bite down on your bottom lip as he slowly inserts his middle finger into your entrance. “Or are you just that tight?”

He gets to his feet, placing his other hand on your lower back, sliding you closer to him. “God, I’ve never felt a pussy this tight before.” You moan as he guides his lips to your own. “Normally, I don’t ask but I know you’ve been through a lot tonight. Can I fuck you?”

“I…I don’t want you to ask. That’s what the word is for right?”

“Yeah, baby. That’s right.”

“Then take me, Eddie. Please…I need you to.”

“Fuck me.”, he groans as his lips crash to yours. 

He removes his fingers, gripping your waist to adjust your body so your back was facing him. You felt his palm dig into your shoulder as his other hand brought your hips into his own, guiding his length into your cunt. 

Eddie wrapped his arms around your tummy as he delivered several hard thrusts that pushed you forward into the cold tile. Your hands shot out to hold yourself steady as he pressed his chest flush to you back.

“Yeah? Fuck, princess, you feel so good. You like the way my cock feels?” You whimpered as your head fell against his shoulder. “Answer me, pretty girl. Tell me how much you love my dick inside of you, stretching you open.”

“I do—mmm—Eddie. Oh my god. I love the way you feel. Please—mmm—please make me cum.”

Eddie pumped his hips faster as the sound of skin slapping skin filled the bathroom. The coil that had quickly began to wind snapped as you moaned his name repeatedly. 

“Good girl. So fucking sexy when you cum. I like the way your body trembles. Fuck. Get-Get down on your knees, baby.”

He pulls out of you and you do as your told, his palm falling to the back of your head as your wrap your lips around his cock. “F-fuck. Don’t fucking move.” Curling his fingers tightly in your hair, he thrusts his hips roughly, forcing himself down your throat. As he begins to sputter, he holds you still and you feel his warm spend fill your mouth. 

“Good girl. Swallow my cum.”

After you do what he asks, he grabs your forearm helping you to your feet as he smiles. “Do you feel clean or do you want me to do another once over?”

“No, I’m ok. I’m really exhausted.”

“I can imagine.”, he chuckles as he turns off the water and steps out of the tub onto the mat. “Here. Go ahead and dry off. I’m going to go find you some clothes.”

When he doesn’t come back after you’re dry, you go looking for him, finding him in Steve’s room; the boy himself completely passed out. 

“Hey, sorry. He actually threw your clothes in the washer so I moved them to the dryer. I’m trying to find something here but kid is too fucking thin. Some of these shirts would barely fit me as a fucking crop top.”

While Eddie spoke, you had tiptoed over to Steve’s bed. Even though he was asleep, he still had a pained expression on his face. You reached out to delicately move some hair to the side and he lightly sighed as he adjusted his head to face the other way. 

The metalhead watched you with fascination as you took off the towel that wrapped around you, tossing it to the floor, and climbed into the bed beside his friend. Your hand traced his back over his shirt and again he sighed but the disgruntled look on his face softened. 

You smiled when you felt Eddie climb in behind you. For some reason, just laying between them like this made you feel comfortable; safe. His arm slide under your pillow and after a while you heard his steady breathing as he fell asleep. 

#############

The feeling of thumb caressing your lips, made your eyes flutter open and were met with the beautiful, amber ones across from you.

“Hey. Are you okay?”, you whisper. Steve nods as he lazily rolls fully onto his side facing you. “By the time I got here you were pretty wasted. Do you remember anything?”

“I remember you being nosey and Carol being a bitch. I remember kicking everyone out and you being sad. Before I fell asleep, I think I heard moaning in my shower but…” He grinned as you blushed. “You smell like me.”

“That’s good. At least I don’t smell like beer anymore.”

“It’s not fair though. You smell like me but not BECAUSE of me.” Steve’s soft palm glided down your back, over your ass to the back of your thigh, lifting it to place your leg over his waist. His hard cock pressed against the outside of your puffy lips making you moan. “I did like waking up to you naked beside me. It took all of my energy not to just take what I wanted while you slept.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He slowly grinded his waist, dragging his length between your folds causing you both to let out a needy whine. 

“Because I like hearing you whimper when I first slide my cock into your tight pussy. Like you can’t take me but you know you need me. Do you need me, honey?”

Your hands reach out to cling to the back of his neck as you place your forehead on his. “Yes, Steve. Please…fuck. I need you so bad.”

“Where, baby? Tell me where you need me.”

“I-I-I…” You stumble over your words, already feeling so overwhelmed by him.

A low, growl rumbles from his chest as his palm comes up to wrap around your throat. “You take too long to answer simple questions.”

“I’m sorry. I just—”

“I don’t care. Tell me…what you need.”

You swear you hear Eddie’s breathing pick up behind you but as you try to turn your head to look Steve grips your jaw forcing your eyes to remain on his. 

“Jesus! And so easily distracted. Did she give you this much trouble last night?”

“No. She told me she needed me and swallowed my cum like a good girl.”, Eddie responds through heavy pants. 

Aggressively, you press your lips to his, relishing in the taste that you missed for almost three days. These men were almost like a drug to you and when Steve pulled away you saw it in his eyes to. 

“Please, Steve. I missed you and how you feel inside me. I need you to make me cum.”

The man gripped your hips as he rolled you onto your back, lifting your other leg to wrap around him. As his mouth traveled down your neck, you were finally able to look at Eddie who was stroking his dick under the blanket as he watched you both. 

Your hand reached out to tug down the sheet making him chuckle. “Do you want to see me play with myself, pretty girl?”

When you nod, Eddie tosses the blanket down to the end of the bed not only exposing himself but Steve between your legs. Your hand reaches out to help him but he promptly stops you, placing your palm against his friend’s back.

“Naw, sweetheart. I had you. It’s his turn.”

With that, the boy slid his cock into your entrance, both men watching your face as it scrunched in pleasure. Steve thrust into you roughly, hitting that spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling back. 

You licked your lips as you watched the metalhead, his moans making your pussy clench. 

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, no.”, Steve whined as his head fell into the nook between your neck and shoulder. Your arms wrapped tightly around him as his rhythm faltered and you felt his seed warm your insides.

“It’s…it’s ok. It’s alright, Steve.”, you cooed as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“Alcohol isn’t always a man’s best friend.”, Eddie breathily laughs as his own rhythm slows. 

Steve’s head shot up, quickly pulling himself out of you before climbing down your body and placing your legs over his shoulders. You cried out as his mouth wrapped around your clit and he rapidly pushed two fingers into your dripping hole. 

“Oh-oh my god.” You palm floated down, holding tightly to the back of his head. 

Eddie’s shoulder brushed your own as he scooted closer to you, his lips warming your ear. “You did say you needed to cum and if I know Harrington he would never leave a girl he likes unsatisfied.”

Your other hand tried to reach for his cock again but he hastily slapped the back of it before reaching over to slap one of your breasts. “I said no. You’re his right now. Who do you belong to right now?”

“S-Steve.”

Eddie smacked your tit again eliciting a soft moan. “Louder so I know you understand.”

“I belong to Steve! Fuck…” In response to your cries, Steve’s tongue flicked faster against you as his head shook from side to side. “Yes…just like that. I’m gonna…”

You felt the metalheads arm beside you move at a quicker pace as his breathing became more labored. Back arching, your hips grinded against the man’s fingers and tongue as you came. 

Gradually bringing your quivering legs back down to the bed, Steve placed delicate kisses on your nub making you twitch.

Eddie’s body curled inward as he came, his release shooting out and hitting his thigh. 

Usually, they were both quick to clean and take care of you, but you were surprised when Steve laid his head on your lower belly, wrapping his arm around you after bringing your bent knee to lean against his back. Eddie’s head leaned on your shoulder as his hand reached down to intertwine his fingers with your own. You weren’t sure how to react so you just did what felt right choosing to continue to play with Steve’s hair as you pressed your cheek on top of Eddie’s head. 

You don’t know how long you three laid like that but the sound of a phone ringing pushed you out of the pleasurable moment. Steve groaned as he rolled over to answer it. 

“Hello? Harrington house…yeah. Hey, dad.”

“This may take a while. Come on, princess.” Eddie yanked on your hand, guiding you back to the bathroom where he reached for a rag and cleaned you both. “Ok, stay here. I’m going to go grab your clothes.”

He reappeared quickly, beaming as he handed you your outfit. “Now you’ll smell like Harrington and rich people detergent.” You giggled as you thanked him and he disappeared again to throw on his own ensemble. 

As you descended his stairs, your breath caught at how much trash there was everywhere from his party last night. You wondered into his kitchen, finding the trash bags, and began grabbing cups and plates along the way. 

“What are you doing?”

Steve’s voice startled you, your eyes darting towards where he was watching you. “Oh, you scared me. I’m helping you clean. I don’t want your parents to get mad at you.”

“They won’t be home till Wednesday.” His eyes scanned you over, always trying to get a read on you. 

“They leave you by yourself that long?” That genuinely made you sad for him. His folks seemed to be the exact opposite of yours. Where yours at times could be pretty strict and micromanaging, his didn’t seem to care at all. Or didn’t care about their son the way they should judging by the letter you found. 

“Aw. I love it. A girl with a heart.” Eddie grins as he noisily comes down to where you both are. “Unfortunately, babe, I was threatened to have you home by noon. It is currently… a little after eleven and I don’t know how far you live.”

“I’m maybe about 8 miles that way.”, you gesture somewhere behind you. “I, um, I do need you to drop me off a few houses down. I’m sorry. It’s just if they see me hop out of a van…well any car that isn’t Masie’s they will have questions.”

The metalhead nods as he reaches for his jacket and digs for his keys. “Do you mind looping back around, Munson, to drop me back off here?”

“Not a problem, man.”

“Oh Steve, you don’t have to come.”

“Do you not want me to?”, his asks with a forceful tone. 

“Of course, I do… I don’t want to be burden.”

“Interesting.” Eddie muses as Steve grabs his jacket and you three head out the door. “Harrington thinks everyone has a motive. You think you’re a burden. Once we figure out my damage is we’ll win ‘fucked up people’ bingo.”

#################

“Yeah, I’m just right there. Thank you for taking me home.”

“My pleasure.”, Eddie grins. 

“Are you going to be okay?” You both turn to look at Steve who was now leaning forward between the two front seats. “I said I remembered Carol being bitch but Tommy was the one who poured that pitcher all over you, right?”

You nodded before down casting your gaze towards the floor. “It’s not the first time. Freshman year he spilled milk on my dress in the lunch line. In middle school, we all had that field trip to the theater and he pretended to trip, pouring soda down my back. You know, looking back on it, I’m starting to think Tommy Hagan doesn’t know how to drink a beverage.”

They both laugh, making you smile. You’d never seen Steve honestly grin with his teeth before. You reach out with your palm and bring his lips to yours before doing the same with Eddie. 

“I’ll be ok. I’m always okay.” As soon as you jump out of the van, Steve climbs into your seat. You start to head for your house but a thought suddenly hits you. “Oh! Um, I almost forgot. Do either of you have a pen?”

They look around before the metalhead make a tiny aha sound, reaching over to hand you a marker. You giggle as you take it from him, grabbing the boy’s hand and writing something on it. “That’s my line. My parents have their own…for business.” You roll your eyes as you wave and they watch you jog towards your house. 

Eddie smiles as he shows Steve his palm with your phone number scrolled across. 

#############

@manda-panda-monium @sherrylyn628 @local-stoner-bitch

@katethetank @danandphilequalsmemes @luna-munson83

@sidthedollface2 @mandyjo8719

[tieronecrush]

꒰ა ONLY ANGEL ໒꒱

javier peña x f!reader

chapter four: i can see you

series masterlist

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

summary: After his return to the US, Javier is trying to settle back into a normal life without the pressures of Colombia and the DEA, but he finds himself feeling isolated with no one to spend his nights with. Now a newly appointed criminology professor at Texas A&M, he is drawn to you, a post-grad student in one of his classes. You’re intelligent and witty, sweet and kind, and he can’t get you out of his mind. To cope with his growing loneliness and to rid himself of thoughts of you, he signs up for an “arrangement service” to connect him with somebody—a sugar baby—he can care for. After he is matched up with Angel, he finds himself developing feelings quicker than he ever expected, but what happens when he finds out Angel is really you?

series warnings: power imbalance (prof and student), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, discussion of money, criminal activity, judicial systems, graduate school, smut, daddy/papí kink, praise kink, degradation, self deprecation, discussion of self worth, multiple sexual or romantic partners, sex work, cursing, use of spanish, likely more warning so read at your own risk!

word count: 9.6k

a/n: this chapter is A LOTTTT of filth and as always thank you to bestie @northernbluess for beta-ing <333 love ya!

It’s the first class after Javi had you on your knees in front of him, the rest of the weekend was spent circling back to that image and having to take a cold shower or adjust himself in his jeans when he met up with some old friends from his days as a sheriff. The other thoughts that alternated from the image of you on your knees, soft and supple lips around his cock, was his view from between your legs, pleasure contorting your face and pulling you to a place where you fully let him give your body the treatment it deserves. There’s a phantom feeling of your come all over his face, the visual of you squirting for him bringing him to the edge when he spent Sunday night with his hand around his cock.

What would you feel like, writhing underneath him and making all those sweet little sounds he’s been replaying over and over in his head, while he gives you his cock over and over until you’re screaming?

You were now a craving that couldn’t be satiated; even if he had your mouth again, even if he got another taste of you, even if he got the chance to fuck you properly, it wouldn’t ever be enough. He’s always going to want one more orgasm, one more little moan of his name, one more time spilling into you and watching you take it wherever.

This is why he is buzzing as he walks through the halls to the lecture room, stalking up to the door and peeking through the small window. A glimpse of the back of your head sends a hot rush of his blood south, rolling out his shoulders and taking a breath to calm down. He languidly makes his way down the stairs at the end of the rows of seating, slowing his pace even more when he starts to reach the row you’re occupying. The sound of your voice rises above all the other students in his ears, and he bites back a smile as he’s reminded of the short phone call from the evening prior.

“Will you draw something else for me, bebita?”

“I can but that means I won’t be paying too much attention in class, Professor Peña.”

“Eh, doesn’t matter so much. Can just fill you in when I see you next. Call it private tutoring…” He grinned when he heard you laugh on the other side of the line, feeling like a schoolboy crushing hard. Javi was sitting on his couch, laying back and listening to you, trying to ask questions that gave long-winded answers so he could listen to your voice. “D’you have any other hobbies, bebita?”

“Hm, I mean, I guess so. Haven’t had a lot of time to do much these days cause of school. But I’ll sound like a grandma if I tell you about all those so let’s leave it at I like to doodle in your class.”

“No, no, I wanna hear about it all. What else is there besides drawing?”

“Well, um, I like embroidery. Like those pieces of fabric in the ring with designs on them? Those are fun to make when I’m watching TV or a film. Helps me focus, I guess. Actually, a lot of my hobbies are just things that help me focus so maybe I have a bit of an attention problem—”

“Don’t seem to have an issue paying attention to me, cariño.”

“Yeah, but you’re a distraction in and of yourself. I can barely pay attention to anything you’re saying during lecture cause I’m just looking at you, which is why I had to start doodling to have something to help me focus.”

“I see. Alright, so drawing and embroidery, anything else you like to do?”

“I guess anything I can make really. I find new mediums that look fun to do, buy all the supplies, and do it once, and then don’t touch it again.” You laughed again and Javi smiled and shook his head.

“Well, how about you make me something from all those different things? I want some Angel originals, hermosa. Show off how much I like art.”

“Javi, you’ve got no clue about anything to do with art.”

“Yeah, but I would know they’re yours. That would make them the best.”

It was silent for a moment, Javi awaited your answer to his loosely termed commission.

“Alright, deal.”

When he comes back into the lecture hall from his trailing thoughts, the student next to you is speaking, trying and failing to keep her voice at a low enough volume for Javier not to hear her.

“I heard that Professor Peña used to not be the most ethical when he was in the DEA…like slept with prostitutes to get information. Can’t even imagine the shit he must’ve caught there,” she says as if it’s the juiciest information she’s been told, likely wanting someone else besides you to overhear and question it.

You scoff at the girl sitting near you, rolling your eyes before your brow creases slightly in disapproval, “Y’know, you really shouldn’t be making assumptions about people based on campus rumors. And even if he did do that, he clearly did something right cause he stopped all of those criminals, and probably helped the women too. A lot of people talk to be able to get other opportunities.”

Anger flashes in your chest, burning red like heated iron to brand your heart with Javi’s likeness.

No, no feelings. Nothing more than what you have going on with him, no getting any more attached and making it messy.

But how can people just say shit like that? Without any care that the person they’re talking about is in the room, likely overhearing everything?

Javier doesn’t deserve the treatment. He’s so caring, and intelligent, and giving, and—No. No more.

You’re drifting back and forth between frustrations and telling yourself to calm down for the rest of class, and it’s clear on your face to Javier. He overheard everything, especially your quick defense of him. He knows the extra meaning behind your words, or at least hopes that there’s something else there — maybe a bit of his infatuation or school-age crush reciprocated. Eyes stay glancing over at you throughout his lecture and discussion, no comments or questions from you as you hurriedly take notes or scribble out something in the margins of your paper.

Fingers twitch at the sight of your tense shoulders, creased brow, and avoidant eyes. He so badly wants to walk right over, kiss you to release all of the pent-up frustration, and thank you for your defense. What he would give to be able to sit right next to you, huddle together in your own world like in the booth at the bar over the weekend.

He doesn’t get to catch you before you jump up at the end of class that day, quickly leaving after getting dirty looks from your seatmate. Javier is tempted to call the other student down to speak to him, but that feels a step too far, so he quells down the need to protect you and moves on for the day.

It isn’t until the second meeting of the week that he finally gets to see you again, his calls going to voicemail for the two nights following that day. He’s in the hallway, speaking with another professor within the department when you come down the corridor, a sweet autumnal plaid mini dress on with a cardigan over it. He licks his lips at the sight of your thighs covered with translucent black tights that tuck under the ankle of your Dr. Marten boots.

The other man’s voice slowly fades out as Javier focuses on you, attempting and failing to steal his gaze away as you walk past him. Eyes lock with a teasing knowing behind yours, the corners of your lips twitching up as you laugh to yourself that he looks like a dog to a bone.

“Hi, Professor Peña and it’s nice to see you again, Professor Quinn,” you slow down on the other side of the two men, Professor Quinn returning your smile and waving you over for a conversation.

“So lovely to see you again! Lizzy has been asking about you, she misses her favorite babysitter. How have you been? Are you in one of Professor Peña’s classes?” Professor Quinn looks between the two of you, friendly small talk coated with tension that only you and Javier can feel. The secret you share licks flames in your gut, stirring an excitement that you know so much more about him than other students, than his coworkers, than most people. That excitement has anxiety constricting in your chest briefly, afraid of what might happen if you allowed yourself to feel any claim over Javi.

Don’t get so attached. It’s work, a job, and there are other men on your schedule. No one else is like Javi, but canceling on anyone else to spend more time with him is too close to blurring the lines.

Javier looks at you, his heart in his throat as he is the recipient of one of those smiles from you, the one that had him crushing from the first sight of it and the same one he can’t get out of his head when you’re apart. Before Professor Quinn feels the need to repeat his question, Javier clears his throat and nods curtly.

“Yeah, my first graduate-level course. Got to get to the lecture in about five minutes actually.” Javier steps to leave but you hold up a hand.

“Oh, sorry, Professor Peña, but do you mind waiting one moment? I’d like to talk to you about the upcoming assignment on the way to the lecture hall.” Javi has a burning need to say he’ll talk to you after class, to cover any suspicions of his colleague from the prolonged eye contact between the two of you, but he can never deny those eyes of yours — and you seem to know that fact already.

He waits to the side while you quickly finish your conversation with Professor Quinn, who taught you during your undergraduate years and whose daughter you babysat for date nights during the school year and nannied over the summers you stayed in San Antonio.

There’s a flash of jealousy in Javier’s chest, no logic behind it, but he can’t help but feel like he wants to be the only one to know you as a student and outside of class. It’s silly, especially because this relationship is completely innocent, but he can’t stop the feeling from rushing over like a wave.

With a smile, one that he convinces himself isn’t quite like the ones you give him, you say goodbye to your former instructor and turn to Javier. Closing the gap to catch up with him, you start to walk side by side, appropriately inches apart despite the surge of wanting that trails down your left side and his right.

“So what did you want to talk to me about? The upcoming assignment? Is it the midterm research paper?” Javier maintains his professionalism, only glancing at you a few times while his mouth waters at the sight of exposed skin at your collarbone and the scent of your sweet perfume.

“Actually, I kind of just said that…” your voice goes to a lower volume, but still audible to him, “I was hoping that you’d maybe have some appointments left for your office hours? Maybe for a little tutoring session? I have my Spanish midterm coming up soon.”

Javi bites back his smirk, shaking his head to himself at your coded questions. Slowing to a stop in front of the door to the classroom, he turns to you, his boots clicking on the linoleum tiles as he rests a hand on his hip to consider.

“You can have the last one for today,” his voice drops to a low, hushed rasp as you lean in ever so slightly to hear him better, “Y’know, been missin’ you these last few days, bebita. Better have a good excuse.”

He punctuates the statement with a wink and a smirk, a teasing lilt obvious in his voice. A strong hand engulfs the door handle before you can reach for it, opening it and nodding for you to step in ahead of him.

“Ladies first,” he reminds, licking his lips as you look up at him with a quick, whispered reply.

“Think you know I’m not always a lady, Javier.”

He can’t stop watching you the whole class. He knows it’s an issue, that surely it’s obvious at points of the entire hour-and-a-half lecture. He knows that you notice his stare, quick flicks of eye contact, and subtle winks sent his way as the corners of your lips curl up in a smirk.

All he can think about is getting you alone — finally alone again — and teaching you a thing or two, like you requested, of course.

When he glances at you next, you’re staring down at your notebook, oblivious to his attention; the end of your pen is tapping against your bottom lip, your brows knitting together in what looks like confusion while reviewing your written notes. Javier watches as you slip the end of your pen between your lips, licking his own while he sees them pillow against the plastic utensil. The gloss swiped across them shines in the fluorescent lights, and with a flash of the image of your lips around him a couple of weekends ago, his trousers tighten and his mouth dries out.

You look up from your desk to meet his gaze, sharing a knowing smile before he stutters out the next point of his lecture. Clearing his throat, he shakes his head to himself and peels his eyes away from you, keeping them away for the rest of the session to attempt to calm down before he has to walk out in front of all the students with a bulge in his tight trousers.

At the end of class, he announces that he’ll be rescheduling his office hours to this afternoon, to start shortly after he releases everyone for the session. You quickly catch his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up with a subtle smirk and a quick wink while the rest of the students pack up their things. Some linger to ask quick questions, but you’re out the door before he can grab your attention again, his eager stance deflating. He wanted you to stay, to talk to you before sitting through all his other office hour appointments before he’s able to see you.

It’s about an hour of talking through fifteen-minute appointments with other students, both graduate and undergraduate, about their upcoming midterm assignments or exams for his courses. He can’t help but roll his eyes each time these students ask for extra credit or make-up notes for the classes that they have missed — most of these kids haven’t bothered to show up since syllabus week. The clock to the left of the door ticks away, and he sweeps up the conversation with the sophomore sitting across his desk once fifteen minutes exactly hit, ushering him out the door and promising another meeting before the midterm, but that he has another appointment to get to.

Taking a breath once the student is heading down the hallway, he combs his eyes around the area outside of his office, his attention being pulled to quick footsteps down the corridor. His eyes take in Dr. Martens, slightly beat up and well-worn, black sheer tights snaking up your legs to the mid-thigh hem of your skirt. Trailing up your dress to the exposed skin at your collarbone, Javi licks his lips.

“Sorry, I’m a little late, Professor Peña. Rushed over here when I realized what time it was sitting in the library,” you apologize, a soft smile on your face holding back the playful glint in your eyes.

“No problem, the last student ran a bit over his appointment time. Please, c’mon in.” Javier gestures for you to walk ahead of him into the open door of his office, watching you glance around the space as he shuts the door behind him. At the click of the handle into place, Javi strides over to you and grabs at your hips, leaning down to catch your lips in a heated and rushed kiss.

His larger frame looms over you, your hands finding his shoulders as your body relaxes into his grip. Javi guides you backward to his desk and around it, pressing you up against the edge of the wood.

“Fuck, bebita, jus’ couldn’t take my eyes off of you the whole fucking day. Look so sweet in your dress. Wanted to rip it off you and take you right there. Let everyone know whose girl you are,” he rasps against your lips, dragging his own along your jaw and working a love bite underneath your ear. A whimper pulls from your throat, leaning your head back for easier access as you squeeze your thighs together.

“Bet you’d like that, huh?” The smirk in his voice is evident, cockiness coating his words as he asks the rhetorical question. “Mi zorrita (My little slut) wants everyone to know who makes her feel so good, doesn’t she?”

“Y-Yes, I want everyone to know that it’s you…” you sigh out when Javier’s lips suck at your collarbone, hunched over you while his bulge presses into your thigh.

“You’d do that if I asked, like a good girl. But you’re all mine, bebita. Don’t want anyone else having you like I do.”

Guilt burns in your chest when he says that; you know he isn’t seeing anyone else, he’s said as much. You’ve dodged the question, avoiding the confrontation of telling him he’s one of a few because then you’d have to explain how he isn’t one of the few — how something with him is different, deeper, makes you long for him when he’s away.

And confessing all of that makes your stomach turn.

Instead of responding with words, your hand curls into his hair, the other resting against his chest and pulling him back up to your face. Kissing him hurriedly, you take the moment of distraction to push him back and down into his desk chair. You fold over him, keeping your lips attached to his and sighing when you feel a rumble of a moan from him when your hand at his chest drops down to palm him through his pants.

“Y’know, you asked for a Spanish lesson, bebita. D’you still want to learn something?” Javier asks, his head pulled back to rest against the seat back. You give him a ‘yes’, kneeling in front of his seat and scraping your nails against his strong thighs.

“Eres mío? Eres mi buena chica? Qué vas a hacer por mí? (Are you mine? Are you my good girl? What are you gonna do for me?)” Javier brushes his fingers against your cheek as he looks down at you. You take a beat to translate his questions in your head, a smirk growing on your face while you unbuckle his belt and undo his button and zipper on his trousers.

“Te voy a hacer sentir bien. (I’m going to make you feel good).” Javier grins down at you when you answer, sighing in relief when you pull his dick out from his boxers. His hand is still at your face, eyes darkening when you look at him.

“Una chica tan lista. My smart girl,” he exhales the last syllable when you swipe your tongue up the underside of his cock, his fingers running against your hair and moving to the back of your head. “Ahora chupa, mi zorrita. (Now suck, my little slut.) Show me what you can do.”

Following his instructions, you take Javi into your mouth, teasing the head of his cock with your tongue. Your hand wraps around the base of him, slowly stroking as you feed more of him into your mouth, all the way until he hits the back of your throat.

Exhaling out of your nose, you take a moment before starting to bob your head in time with your hand. The sounds coming from Javi sitting over you are delicious, the actions and the noises making your saliva drip from the corners of your lips and down his shaft, squelching with the motions of your hand. The hand of his at the back of your head starts to guide you, pushing you down an inch further to press the tip of him into your throat.

“Fuck, bebita, taking my cock so fucking well. Such a good girl for me, my dirty girl.” You hum in acknowledgment and squeeze your thighs together, readying yourself to deepthroat him when there’s a sharp knock on his office door. Javi’s hand holds your head still, looking down at you and whispering expletives as he glances around the room. The knob starts to turn when he calls out, “One sec!”

You pull off of him and open your mouth to whisper, but Javi shakes his head and holds his index finger up to his lips.

“Quiet, baby. There’s nowhere else for you to go, jus’ get under the desk and I’ll get rid of whoever it is quick, okay?”

You nod and crawl into the alcove of his desk, sitting on your knees with your back to the panel that hides you from the rest of the room. Javier wheels his desk chair closer to the desk, his legs on either side of you trapping you in. Eye-level with his still aching cock, your mouth waters, and breath hitches when the door finally opens and a voice comes booming in.

“Javier! Agent Peña! Big Man on Campus! How the heck are ya?” Dean Banks greets Javi with a laugh, striding into his office confidently. He rolls his eyes at the Dean, clearing his throat and scooting one leg closer to you under the desk.

“Dean Banks, nice to see you. I’m fine, how are you?” The polite conversation sparks an idea in your head to distract Javier, licking your lip and leaning in closer. You blow a warm breath over his cock, watching it twitch with the sensation and making Javier’s leg jolt.

“I’m doing great — we’ve gotten some glowing midterm reviews for your courses so I thought I would stop by to give you the good news! And to check in and see how you’re doing with the first full semester you’ve had here so far.” Dean Banks wanders around his office, staying in front of the desk as he pokes at all the books on the shelves lining the walls. “Haven’t gotten mixed up into, uh, those extraneous circumstances we discussed have you?”

Javier opens his mouth to answer at the same time you take him back between your lips, plunging your head down to take half of him in one quick go. The words catch in his throat and he quickly clears it to cover up the noise.

“No, absolutely not, sir. Been focused on, uh, teaching and setting all of my students up for—success. I was just finishing up with my office hours before you walked in.” Javier’s hand searches for you under the desk to pull you away, but you grip both of his hands in your position of power, holding them down as you continue to suck his dick hidden away from view.

“Hm, didn’t see any students walking out in the hallway or out of your office. Must have missed them.” Dean Banks turns his back to Javier and he glances down at his lap to look at you with a glare, mouthing ‘Knock it off’.

In an act of defiance, you take full advantage of the dynamic to make eye contact with him before taking his cock in its entirety down your throat. You gag around it and Javier coughs and groans out of a sudden reaction. The Dean turns around quickly, a puzzled look on his face.

“Y’alright there, Peña?”

Javier nods quickly, wiping the subtle sweat built up by nerves on his forehead and takes a deep breath while you continually take him deep in your throat and move your head up and down his length.

“Yeah, yeah. Just got a, uh, a….headache.”

The Dean nods and claps his hands together, walking toward the door, “Well I won’t keep you for any longer then, better get home and get some rest. Glad to hear there are no issues with your new course. Chat soon, Big Man.”

Javier rolls his eyes again at the Dean’s back when he exits and pulls the door closed behind him. It’s another beat before the coast is clear enough and Javier wheels his chair back, you walking on your knees to keep him in your mouth. His chest is breathing deep, looking up at him through your lashes. Unimpressed anger is painted across his face, a stern shake of his head before his voice comes out low and intimidating, making your thighs squeeze together to feel your panties cling to your wetness.

“Thought that was funny, bebita? Doing that while we had company? Pequeña mocosa. (Little brat.)” Javier ticks his tongue in his mouth and pulls you off of his cock, strings of spit connecting you to his still-aching cock. “Y’know, I should just bend you right over this desk and fuck you full of me, so you have to walk around all day with me dripping out of you. How’s that sound for payback, huh?”

Your mind is reeling with the thought of him fucking you against his desk, a whimper sounding in your throat and your thighs rubbing together for any bit of relief. A hand of yours moves to go between your legs, desperate to touch yourself, but Javier quickly grabs it, hooking your other hand with his larger one and bringing them both above your head.

“Oh, but mi zorrita would like that though, wouldn’t she? Not much of a punishment. Guess I’ll just have to fuck your mouth and come down your throat then.”

He stands from his chair and kicks it away behind him, tugging you closer and to sit taller by your hands above your head. The unoccupied hand grips his cock at the base, positioning himself in front of your face, tapping the head of his cock against your plush bottom lip.

“Open, angel. If you’re gonna be a brat, una mocosa, m’gonna fuck you like one.”

No more protests are had from you, opening your mouth as wide as possible and humming around Javi when he slips into your mouth. He sighs, tilting his head back toward the ceiling with a quiet moan. After a second of being still, halfway filling your mouth, he looks down at you again and starts to thrust his hips — slowly and shallow at first before his patience snaps and he moves quicker and deeper.

His cock hits the back of your throat each time, a bruising pace making your core throb with a burning desire, imagining the same feeling but inside of your pussy. You moan around him, choking when he gets the deepest you’ve had him ever, gagging harshly and swallowing around him to attempt to recover.

Javier is blinded with pleasure, soft begs of your name repeatedly falling from his lips before he gives you another hard fuck to your throat, one last gag before he’s pulling back and spilling ropes of his come onto your tongue. He pulls out, the last few painted across your lips as he looks down at you, breathless while his chest heaves and drops your hands from his grip.

“Fuck, bebita, such a little fucking slut taking me like that.”

In the midst of your own recovery, you stick your tongue out to show him before swallowing his spend, coughing quietly. Javier quickly grabs a few tissues and sits in his desk chair, gingerly wiping off the evidence of his punishment from your face. It’s silent between you two while you watch him focus on the task, reaching a hand up to wrap your fingers around his wrist.

“M’sorry if I was too rough, angel. Caught a bit too caught up there…” he avoids your eyes, tossing aside the Kleenex and tucking himself back into his trousers.

“I liked it,” you confess, standing up from your knees and straddling his lap in his chair as you sit down. “Liked it a lot, actually. I wanna be that for you, like an escape. Turn your brain off, 'cause we both know you overthink everything.”

You run your fingers through his hair and he chuckles, nodding before he kisses you sweetly.

“Thank you, bebita. Such a good girl for me. So sweet,” he muses, giving you another kiss, “Now how about we actually learn some Spanish for your exam?”

The next week is spent either on the phone with Javi in the evenings, when you’ve returned home from any other dates scheduled, or out with him, finding hole-in-the-wall bars and restaurants to avoid any eyes from around campus. Each time you see his name on your caller ID, or see his truck pull up outside of your apartment complex to pick you up, your heart starts with a quickened pulse, dopamine firing in your brain and giving you that stuck in lov—

No feelings. You remind yourself each time you get that serotonin increase, simply excusing it as you enjoy your time with him and the pleasure he eagerly gives you whenever you give to him.

It’s hard not to allow yourself to feel around him; Javi makes it so easy to indulge. Little moments like him calling the mechanic and getting the cost of your repairs brought down, driving you over to pick it up and paying for it himself to make sure they didn’t haggle anymore; ordering your favorite drink if he arrived at a bar or restaurant before you, or getting you something new that he thought you would enjoy; a hand on your back or waist or encompassing your own, guiding you without overpowering. Small gifts given; new books purchased when you’ve browsed bookstores he’s found for you, new favorite dresses or lingerie filling your closet that Javier claimed were as much gifts for himself as they were for you.

His care was ever present, not overwhelming until it came to the point that you thought about him and how much he was there, integrated into your life and habits and moments of joy.

Absolutely terrifying. But you couldn’t stop.

And he was feeling like he couldn’t stop either.

He didn’t know if he was overdoing it all with you, new to this sort of arrangement and its usual boundaries, but he hoped that the fact that you kept laughing and smiling, initiating kisses or more with him, that you were enjoying yourself as much as he was.

There were tiny snapshots where he caught himself thinking about, feeling more for you. When you sneak into his office on the days you have other classes, steal minutes with him before you have to go across campus or he has to go teach or to a department meeting. To-go cups of black coffee on your handful of morning dates at the weekend, a reminder that you made observations about him just as he was you. When you stood up for him, defended him when the other student was spreading rumors. Sure, they were true, and he’d told you as much, but to hear your subtle protectiveness was warming his long cold heart. 

He hadn’t felt like this before, and he never thought he would have the chance. Colombia had jaded him, hardened him to stone, but you were slowly chiseling away to reveal his moldable core, reshaping him into a person he knew before and at the same time, a person who was only becoming familiar these days.

Could this be love? If he didn’t know how you felt or where you stood? He never thought he was in love before, and this confirms those thoughts. Never has he felt like this, never has he been so clumsy and boyish in his relationship at times.

It’s a Thursday evening, and his classes for tomorrow are scheduled to have a break to give them more time to study for midterms. Fiddling with his phone in his hands, he wonders what you might be up to, going back and forth over whether or not to call.

Before he can think anymore, he’s finding your contact, brought straight to the top of the list when he changed the name to ‘Bebita’, and hits the green phone button.

The line rings a few times, cutting out with an answer and a rustle over the microphone before he hears your voice.

“Hi, Javi.” He can hear you sigh, sensing an edge of stress or impatience in your tone.

“Hey, bebita. You busy tonight? I wanna see you.”

“Oh, Javi, I don’t know if I can make tonight work. I’m using this weekend to study for all my midterms and to finish writing all my essays due next week and…I don’t really have time, m’really sorry,” you sound timid, exhausted and it makes him on edge, his brain immediately centering on how he can make you feel better.

“Do you need help with anything, cariño? Can I do anything?” He sits up on the couch, standing in the next moment to pace near his boots and his keys laid out on the counter, ready to pounce when you say the word.

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know…I feel like I can’t even think about making my dinner right now. I’m sorry.”

The coating of your voice and the sniffle through the phone are unmistakable; you’re on the verge of tears attempting to think of what he can do, the avalanche of stress you’re feeling. A crack sharpens across his heart, hands craving to hold you close and to fix it all for you.

“Oh, bebita, dulzura, you don’t have to apologize to me. I wanna spend time with you, help you. Don’t need to be going out or doing anything else than just sittin’ with you,” he nests his phone between his shoulder and ear while he slips his boots on, “Do you mind if I come by? If it stresses you out, you can tell me to leave but if I’m there maybe I can find something to help with.”

It’s quiet on the line while you consider, another sniffle nearly sending him out the door without your actual answer.

“Okay, yeah. You can come over. But I look like a mess and my apartment looks like a tornado went through it and I might cry in front of you.”

Javier chuckles and shakes his head while he grabs his phone with his hand to keep it against his ear. His free hand grabs for his keys, plucking his jacket off the coat rack and already walking out the door.

“Don’t worry about any of that, bebita. M’here to help you, I wanna take care of you,” he hears a hum of acknowledgment from you, “I’ll be there in like half an hour, alright? Gotta make a couple stops while I’m out and then I’ll be there for you, okay?”

“Okay…” you say quietly, “Thank you, Javi.”

“I’ll see you in a bit, angel.”

Exactly thirty minutes later, a knock raps on your front door, strong and short. Glancing up at the entrance, you see the lock turned and call out loud enough to be heard in the hallway.

“It’s open!”

The door unlatches and swings open, the rustle of bags hitting your ears before the sight of Javi hits your eyes. He juggles the thin plastic handles of the grocery haul in his hands, shaking his head as he pushes the door closed behind him with his boot-clad foot.

“Don’t like that you're keeping your door unlocked, bebita. S’not safe, what if I wasn’t me?” The strict, skeptical agent shows through — paranoia in his eyes while he sets down the bags on your counter, walking back over to lock the door and shrug off his black leather jacket. Underneath his outerwear, the black short-sleeve button-up clings to his torso and stretches at his shoulders. It’s tucked into his usual jeans with his belt on display, and one look exchanged with him reminds him to kick off his shoes — baby blue socks with small figures of different types of dogs patterning the surfaces of them.

“Hello to you, Javier,” you chuckle and turn back to your books, continuing to read over the chapter summary you were engrossed with before his entrance.

His sock-covered feet pad softly over to you at your dining table, taking in the sight of you before he stands behind you, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

“Hi, bebita.” He smiles when you lay your head back to look up at him behind you, grinning and giggling when he leans over again to kiss you. “Missed you.”

“I’m just giving you shit.” A laugh leaves your mouth in quiet breaths when he rolls his eyes, steps back to your kitchen counter and starts to unpack everything. You pull yourself away from the table to follow him over, shaking your head at all of the snacks, drinks, and extra pens and notecards spilling out of the bags. “Gosh, Javi. How much stuff did you get?”

He glanced at you sheepishly, shrugging, “Didn’t know what you might want, so kind of got everything I thought you’d like.”

One hand lands on his bicep closest to you, turning his attention to you for you to lean up and kiss him sweetly. You can feel your heart in your throat at the expanse of his thoughtfulness, truly wanting to come over to help without any other expectations.

“I like your socks, by the way.” Another kiss is stolen before you’re back to the table, plopping down and attempting to fall back into studying. A long sigh leaves your lips and Javi frowns when he looks over at you, hyper-focused on all the text laid out in front of you. He putters around your kitchen, poking through to find plates and silverware to keep from asking you; dishing up the takeout he got after putting away the snacks and drinks, he walks back over and sets a plate down in front of you.

“Pause for a few minutes, angel, you gotta eat. And I got your favorite from that Thai restaurant we went to last week.” Javi takes the seat at the corner next to you, pulling away your books to clear a spot for you to eat. The look on your face is painful when you pick up the fork as if any more energy expended for a task other than studying is too much to handle.

“Thank you, Javi. Really. I think it would have been one of those eating shredded cheese from the bag or potato chips over the sink kind of nights if you didn’t come.”

“No need to apologize, bebita. M’always here for you,” he speaks tenderly with a smile, the two of you making light conversation while you eat. Before he clears the plates back to the kitchen, he takes your hand lying on the surface and toys with your fingers. “You can tell me to fuck off and I won’t be offended, but I’ll stick around for a few minutes in case you need me, okay?”

Immediately you shake your head and grip his hand in yours, “No, please stay. D’you mind helping me study? Like quizzing me or something? I want….I want you to stay here. Please.”

Javier holds back a wide smile, giddiness kicking up inside him. He clears his throat and nods, squeezing your hand. He stands up and bends forward to kiss your forehead, “Course I’ll help you study, angel. Let me clean up all this and then we’ll get started, yeah?”

It’s for the next couple of hours that Javier studies with you, asking you sample exam questions from the textbook and quizzing you with the notecards that you’ve made. He keeps you supplied with snacks and hydrated with water, intermittently joking with you to keep you relaxed.

It’s about eleven o’clock at night, Javi’s been here for four hours, and the rest of the weekend is ahead of you both. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, newly made notecards in his hands while you pace the kitchen in front of him. A hand runs through your hair, tugging and sighing when you can’t remember.

“God, I don’t—I don’t know…” You continue your pacing and shake your head, feeling your heart rate increase and your throat start to constrict with anxiety. The hand in your hair moves to press against your chest. “I really don’t know, shit, can you—can you tell me please?”

“Lombroso’s concept of a born criminal is atavism.”

The next few cards you also forget or get wrong and after the last incorrect answer, you stop in the tracks of your pacing. Angry tears of frustration burn at your eyes, words caught in your throat, and breaths come out short and harsh. Javier looks up at you when your movement stops, brows knitting together with concern when he sees the tears in your eyes and hears the clipped inhales and exhales.

“Bebita, c’mere.” Javi pats his lap and you shuffle over, straddling his legs and sitting in his lap to face him. “Let’s call it for tonight. We have all weekend to get you feeling confident for the exam, but trying to push yourself anymore tonight is only going to make you feel worse.”

“But—"

Javier shakes his head and brings his hands up to cradle your face, thumbs swiping away the few tears that have fallen.

“No, no ‘buts’. There’s no need to be getting upset about it. You’re exhausted and overworked, you’ve been doing this all day. And you know all of this, I know you do, angel. You’re too tired to concentrate and you need to rest.”

“God, I wish I could turn my brain off. This is all I’m gonna be thinkin’ about.”

“I can help with that, bebita.” Javier’s hands run up and down your thighs, snaking around to palm your ass with a gentle squeeze.

“Oh, yeah? And how would you do that?” You play dumb, feigning innocence to his suggestion. Brow cocked up, mouth pursued in curiosity.

“Hm, think we both know what I would do, but m’happy to tell you.” His hands roam again, trailing up your sides to cup under your breasts through your flimsy t-shirt. Your nipples pebble underneath the material when his thumbs brush over them, a satisfied smirk on his face at the sight. “I’ll take you into your bedroom. Kiss you, play with you until you’re dripping for me. And then I’m gonna use my mouth on you, jus’ like the first time, and make you come for me over and over until I think you’re ready. And when you’re begging for me, I’ll give you exactly what you want, bebita. My sweet zorrita is gonna get exactly what she needs — a good fucking.”

Your hips start to grind into his lap, nodding slowly as you listen to him and whining quietly as your eyes close. His hands stall your motions, bringing your attention to him as he admires you from below.

“Let’s go, baby. Think you need it now,” he rasps out, helping you up from his lap and following close behind you. His hands stay at your hips while you walk ahead of him at a delayed pace, his lips kissing and teeth biting at your neck. Trailing down the hallway, he slowly undresses you, leaving each article of clothing on the floor in your wake. Once the two of you reach your bedroom, he turns you toward him and kisses you hurriedly, moaning against your lips when he feels your hand palm him over his jeans.

Javier pulls himself back from you, shaking his head as he steps you backward to hit the edge of your bed, pushing you to sit and nodding to the center of the mattress. You scoot back a bit until he stops you in place, getting onto his knees at the side of the bed and hooking your legs over his shoulders.

He unbuttons a few of the top buttons on his shirt, loosening the material around his shoulders, and licks his lips as he takes in the sight of your glistening cunt.

“God, bebita, you’re always so ready for me. Whenever I want you. Do I get you that worked up being around you, hm?” His tone is cocky as he speaks, dragging two fingers through your folds and collecting some of your wetness. He slips those fingers in his mouth, working his tongue around them and moaning at the taste of you. The fingers pull out of his mouth with an audible pop, and you get onto your elbows to look at him in the eyes as he pushes those same fingers into your entrance.

“Fuck, Javi…” you moan, rolling your head back as he fucks you with his fingers, shallow and slow at first. He’s mesmerized by the view of you taking it easily, sweet little sounds hitting his ears in a satisfying way. “M-More, please. Pretty please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely, angel.” He chuckles and adds another digit, picking up his speed and getting as deep into you as he can. His other hand uses its thumb to run quick circles on your dripping clit, moaning to himself when your noises get louder and higher pitched. “You close already, bebita?”

“Yesyesyes, fuck, m’gonna come—“ You clench around his fingers, gripping the duvet under your hands.

“Ask, baby. Gotta mind your manners, mi zorrita.”

“Ple—please may I come, Javi? M’so close, oh my god,” you tack a whine at the end, lifting your hips and huffing out a breath when he pushes them back down.

“Go ahead, bebita. Come for me—" You moan his name loudly and squeeze your eyes shut, your walls gripping around his fingers tightly. “Oh, yes, fuck. That’s it, angel, that’s it.”

He works you through your orgasm, your breaths evening out after a minute. Once you’ve come down, you realize he’s inching closer between your legs, lips dragging along your inner thighs. Before you can get a word out, his mouth is on you, sucking your clit harshly. Your whine raises in pitch, hands tangling in his hair to push him away.

When he lifts his head, his dark eyes find yours as he licks his lips.

“Gonna let me taste this sweet little cunt, angelita? Make good on all my promises,” he challenges you and you breathe out a ‘yes’, all the permission he needs to put his head between your thighs.

At his first full taste, a switch flips and he devours you like a starving man — sucking, licking, fucking you with his tongue. You’re writhing under him, one strong hand splayed against your lower tummy to keep you down.

“Javi, oh fuck, feels so fucking good—oh my god, you’re so fucking good at this. Has anyone ever told you that?” You ramble the closer you get and Javi smirks against you, the words egging him on to give you more.

He pulls two conservative orgasms from you with his mouth, sucking your clit and licking into your walls with his tongue. Your brain is slowly shutting off, study materials are completely forgotten, and limbs light as air as you lay back on the bed.

Javier stands from the floor, a soft groan and clicking of his knees drawing your attention to him. He strips down from his own clothes, standing in his underwear and nodding to you on the bed.

“Scoot up, baby — that’s it, good girl.” He smirks when you move languidly, reaching out for him when he climbs onto the bed on his knees. Your arms fall to rest stretched above your head, putting you completely on display for him.

“How d’you want me, Javi?” you purr and it nearly sends him reeling, but he shakes his head and smirks down at you.

“Jus’ like this, babygirl. Wanna be able to see you, watch your pretty face as I take care of you.” Javier reaches his hand toward you, instructing you to lick. He takes the same hand and wraps it around his cock, stroking himself as he spreads your legs with his other hand. Settling between them, he drags the head of his cock through your folds, nudging your overly sensitive clit and chuckling darkly when your thighs twitch.

“Javi, please—" He shuts you up with further teasing, slipping himself inside, just the tip. He hisses from behind his bared teeth, rolling his head back to recover before he gives a few pumps of his hips and pulls out of you completely. The next move he teases your clit again, sliding his cock down to prod at the entrance of your tightest hole before moving back up to your cunt slipping just the tip inside of you again.

Under him, you're twitching and writhing with whines and whimpers, gripping the sheets.

“Javi, please, need you.” You choke out, a soft sob of a moan when he keeps fucking you with only his tip, refusing to give you any more inches. The next word leaves on an exhale before you can think about it, “Daddy…”

“What was that, bebita? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Daddy, fuck me, please.”

Javier stills for a moment, processing exactly what you said while you’re silent, anxiety heightening with each tick of the clock and his lack of response. His hips are still shallowly fucking you, involuntary whimpers escaping your mouth.

“Daddy, huh? You wanna call me that? Got you so cockdumb before I’ve even given it to you.” His eyes are nearly pitched-black, desire evident in his roaming, worshiping hands.

“Yes, yes please, daddy. I need you, please.” The words catch in your throat and you arch your back for him, tits slightly jiggling with the motion.

“You wanted to work on your Spanish, huh? No daddy, bebita. Llámame Papí (Call me Papí). Say it, bebita. Say it for me, buena chica.” His acceptance of your knee-jerk word spill has your mind melting, clenching your walls around the tip of his cock that’s buried inside of you. “Say it.”

“Papí…” you exhale, the noise choking in your throat when he thrusts hard to fill you up to the hilt. A sobbing moan leaves your mouth when he pulls nearly out of you, only to start a punishing pace fucking you hard and deep.

“That’s right, bebita. M’taking care of you, right? Just like a papí should. You call me that as much as you want, angel. Like hearing it come from you.”

Javier grunts at the strain of how hard he’s fucking you, the sounds of your whines and his groans mixing into a melody with the slaps of skin together. It’s filthy if anyone was looking in, but the thought of that makes him fuck you harder, relishing in the sound of your wetness squelching around his cock.

“God, mi bebita, you are taking my cock so well. You like it? Am I filling you up?”

“Yes—oh my god, taking care of me…”

“That’s right, bebita, M’gonna take care of you. You wanna come on my cock, angel?”

“Yes please, daddy…”

Javi’s hips stutter at you saying it, starting again harder and faster, “Not daddy, bebita. You wanna call me that, you call me Papí, baby. Let me hear you say it.”

“P-Papí, oh my fuck, feels so good. So full, Papí.” You’re rambling under him, incomplete and incoherent thoughts, “Oh, fuck— Just there— Papí, papí, papí, ohmygod right there!”

The name is dripping with sweetness from your lips, snapping something into his brain. He’s desperate to provide for you, to take care of you in any way you need. Right now, that is fucking you dumb enough to forget about your stress. Tomorrow, it’ll be getting you coffee in the morning and helping you reevaluate your study materials.

Underneath him, you’re feeling something of the same, enamored with the man above you. The same one who drove around town to pick up things he thought you would like, feeding you, helping you study. The one who smiles at you in the halls, and calls you his babygirl behind doors. Now, he’s fucking you into oblivion and melting your brain to mush to give you what you need. He grips your legs and presses them to fold at your sides, the adjusted position bringing him deeper than before. The head of him hits that special spot inside of you, over and over until it’s driving you to the edge fast.

“Oh, fuck! Papí! Please—Please, please, please. Gonna come, please may I come, Papí?” Your brain turns on its entire leftover power to ask politely, knowing your manners would still have to be minded with your cockdumb mind.

“Such a good girl, so polite. Come for me, bebita. Let me feel your tight pussy grip my cock.” Javier groans when you let go as soon as you get his permission, relishing in the look on your face with a perfect ‘O’ mouth and walls sucking him in further as his thrusts slow down. The tightness of you brings him to his own peak, feeling precum dribbling out inside of you as he gets as close to the edge as possible.

“Oh fuck, fuck, angel. Gonna fucking come, where d’you want me?” His brow knits together with a look of pain, and you breathlessly answer.

“Outside, please, Papí. Anywhere else you want.”

He nods and pulls out of you, using his fist to fuck himself, painting his come across your torso in long ropes. Javier moans your name over and over under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut as his chest heaves with relief.

It’s quiet, nothing spoken while you both crash down. In a moment of clarity in his post-orgasm haze, he stretches over to your nightstand to grab a few tissues, wiping you clean of his spend. He tosses it in your desk trash bin, searching around the floor for his clothes. When he picks up his boxers, you make a small noise of protest and grab his attention.

“Don’t—Um, would you—" You can’t get the words out, shyness clawing at your throat. Javier fills in the blanks, smiling softly at you as he drops his boxers and climbs back onto your bed over your lying form.

“D’you want me to stay, bebita?”

You nod and smile sheepishly, wrapping your arms around his neck and grinning wider when he leans down to kiss you chastely.

“Can you ask me, angel?”

“Will you have a sleepover with me…Papí?” you giggle as you tack on the name at the end, Javier smirking and nodding his head.

“Of course I’ll stay. And if you keep pulling that out all the time, there’s going to be a lot of fucking in random places. Jus’ does something for me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm. Think you know that, bebita. Mi bebita.” 

“Well, that does the same thing for me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm. I like being your bebita.”

“Siempre, Bebita. Always gonna be it.” Javier punctuates the conversation with another kiss, laying down completely next to you and wrapping you up in his arms. His fingers play with your hair, laying your head on his chest as you close your eyes.

A thought pops into your head, picking up your head to look Javi in the eyes.

“Are you gonna be going to the department event next week?”

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now, angel?”

“Yes, now please answer.” You poke his chest, giggling when he pinches your side playfully.

“I will be there, yes, Bebita. I’m assuming you’re going too?” He asks as he closes his eyes, exhaustion overcoming him slowly.

You smile and bite your lip, tracing shapes against his skin, “Well, would you wanna pick out my dress for it?”

That grabs his attention, his eyes shooting open with a grin growing across his face.

“Gonna let me choose what I get to see you in, Bebita? Don’t know if you want that, 'cause I could have you walking around in nothing.”

You snort out a laugh, shaking your head before laying on his chest again and closing your eyes to sleep.

“We both know you wouldn’t do that. Would you really want all those people looking at me? Thought I was all yours, don’t you wanna keep me to yourself?”

“Damn, you’re right. Guess I’ll have to pick out a pretty dress and then I can take you home and have you walk around in nothing for me.” He smiles and kisses the top of your head, sighing out a tired exhale. “Now, sleep time, Bebita. You dream of the pretty dresses I’ll get for you, no exams, and I’ll be dreamin’ about you in nothing.”

A laugh escapes your lips, nodding in agreement, “Goodnight, Javi.”

“Night, Bebita.” There’s more he wants to say, burning in his chest, but he knows it’s too soon — too much right now and it would scare you off. Instead, he holds you closer and kisses your head again, drifting off contently with you in his arms to take care of.

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[mystargirl-interlude]

𝑴𝑰𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳𝑳

Billy Hargrove x singer!reader

Living in Hawkins is probably the most boring thing possible but it has its perks.

I woke up to the screeching of my alarm at 7:30 am letting me know I have to get up to go to school, I sit up and see my cat stretching and yawning as it seems it also awoke to my alarm.

Groaning I get up and start getting ready for the day, thankful that it's a Friday for one reason it's the weekend and the other is that I go to the bars open mic nights. I've made good friends with the regulars already.

As I'm brushing my hair I hear the honking of Steve's car outside my house.

"Shit shit shit shit shit!"

Running out barefoot with only socks on, my bag over my shoulder and my sneakers in my hand I get in the backseat of his car.

"Hey nance!"  I greet Nancy

"Morning y/n!" Steve and Nancy reply in sync

"Well aren't you a lovely disaster this morning" Steve teases

"Fuck you i had to shower " I reply laughing

As we pull up to the school I managed to pull myself together and not look homeless.

Last night wasn't one of the best. My mother suffers from a handful of mental illness one of those being bipolar disorder and there are times where she can hate my guts and other times where she acts like nothing happened, she's had one of her episodes last night and screamed at me for my room being messy and threw my mirror at me making it shatter into a million pieces.

On Monday we got a new student his name was billy and he came from California. What is he doing here? I have to fucking idea. We didn't exactly have the best first interactions I guess? On his first day he's befriended Tommy and his group. Unfortunately for me I wasn't my nicest looking as the night before I had another argument with my mom which led to her kicking me out of the house so I went to school the next morning red eyes and a messy bun.

Monday morning

When I arrived on school on Monday Tommy and his group were staring at me. Im popular but not how you think. I don't have a large group of friends nor am I rich. Through all the hate I received throughout my childhood I have made a promise to never give hate no matter how much I receive. I don't have 𝑩𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 with anyone in this school. At least not that I know of.

"Hey y/l/n you good?" I hear carol ask

I turn to look her way and see her friends and the new kid staring at me

"Uh- yeah, just hard night, you know" I replied

Carol might seem like a total bitch but she isn't once you befriend her, she's known of my home life for a while now

I take another glance at the new kid once again and we end up making eye contact for what seems like forever until I enter the actual school.

Present time

Me Nancy and Steve walked into the school and going out separate ways as we all the different classes, I head to my seat in the back of the class and start doodling in my journal watching the class fill up as the bell rings.

Keeping my eyes on my journal I see someone out of the corner of my eye take the desk next to me.

"Hey y/l/n" i hear the voice of billy say as I look up

"Hey, morning" I reply smiling

"What're you drawing?" He asked with a small smirk playing on his lips

"oh, just doodles to pass time" I reply slightly inhaling as he gets closer to see

I'm enjoying the time we spend talking until some girl next to him gets his attention by whining his name and then proceeds to ask him out.

Slightly upset that he chose to ignore me I turn my attention to the window showing the outside track by the gym.

This class period is one of the longest classes I have being 3 hours long so that gives me time to work on random things, I've been writing this song since last week labeling it "mirrorball" as mirrorball was the original name of a ball covered in shattered pieces of a mirror before getting the name "disco ball" as they were used in the 70s at discos

While finishing last minute things on the song I see billy look at my journal through the corner of my eye.

Quickly not sparing him a glance I close my journal just in time as the bell rings and being the first one out of the class

"Y/n!" I hear billy yell

Turning around I reply "hey?"

"Sorry about earlier uh yeah " he says scratching his neck

"Why?"

"Oh cause you know, Emma"

"Oh that! Yeah don't worry about it" I fake smile

It's awkward silence for about 5 seconds

"Um sorry I'm gonna head to class" I say walking away before he can respond

Time skip

As I make my way inside my house I hear the phone start ringing, rushing to it I answered

"Hey y/n" I hear on the other side of the phone that it's Eddie

"Oh hey Ed's! Are you ready for tonight?" I ask him because he is the keys during my set

"Yep, so do you want me to pick you up?"

"Yeah that would be great see you then!"

Changing into my outfit for tonight it's a flowy purple dress with ruffles and bell sleeves pretty much giving a hippie fairy is what I hoping for

<3

Me and Eddie arrive to the bar a bit before I go on to set up and try to get there before it gets busy

After setting up I begin seeing people start to pour in as the sun sets, unfortunately I still have a quick sound check before.

Making my way to the bathroom I see billy sitting at the bar with Emma with his tongue practically down her throat

Part two https://www.tumblr.com/mystargirl-interlude/721670506571513856/%F0%9D%91%AD%F0%9D%91%B6%F0%9D%91%B9-%F0%9D%91%AD%F0%9D%91%B9%F0%9D%91%AC%F0%9D%91%AC-bh

[zerolostwalks]

Moments prompt: How’s it going?/ Well, haha, (doesn’t answer) ← VERY willex, but could also be Julie/Flynn… 🤷👀

(Also on AO3)

Julie’s family’s new house was smaller than their old one. A fact that has not changed and yet the observation always popped up in Flynn’s mind whenever she got the chance to visit. Easier to focus on the smaller size and lack of vegetation than on how much further away they lived. 

No longer an easy five minute walk, 10 if Flynn really tried to take her time. She now had to get a ride, walking way out of the question with the roads she’d have to cross. Which in turn meant visiting far less frequently than she liked. 

Flynn shook all of this out of her head. Better to not let that bother her and wring every last bit of enjoyment she could out of this weekend. Without further ado she let herself in, greeting Mr. Molina as she quickly made her way back to Julie’s room. 

“Hey underachiever.” Flynn said, infusing her voice with as much cheer as she could muster, dramatically leaning through the doorway.

Julie weakly chuckled from where she sat on her bed, “Hey disappointment.”

“How’s it going?” Flynn asked as she tossed her bag on the small couch Julie had just barely managed to cram into the corner of her new room.

“Well, haha.” Julie answered with an eye roll and one of the weakest fake smiles Flynn had ever seen. 

Hiding away a scowl of her own at the non-answer, Flynn all but threw herself on the bed next to Julie. It had to be bad if Julie was just sitting here spacing out. Not even channeling anything into scattered poems or another page full of doodles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Flynn spoke as softly as she could, carefully braiding a small section of Julie’s hair. Based on the high pitched whine Flynn could just hear building in the back of her throat, Flynn continued with, “Or, do you want to go see what kind of ice cream we can find in the freezer and cuddle up watching cheesy movies?”

“What about just the cuddles and movies?” Julie asked, though she was already leaning over to grab her laptop off her desk and handing it over to Flynn. “You pick.”

Flynn personally didn’t really care what they watched, so long as she got to spend time with Julie. And since Julie didn’t really seem to care either Flynn started up the first happy cheese fest she scrolled across. The two of them quickly settled into Julie’s pile of pillows, arms wrapped around each other as the movie began. Flynn still played with the ends of Julie’s curls. 

They weren’t even halfway through the movie, when Julie’s hold on Flynn tightened and she pressed her face further into Flynn’s shoulder. “I miss you.”

Flynn moved her arms to more securely wrap around Julie. Reciprocating the tight hug with just as much if not more force. “I miss you too.”

[violetfoxviolarose]

Mother's Day

I wrote this in my spare time after the idea came spontaneously. Takes place after book 5, in the spring. Enjoy!

Something was up with Jackson.

Heathcliff hadn’t known him for that long all things considered, at least not in a friendly sense, but he could still tell things were off. His normally jokey self had been toned down significantly; he hadn’t made a single wisecrack on their last mission and had been all business. Heathcliff had watched him zone out frequently in class, lost deep in thought. He was tense, almost sullen. He was easily irritated. It was like he was a completely different person.

Everyone else had also picked up on it. Julio had made jokes that would’ve normally had Jackson dying, but they had only elicited a small chuckle. Ruby’s allergies had been acting up around him, but she couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong exactly; he had ignored her attempts to figure out what was wrong. He hadn’t even bothered arguing with Matilda when she tried to playfully pick a fight, like they often did. Duncan had tried to ask Jackson what was wrong, but had only received an, “I’m fine, just a little tired,” in reply. Yeah, right.

He looked over at Jackson, who was completely zoned out, staring at his desk. He had dark circles under his eyes and was idly turning a pencil over in his hand. Normally he would pass notes to Heathcliff behind the teacher’s back, but he hadn’t done so today. Hm. He really was off, wasn’t he?

Frowning, Heathcliff tore a small piece of paper off his notebook, and quickly scribbled out a message to Jackson.

Hey, everything good?

He folded it over a couple of times and tossed it onto Jackson’s desk. Jackson didn’t notice at first, still giving his desk a thousand-yard stare. Heathcliff waited for the teacher to turn back to the board to write something, and he leaned over and poked Jackson with the eraser end of his pencil. Jackson jumped in response to this, startled. He wildly looked around before his vacant gaze settled on Heathcliff. Heathcliff nodded his head in the direction of the note. Jackson moved his head, noticed it, and turned back around, opening it. He stared at it for a few moments, before writing something on it. Heathcliff turned his attention back to the board, pretending to not notice Jackson folding the note back up out of the corner of his eye.

The note landed back on Heathcliff’s desk, and he picked it up and discreetly unfolded it.

Yeah. Didn’t get much sleep last night haha.

Heathcliff frowned. Yeah, Jackson was definitely hiding something. He didn’t write another reply on the note, instead looking over at Jackson, who was staring blankly at the chalkboard. Heathcliff noticed Jackson hadn’t taken a single note or even sketched a single doodle on his notebook for the entire class. The class seemed to pass at an agonizing pace. It was early May, unusually warm, and their social studies classroom was stuffy. Heathcliff wanted to talk to Jackson and figure out what was wrong; he hated seeing someone normally so full of life so down in the dumps (and yeah, he was just as surprised he was thinking that about Jackson, of all people).

The bell finally rang, ending the school day. Everyone else in the room jumped out of their seats, chattering noisily and excitedly, ready for the weekend. Except for Jackson. Normally he was just as excited the weekend had arrived like anyone else. Not this time though. He slowly stood up and started putting away his things. Heathcliff watched him; it was like watching someone getting ready to leave for their execution rather than home for the weekend. When he turned and quickly headed out of the classroom without so much as a glance back, Heathcliff decided to take matters into his own hands.

“Jackson, wait —!”

Too late. Jackson was gone. Heathcliff quickly shoveled his own belongings into his bag and stood up, hurrying out of the classroom. He looked around the chaotic halls for a sign of gelled-up blonde hair, but didn’t see anything initially. He decided to try Jackson’s locker, and turned to head off in that direction, shoving his way through the crowds.

After about a minute of making his way against the flow of traffic, he managed to spot Jackson at his locker. He still had that vacant gaze about him. He looked exhausted.

“Jackson!”

Jackson turned to look at Heathcliff. “Oh. Hey Heath.”

“Dude, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all week.” He hadn’t expected himself to just . . . jump right in, as it were. He was never really the type. This called for drastic measures, though. He had never seen Jackson so . . . off before. “You’ve been acting weird all week. What’s going on?”

Jackson offered the most half-hearted smile Heathcliff had ever seen in his life. “Oh, it’s nothing. I just haven’t been sleeping great. I think the stress of school and NERDS is getting to me, that’s all.”

Heathcliff tensed his brow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Jackson —”

“Seriously.”

“Well — but —”

“Hey, I said I was fine, Heath.” 

God, it was like talking to a brick wall. “You don’t seem fine at all,” Heathcliff attempted to probe. Jackson sighed slowly, irritated.

“I told you, I’m —” 

“Hey! Jones!”

Heathcliff flinched, and he noticed that Jackson did too. It was Brett Bealer, walking past in a massive pack of his dudebro friends. Heathcliff watched as they all slowed to a stop in front of the two of them. He glanced over at Jackson, who looked uncharacteristically upset at this development. He noticed Jackson’s jaw tighten. 

There was a beat of silence. Heathcliff had braced himself for the inevitable conflict, when he noticed Brett smile. It was freaky, almost uncanny. 

“Happy mother’s day.”

This elicited chuckles from the group, and they continued moving on to wherever they were going to. Heathcliff was baffled. Why was he being nice to them? And why “happy mother’s day” of all things?  Yeah, that was this weekend. What about it? It wasn’t like they were mothers or anything.

“Well, that was . . .”

He never finished his sentence. Jackson had a stricken look on his face that caused the words leaving Heathcliff’s mouth to die on his lips. It was the most upset he’d ever seen him. In the blink of an eye, Jackson turned and stormed off down the hall in the opposite direction, leaving his locker wide open.

“Jackson! Jackson, wait!” Heathcliff called hopelessly after him, but he was already gone. He shut Jackson’s locker and hurried after him, hopelessly trying to catch up. Man, Jackson was fast when he wanted to be. He lost sight of him very quickly, and had to guess where Jackson might have gone.

He turned around the corner and saw one of the doors leading out of the school closing slowly. Heathcliff jogged over to it and exited the building. He looked around and then saw Jackson. He was sitting on the curb near the now vacant bus drop-off zone, head buried in his arms. Heathcliff slowly made his way over to Jackson, a bad feeling in his stomach.

“Hey . . .” Heathcliff began cautiously. Jackson didn’t move or make any indication that he noticed Heathcliff.

He carefully sat down on the curb next to Jackson. Jackson lifted his head, looking Heathcliff in the eye. His expression was unreadable, but he was clearly upset.

“Look . . . it’s just Brett being stupid,” Heathcliff began, cautious. He looked away from Jackson and talked into the distance. “I mean . . . I don’t know what his deal is, but . . . it seemed like he was trying to be weirdly nice. I dunno. He probably just doesn’t know you’re having an off day. Though why he would bring up mother’s day, I don’t —”

He looked back over at Jackson, and was mildly horrified to see that Jackson’s expression had crumpled into one of anguish.

“He does know,” Jackson said, voice cracking. “He knows exactly why. He knows that I don’t have a mom anymore.”

Heathcliff felt his stomach drop. Jackson turned away and buried his face in his arms again.

I don’t have a mom anymore.

Suddenly, everything clicked. The acting strange, the loss of peppiness and humor, the dark circles, the spacing out, Brett and his dumb friends, “Happy Mother’s Day,” Jackson’s awful expression upon hearing that . . . it all hit Heathcliff like a ton of bricks.

“Jackson, that’s . . .” Heathcliff began, finding his voice. “God, that’s such an awful thing for him to do.” 

A beat of silence.

“I . . . I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” Heathcliff said, voice quieter. “You . . . you never told us.”

Jackson lifted his head again. His eyes were red.

“I . . . I never felt comfortable talking about it,” he mumbled. Heathcliff nodded sympathetically.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” he asked.

Jackson was silent for a solid minute, staring out into the distance. It was surprisingly quiet, almost uncomfortably so. Heathcliff could hear the faint sound of kids yelling on the nearby elementary school playground, and the noise of cars on the road. Everything felt amplified in the silence.

“. . . My mom died when I was in the fourth grade,” he began, his voice quiet. He trailed off again, looking like he was trying to find the words to say.

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Jackson sat up a little straighter. “She . . . she had ovarian cancer. It’s really hard to detect, since there’s almost no symptoms in the early stages. We found out later she had a gene mutation that made her risk go way up, but we didn’t know until after she had it. She didn’t have any warning signs for a really long time. By the time she went to the doctor to see what was wrong, it had already spread to her spine.”

He took in a shaky breath. “She started doing chemo and stuff, but it . . . it was too late. It was really aggressive. They gave her a year at most . . . she lived for eight months after. She lived in a care facility for the last few months, and . . .” He paused, his eyes glazing over again in the same fashion as before. “Dad hasn’t been the same since,” he finished in a whisper.

Heathcliff felt a pang in his chest looking at Jackson. He couldn’t have even begun to imagine that Jackson Jones, loud, flamboyant, cocky, arrogant, confident, energetic, happy Jackson Jones, could have had any type of baggage. Of course, saying that, it sounds incredibly stupid; of course he could have baggage. Everyone had baggage of some kind. But the thought had just seemed so far divorced from possible when looking at how he acted. You never would’ve guessed he had any problems whatsoever. Heathcliff remembered that month or so at the Playground, wanting to go home. Missing his mom. He couldn’t even begin to imagine not being able to ever see her again.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he told Jackson genuinely. 

Jackson nodded in acknowledgement, before his face screwed up again, this time in anger.

“God! I never should have become friends with stupid Brett Bealer!” he shouted out into the parking lot. “I . . . I trusted him with telling him about it. I thought . . . I thought he cared . . . and even after we were done, I didn’t think he’d use it against me!”

His face fell again. He went silent, his lips trembling slightly. “My mom . . . she died on Mother’s Day. We went to the hospice place to visit her, and she was . . . really bad. I . . .”

A few tears finally escaped, and he hastily wiped them away with his wrist. “We were there for the last few hours of her life . . . all of us, Dad, Chaz, my grandparents . . . I . . .”

He looked over at Heathcliff, then turned away again. He choked out a sob, before finally beginning to cry fully, hanging his head. “I’ve never gotten it out of my head.”

Heathcliff wanted to comfort him, but wasn’t sure how to. He’d never found himself in this situation before, and felt a tad awkward. This was way beyond what he was expecting to have to manage today. Hopefully he wouldn’t mess it up.

He tentatively reached out and rested his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson flinched slightly on contact, but he relaxed afterward, continuing to cry quietly. After a few moments, Jackson sniffed loudly.

“I’m sorry . . .” he said slowly, voice still thick with tears. “I’ve never talked about this to anyone before.”

“It’s okay,” Heathcliff replied. “It really is.” Jackson wiped his eyes and offered a small, sad smile. 

Heathcliff looked out into the distance again, giving Jackson some space to sniff and wipe his eyes.

“You know . . .” He turned back to Jackson. “You’re not the only one who’s lost a parent. If you need to talk to someone who understands better, you could always talk to Julio, I’m sure —”

He was cut off by Jackson aggressively shaking his head. “No. No way,” he said quietly. “I can’t possibly talk to him about this. Julio lost everything all at once . . . his mom, his dad, his brother . . . he wouldn’t want to listen to me and my problems, they’re insignificant compared to what he went through.” He sighed.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Heathcliff replied. “But, if you’re worried about him listening to you, all you have to do is bring him sugar. Seriously, if you bring him a Costco 50-pack of Oreos and a two-liter of cherry vanilla coke, you can talk about literally anything to him.” In spite of his tears, Jackson laughed in response to this, shaking his head in response.

“Really though,” Heathcliff continued, “Look, I know this is probably really hard to talk about, but . . . we’re your friends, and your teammates. You can, and probably should, talk to us about stuff like this.”

Jackson nodded silently. “I . . . I don’t even know where to begin. And, like, it’s so awkward and . . .”

“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to,” Heathcliff told him again. “But . . . we can all tell when you’re off.”

“You can?” he asked, surprised.

“You’re an open book. You have an awful poker face, and you’ve been acting weird for the past few days. Everyone’s noticed.”

Jackson blinked in surprise, then grimaced. “Ah, jeez. I didn’t mean to bother people.”

“I wouldn’t call them bothered. More ‘concerned’ than anything. It’s very out-of-character for you to go all silent.”

Jackson sighed in response to this. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just . . . I dunno. This was . . . a lot. I don’t know if I can do it again. Especially in front of . . . everyone.”

“Well, personally, I think you should, but only because it’s really not some horrible secret. No one’s gonna judge you for not having a mom, or for being sad about it. Besides, we care about you. Even Ruby’s taken a liking to you, and she hated your guts almost as much as I did. We’re all worried.”

Jackson turned this over silently. “I’ll think about it,” he said quietly.

They sat there on the curb for a few more minutes in silence. Heathcliff occasionally stole glances at Jackson, who was pondering everything, eyes still red. He sniffed occasionally. Finally, Jackson spoke up again. 

“Thanks for coming to find me,” he said. “It felt good to get that all off my chest.”

“It’s no problem,” Heathcliff replied. “It was the least I could do.” Jackson gave Heathcliff a small smile in response.

“Man, I really should’ve become friends with you in the first place, not Brett. Even after all I did to you, you’re still more sympathetic than that jerk ever was.”

Heathcliff couldn’t help but smirk at this. “You, Mr. Football Star, friends with a nerd? Inconceivable.”

Jackson snorted. “Well, we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“You’re one of us now. The old you is long gone.”

Jackson paused, thinking about this. “You’re right. Well, sorta. Mostly. I’m less of a jerk, or, well, I’m not really a jerk anymore.” He paused again, reflecting. “I should’ve treated you guys better.”

He sighed, sitting up straight. “I . . . definitely took a lot out on you guys. A lot of anger . . . at my mom being sick, my dad being stressed out, my brother taking some of his problems out on me . . . I was in a really dark place for a while. Getting those braces on really was for the best, but the loss of my friend group messed me up even more for a while.” He looked over at Heathcliff. “God, if I had stopped sooner, maybe you wouldn’t have face-heel turned into villainy.”

Heathcliff was not expecting Jackson to bring this up, and definitely not in the candid manner he had just done. He felt himself become warm with shame, and turned away.

“I mean . . . you didn’t really help things . . . but I was already moving down a dark path. I was already snowballing when you joined. It . . . well, if I hadn’t been stopped prior, it probably still would have happened, no matter what.”

He dared to glance back at Jackson, expecting a judgmental reaction, which, in his opinion, would have been completely justified. Instead, Jackson was giving him a comforting, almost understanding glance.

“Heh, I guess we’re more alike in that regard than I originally thought.”

Heathcliff couldn’t believe his ears. “You did not just compare you being a schoolyard bully to me attempting to take over the world,” he said, dumbfounded.

Jackson laughed in response to this. “Okay, but like . . . I’m not wrong.”

“But —”

“I’m not. Think about it. We were both scorned by stuff in our personal lives, and we took it out on the people around us, sometimes violently.” He grinned, satisfied with his observation.

Heathcliff thought about this, feeling his face scrunch up. It was a bit of a reach, he thought, but he figured he’d allow the victory for Jackson; he seemed like he needed one today.

“Well, in that case, you could probably benefit from talking to a professional. Like me.”

It was Jackson’s turn to be surprised. “Oh? You’re seeing a therapist?”

“Yeah. Brand and Deprankova wanted me to talk to a therapist about . . . everything. They brought a psychologist into the Playground to work with me.”

“So . . . how’s that going?”

“It’s weird, talking to someone about everything. I never thought I’d tell anyone anything about how I’m feeling . . . or about what I did, especially not to a stranger.” He felt the corner of his mouth turn up slightly. “You’d probably be a pretty easy case, honestly, at least compared to me. I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but . . . well, here we are.”

He was pleased to see Jackson laugh in response to this. 

“Well, I’ll think about it. It might be a good idea, if you think it’s helping you,” Jackson said.

“Yeah, it is helpful, more than I thought it would be anyway.”

Jackson nodded in response. Then, he stood up.

“So . . . I was going to visit Mom’s grave today after school. Do you want to come with? If you’re comfortable doing so.”

Heathcliff thought for a moment, before shrugging. “Sure, if you want me there.”

Jackson grinned, sunlight flashing momentarily off his braces. “I do, actually. I think I’ll feel less lonely if you’re there.” He offered a hand to Heathcliff, and he accepted it, getting to his feet.

“Lead the way,” he told Jackson.

The two of them left the school, and began to walk in the direction of the cemetery, Jackson assuring Heathcliff it wasn’t too far away. It sort of was, but both of them were fairly active, so it wasn’t any big deal to walk for that long. Jackson had fallen silent, and Heathcliff allowed it to stay that way. If Jackson wanted to talk, he could, but he wasn’t going to force conversation. They remained silent for the nearly half hour-long walk to the cemetery.

“Here we are,” Jackson said, stopping momentarily in front of the entrance. The black steel gates to the cemetery were open, and the two of them set off down the paved road, walking on the edge in case of cars. The sun was still high in the sky, but the large trees shaded them as they made their way into the heart of the cemetery. It was quiet, with practically no cars anywhere. The only sound was the wind moving through the trees. Flowers were in bloom, and fresh flowers were everywhere, on the trees and next to graves and memorials. 

Jackson turned suddenly, and Heathcliff followed him onto the grass. They walked for a while off the pavement, passing by headstones with various names engraved onto them. Heathcliff noticed a particularly large headstone, a family plot indicator with Jackson’s last name carved into it. It was dark gray, and had an engraved cross above the name.

“Looks like Chaz and Dad have already come by today.” 

They came to a stop. In front of them was a light gray, slanted headstone. A small wreath of flowers was placed next to it, as was a small steel vase with a few more flowers.

Kara Tiffany Jones

Beloved wife, mother, aunt, athlete, and friend.

Forever in our hearts, until we meet again.

The headstone had engravings of garlands of flowers around the edges, and Heathcliff noted a volleyball carving underneath the writing on the stone.

“A volleyball?” he found himself asking.

Jackson nodded, a sad smile on his face. “She played volleyball pretty much all her life. She got a scholarship for a varsity college team and played all through college. She met Dad at a sports bar, and they started dating shortly after. And . . . the rest is history.”

Heathcliff nodded soberly in response to this. “Sports are a big thing for you guys then?”

“Yeah. Dad did football, Mom did volleyball. We watched football as a family, we played sports together, went to games. Chaz pretty much went through every sport in existence, and I settled on football pretty fast. We pretty much ate, breathed, lived sports. I mean, we still kind of do. But with Mom gone . . .”

He trailed off, silently looking at the gravestone. He took in a breath, slightly shaky.

“. . . With Mom gone, it feels harder to connect. And not being able to play football doesn’t help.”

“Do you really want to go back to that life? Playing football on a team, I mean,” Heathcliff found himself asking.

Jackson was silent for a moment. He moved to sit down on the grass, and Heathcliff joined him.

“I . . . I . . . I think it’s more about wanting to connect with Mom again, rather than wanting to be with a team again . . . with those guys again. I . . . I really do think this is the right path for me, though. Joining NERDS, becoming a spy . . . it just feels like this is what I was meant to do, more than football. Meeting you guys I think was the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. I do miss the game, though. I don’re right.”

He sighed. “Sometimes, though, I wonder if Mom can see me from wherever she is. I wonder if she’s sad about how much our family has changed. Her two kids aren’t in sports anymore, and that was our life, you know?”

Heathcliff thought for a moment. “Well . . . I never met your mom. But, I mean, I dunno what mom wouldn’t be proud of her son saving the world on a weekly basis. We’re . . . you are doing a really important thing. And,” he looked over at Jackson, “She probably would be glad to see you’re not a bully anymore.”

Jackson smiled sadly again. “Yeah. I hope you’re right.”

“Don’t worry, I’m always right.”

This elicited a gentle punch to the upper arm from Jackson. “Yeah. Sure.”

“You doubt me?”

“Very much so.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“How come?”

“You know anyone else who’s built a time machine?”

“You don’t even remember doing it because of the continuity change!”

“Ruby told me I did it, and I believe her.”

“What, so . . . you building a time machine means that you’re never wrong?”

“Yeah, that’s how that works.”

Jackson snickered at the conversation. Heathcliff was glad to see him in better spirits.

Jackson looked back at the headstone. He sighed.

“I miss her a lot,” he said simply. “It’s been two years, and I still miss her like crazy.”

Heathcliff nodded. “I can’t even imagine not being able to see my mom ever again. You’re a lot stronger than me, that’s for sure.”

“Honestly? I’m not, not by much anyway,” Jackson told him. 

He reached out and touched the gravestone. “I think Mom would’ve liked you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She let me be friends with Brett, but she definitely got annoyed with him a lot. He always made a mess whenever we hung out. He wasn’t exactly the politest kid. I think she’d like you, and how you’re not completely full of yourself and rude. She’d also probably lay off about me needing to read more if I got you to deflect all her ‘how was school?’ questions.” He sadly looked at the stone. His eyes had that glazed look again, but he seemed less distressed, less alone.

“I’m glad you think I’d get your mom’s approval.”

“I’m glad we’re friends,” Jackson said. “Seriously.”

He smiled at Heathcliff and stood up, brushing loose grass off his pants, Heathcliff following suit.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Jackson said. “I really do appreciate it.”

Heathcliff smiled easily at him. “Of course. I’m just glad to see you in better spirits.”

Jackson turned towards Heathcliff. “So . . . now what?”

“Well . . . what do you want to do?”

Jackson thought for a moment. “You wanna come over for dinner?”

Heathcliff thought for a moment. “I think I can do that, but only under one condition.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows. “Which is . . . ?”

“You gotta tell the team. I know what I said, and you don’t have to go into details, but . . . they’re concerned. They just want to know what’s wrong. We’re your friends, after all.”

Jackson pursed his lips, thinking.

“You know how you and Matilda banter all the time? And how Ruby has to tell you guys to stop every time? Mat tried picking a fight with you Wednesday, man. When you barely reacted, she was down for the rest of the day.”

“She was? I didn’t notice.”

Heathcliff nodded. “Like I said, we’re your friends. We, shock horror, get worried when you act weird. We need the jokester back, it’s lifeless in the Playground without him.”

Jackson stuck his hands in his pockets, tipped his head towards the sky, and sighed.

“Alright . . . I’ll tell them when I see them next. But only cause I want you to come over.”

Heathcliff smirked. “I’ll allow it.”

The two of them turned away from the grave, and made their way out of the cemetery towards Jackson’s house, the silence between them feeling less heavy than it had previously. ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤ END ⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤⬤

[nuagederose]

As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Twelve: 7 O’Clock

ao3 link

She simply could not stop thinking about it all day, especially when Alex kept on looking over at her during that entire class period. Every single time, he would part his lips ever so slightly, a ripe little cherry sprouted forth from the blossom under the light spring rains that beckoned for a gentle kiss from her. The cherry on top of the sundae, all for her. A soft blush spread over his face like the warm fuzz upon the face of a plump ripe peach at one point, and Christine resisted the urge to say something to either him or Colette right behind her.

He ran his fingers through his dark hair and then gave his head a little shake: a few tendrils of hair sprawled over his face as if to blanket him from their eyes watching him.

She lowered her gaze to her binder down before her, and she lifted her pencil for a small doodle in the corner of the paper there.

Christine wanted it with him, the feeling of his nude body against her own. She wasn’t much of an illustrator but she wanted to at the very least visualize it and bring it to life by the swipe of her own pencil strokes.

Eric coughed, but she swore that she heard a little something in there as well, as if he was cracking something under his breath to either her or Alex, but she never moved her pencil away from the paper’s surface.

“I should probably tell you guys,” Alex started with a break in his voice, and he cleared his throat. “I have my own jazz trio, and we’re playing a show up in the West Village on Friday night, seven o’clock. We’re going to be playing in a bar, so if any of you are under twenty-one, I’m sorry to say that you’ll have to overhear everything from outside the venue.” Everyone in the room chuckled at that. “Otherwise, you’re all invited if you’d like to see some live music going into the weekend and into Veteran’s Day, no less.”

Eric shot up his hand.

“Yes?” Alex acknowledged him.

“Is it B.Y.O.B.?” he asked with a straight face, and Alex let out a big loud belly laugh, complete with a single clap of his hands.

“Is it B.Y.O.B.? I don’t think it is.” He chuckled again. “You thinking of drinking under the table?”

Eric shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe my buddies might, I dunno.”

Colette and Sabrina giggled at that; meanwhile, Christine closed her binder and put it back into her book bag. Since she wore a little low cut white long-sleeved shirt, she made sure that her coat hung open enough as she bent down for it. She knew that Eric and Alex both would be looking at her.

When she sat upright, Alex turned away a bit and towards the desk with a pink tinge to his face. Eric returned to her and snorted as if she had cracked a joke to him.

“What?” she innocently asked him, and he shook his head.

“I’ll tell you later,” he promised to her.

“Does this have to do with my top being low cut?” she asked him, and she couldn’t resist the smirk on her face.

“Maybe,” he quipped, still with a straight face. “Could also be something else.”

Christine nodded towards Alex, who had turned around all the way once again and looked on at the two of them, perplexed.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

“Hot stuff,” Christine replied without a second thought.

“Boobs and booze,” Marlene chimed in.

“Boobs, booze, and—boys,” Eric sputtered out, and a few people in the room laughed at that.

“And boys!” Alex proclaimed. “We going into a bad girl’s world, eh, Sluggo?”

“Not if the bad girls can help it,” Christine interjected before anyone else could, and Sabrina and Marlene both clapped their hands.

“Christine—Christine—” She turned around to find Colette and Valentina with their hands extended to her for a high five. She obliged, and Alex chuckled some more.

“Boys want a peep show,” Eric joked.

“People in hell want ice water,” Christine retorted, and several people behind her jeered at that. She turned around again for another round of high fives from Colette and Valentina, and also Sabrina.

“Okay, uh… switching gears now,” Alex stammered, albeit with a clearing of his throat and another rouse of chuckling, “seeing as we’re out of time right now… yeah.” A few people, including the four girls behind Christine and Eric, all let out low groans of disappointment. “Out of time, so no further discussion on boobs, booze, boys, and bad girls flashing their boobs in here.”

“Could we have homework on it?” Valentina asked him.

“Yes!” Alex replied without hesitation. “Yes, you may. Make love to your instruments, ladies and gentlemen.”

Christine chuckled at that as she stood up, and slung her book bag over her shoulder, and closed her green coat.

“That was awesome,” Eric remarked to her as they walked out of the classroom together. “Where did that come from?”

“I’m not too sure, to be honest,” she confessed with a slight smile. “It just sort of—happened.”

When they were out in the hallway together, she felt a tap on the shoulder, and she turned to find Colette right there behind her.

“So,” she began with a smirk on her face.

“So?”

“So what,” Eric followed up, and the two of them laughed at that as he walked ahead of them to his next period. Christine then returned to Colette and the twinkle in her eye.

“You promised you’d tell me later,” she recalled in a singsong voice.

Christine thought about Nelly and her suspicions about those four girls behind her, and she kept it shelved in the back of her mind. She sighed through her nose as she knew that she was about to betray Nelly’s trust, especially when she knew that she had stretched the truth about Alex to her mother.

“Okay,” she began. “But you better promise me not to tell anyone because there’s a really stupid rumor going around about me and him that’s totally bogus.”

“Tell no one, not even Marlene, Val, or Sabrina?” Colette raised her eyebrows at her.

“Nope. Well, I mean, it’s just you and me here—we may as well keep it between us.”

She pinched her fingers together at the corner of her mouth and made a little twisting motion as if to seal her lips closed.

“Go ahead,” she coaxed her.

Christine paused for a second.

“I kind of…” She stopped in her tracks.

“Yes?”

“…slept with him.”

Colette then stopped in her tracks.

“Slept with whom? With—Alex?”

Christine nibbled on her bottom lip, to which Colette gasped, and she reached over for a playful slap of her shoulder.

“Christine! You red hot mama! You little vixen!”

“Shhh!” Christine waved at her to stop, but Colette kept her tongue out like a dirty dog. Christine huddled in closer to her to the point she could smell her perfume on her neck. “I gave him a handjob and he kissed my nipples.”

“Holy shit,” Colette gasped again, and she brought a hand up to her mouth. “What was it like?”

“Amazing,” Christine said. “Though I feel like he and I could go a little further than that, though.”

“I can tell you this right now that you could go further than that,” Colette told her with a slight snicker, and then she stopped. “Oh, man, you should totally go to his jazz show on Friday.”

“I plan to,” Christine assured her with her hands on her hips. 

“Do you have anything sexy to wear for that night?” Colette asked her.

“Anything sexy? Aside from my camisoles, not really.”

“You should at least doll up nice for that old boy, Chris. You could meet up with the four of us at some point over the week and we’ll help you.”

“You girls ought to go by your nicknames because I worry about confusing you with Valentina and Sabrina,” Christine suggested.

“Val’s Bloody Mary and Sabrina’s Lady Bird,” Colette told her. “I shit you the fuck not, Alex referred to me as ‘Call Girl’ the other day.”

Christine gaped at her and felt her face grow warm.

“‘Call Girl’?”

“Yeah. According to him, it just slipped out. Were you there that day?”

“I think I was hitching a ride with Eric that day,” Christine recalled. “We got stuck in traffic.”

“Oh, man. But yeah, he called me that and I literally cannot stop thinking about him now. And now I’m learning the quiet girl actually got all tongues and tails with him.”

“You bet your ass we got tongues and tails,” Christine giggled. “And I could talk more but I have to go to ceramics.”

“I have to go to my German literature class,” Colette told her with a glimpse at her wristwatch, and it was right then Christine remembered Alex telling her about his experience in Irish literature, and she was eager to see him again for lunch that afternoon.

Nelly was busy behind the counter, but Christine wanted her full attention on Alex there next to her there at the bar on the far side of the room. He once again had his phone out before him so as to not be distracted by a mysterious woman on the little screen.

“Been meaning to tell you this,” Christine started as she leaned in closer to him.

“What’s that?”

“You look so cute with those glasses,” she remarked. “Like really cute. It’s almost as if your face makes sense with them, if that makes any sense.”

“My face makes sense,” he reiterated, and they both laughed at that. He then took off his glasses with one hand and gave his hair a ruffling with a shake of his head.

“Want to try them on, see how you look?” He handed her his glasses. Christine ran her tongue along her bottom lip and, gingerly, she took the glasses for herself. She slipped them on over her nose and left a little bit of space between them and her eyes, and she moved her head back a bit as if she had seen something shocking. The lenses were rather blurry, but not so blurry that she figured it came from her eyes alone.

“I don’t know how you can see through these,” she remarked as she adjusted them on her nose. “They’re utterly filthy.” She blinked several times and moved them again on her nose. The lenses strained her eyes a great deal, and she finally stripped them off her nose.

“You looked good with them, though,” he insisted. “The frames are a little bit big for your face but you looked as though you could rock a pair of glasses some day.”

“I did wear glasses when I was like ten,” Christine recalled. “My eyes got better, but not that much better. I kind of miss those damned things—they were rectangular and purple and had little pink flowers on the arms.”

“So girlish!” he chuckled as he wiped down the lenses with the hem of his shirt before he put them back on. “Sometimes I think of wearing something really bright and colorful like that just to shock people.”

“You should,” Christine suggested. “You and your trio should dress in drag for this Friday night.”

He laughed a hearty laugh at that, and he gave his hair another toss back with the flick of his head.

“I should probably tell you that I’m nearsighted,” Alex told her with a nudge of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“So if you don’t see Nelly bringing the food up to us, I have to remind you of it?” she teased him.

“Nah, it ain’t that bad,” he assured her with another hearty chuckle.

“So if there’s a wet T-shirt contest going on that evening, you won’t see it?” she teased him a second time, and he laughed out loud again.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he retorted back to her. Nelly then emerged at the counter with their slices of pie and two cups of coffee, to which Christine nodded at her. Alex turned his head, and then he skirted off the chair and padded over to her. Christine kicked back in the chair with her hands folded over her lap, and she flashed a big wink over at Nelly. When Alex thanked her and balanced the pieces of pie in one hand and the two cups of coffee in the other, Nelly flashed Christine a thumbs up paired with a little smirk plastered across her face.

Christine took a brief glimpse down to her chest, to the low-cut white top under her green jacket, and she wondered if she could make that top wet as she attended that show on Friday night. She then raised her head in time to catch her piece of pie and her coffee before he could stumble forth on his shoelaces.

Alex took his spot once again next to her and let out a low whistle, and he set his plate and his cup of coffee down before him. He was slightly out of breath, but Christine knew it came from walking at a brisk pace over towards the counter’s edge.

“I’m so out of shape,” he bemoaned as he ran his fingers through his hair and glanced down at his belly, which spilled a bit over his belt into his lap.

“No, you’re just a little bit chubby is all,” Christine assured him. “You look healthy. Really, you actually look healthy, Alex. If you were that out of shape, you wouldn’t have moved that quickly.”

“Out of shape and eating pie,” he repeated, that time with a shake of his head and another chuckle. He leaned forward and closed his eyes as he took a whiff of the warm golden lattice crust on top of the warm fruity filling: he had gotten straight up apple where she helped herself to decadent blackberry pie.

“You ever have buttermilk pie?” he asked her.

“Like chess pie?”

“Sort of. It’s made with buttermilk rather than cornmeal. I actually prefer it over chess pie, to be honest. I’m just thinking about all kinds of pies and stuff… looking down at my fat gut and whatnot…” His voice trailed off as he sloughed off a bite from the point of the slice, complete with apple slices, nutmeg, and cinnamon.

“Have you guys ever performed in a bakery before?” she asked him.

“In a bakery? Uh… no, I don’t think we have. We’ve played in a deli before.”

“In a deli? D’you guys have sandwiches for your bellies afterwards?”

He chuckled at that. “Oh, we sure did.” He took a bite and closed his eyes all the while as he nourished the flavors. “Oh, god, that’s delicious.”

“Let me try—” Christine took a bite of pie as well: the blackberries were ripe and juicy, and as warm as Alex’s body. “Oh, yeah. These both could use a scoop of ice cream on top.”

“Ooh, yeah, especially yours…” Alex took another bite and kept the tines of the fork in between his cherry lips. Christine imagined him eating a big ripe apple instead of the pie, but he bowed his head to the side at one point as if he had just eaten a piece of pie from her instead.

“Shall we have wine for that evening?” he offered her.

“Wine? What kind of wine?” And she realized that she knew very little about wines.

“Whatever kinda wine you feel like,” he said. “I’ll show you some things come Friday night.”

“Please do, and seven o’clock?” she asked him with a raise of her cup of coffee to him

“Seven o’clock.” He brought his coffee to her own for the toast between them. As she sipped on the warm, rich espresso, she thought about what had happened back in the classroom but she knew that that would have to wait for that evening once they got alone with each other, should they have gotten alone with one another.

After the lunch break, Christine headed on over across the darkened, damp pavement, and she spotted Eric walking under the trees once again, and that time with those two boys Greg and Louie on either side of him.

“Christine Sixteen!” Greg called out to her once she came within earshot.

“The three amigos!” she retorted back, and the three of them laughed. She nodded to Eric. “Are you coming to Alex’s show on Friday?”

“I was just going to ask you if you’d like the three of us to come along with you,” he suggested.

“Do what now?” Greg quipped.

“Do the thing with the thing with her,” Eric stated with a straight face.

“The thing?”

“Go to a show with her on Friday night,” Eric said. “Live music and we can all hang out together.”

“I’ll come along,” Louie offered.

“Yeah, I think I’ll come along, too,” Greg said with a nudge of a lock of hair behind his ear. “What time?”

“Seven o’clock up in the West Village,” she stated.

“We’ll come and pick you up,” Louie vowed to her. “We’ll leave early so we get the good parking space.”

“Come and pick her up and par-tay!” Eric raised his hands up over his head and the four of them ran to the front of the building like a bunch of schoolchildren.

* * * * * * * *

Christine was eager to see Alex that night, and moreover, what his trio was like. She knew that they had to have at least some sort of material for her and those three guys to listen to as they piled into Eric’s car right before sunset and drove across to the Lower East Side, as if they headed for school. It was a cool, cloudy evening, one that beckoned rain, and the sky had already painted itself a dark royal blue to go with the lushness of the West Village. Through the darkening sky, she spotted the lights of the Flatiron Building followed by the Empire State Building behind that.

They passed the Museum of Ice Cream when Christine remembered that Nelly’s neighborhood was a straight shot from there all the way up the spine of Manhattan. It was worth more of a bus ride or the subway, but she knew that she could find her way up towards that part of the West Side.

“Now, let’s start thinking about parking spaces,” Eric decreed after they had made four green lights in a row.

“They’re like currency over here,” she heard Louie say.

“Greg’s studying over here all the way from big bright and sunny California,” Eric explained to her.

“Wow! Just like Alex,” she remarked.

“Just like him, really?” Eric cracked her a smile.

“Just like him, yeah,” she answered. “He’s from the Bay Area.”

“I’m from Pleasanton,” Greg told her. “Right outside of there.”

“Wow, what are the odds,” Eric said as he pulled up to the first stoplight. Two corners up the warmly lit street, Christine recognized Alex’s car parked out the front of the club on the corner. Indeed, she spotted a space perpendicular to there.

The light turned green and Eric dodged ahead. Christine then pointed it out.

“Good eyes, good eyes,” he told her, and they hung a quick left for that spot there before anyone else on the street could even think of doing that as well. He switched off the car and ran his fingers through his smooth inky black hair.

Christine peered out the windshield to find Alex there in the backstage side doorway before her, glasses tucked down into the collar of his green slightly snug shirt and faded denim jeans slung down low a bit. She climbed out of the car and gave her hair a shake, and he nodded and showed a smile at her.

“Strawberry Girl made it early,” he remarked, and Louie climbed out from behind her, followed by Greg and then Eric. “And she’s brought a whole gang with her, too! Come on in, guys.”

“We don’t have to pay for cover charges, do we?” Eric asked him.

“Just for your drinks and if you want something to eat, but that’s pretty much it,” Alex assured him, and the four of them filed in there with him. It was a cozy, warmly lit little jazz club with heavy dark wooden walls and a low ceiling with dark blue lights that made Christine think of a dance floor. Narrow dark tables with tall spindly chairs scattered across the main floor before the stage: on the far side of the room stood the bar, to which the three guys behind her ducked on over to, which in turn left her alone with Alex.

She followed him into the small corridor behind the drum kit, and he led her into his small brightly lit dressing room, filled with nothing more than a comfy blue couch, a small black table, a wrought iron floor lamp, a record player tucked in the corner, and a coat rack off to her right.

He coaxed her over to the couch, and she spotted the bottle of Merlot wine with a pair of wine glasses on the table. She shut door and hung her green coat up on the rack next to the couch.

“Let the boys have their boyish drinks,” he told her as he picked up the corkscrew next to the bottle. “This is where the real fun lies.” He stuck in the screw and turned, and then pulled. Almost immediately, the smell of fresh wind swept over them. “I’m glad you got here early, too. Nate and Matt aren’t going to be here for at least another forty or so minutes: they’re all the way uptown.”

“Lou wanted a good parking space,” she explained with a shrug. He chuckled at that, and he poured her a big glass of wine first, and then he followed with himself.

“Always a good reason to come early,” he assured her. “Anyway, this is Merlot. A French wine, it’s what’s known as ‘dry’ meaning it’s a little more bitter, but it’s kind of fruity and kind of earthy, though.”

“A nice little balance,” she remarked, and she sniffed the glass first before she took a sip. Indeed, the cool wine hit her tongue and she could feel the music in her.

“Ooh, that’s good,” she stated.

“See? I love Merlot. And—” He raised his glass to her, and she followed suit.

“To life, to words, to ceramics and a guitar pick,” she stated.

“And those who hate can kindly suck my dick,” he followed along, and they both burst out laughing before they clinked their glasses together. She took another sip and a chill ran up her spine.

“Something I’ve wanted to do with you all week long, Christine,” he told her once he took an even bigger sip than she did.

“What’s that?”

She turned her attention toward him and the hooded look to his deep eyes. She raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, no,” she muttered. “You aren’t suggesting—”

“Yes, I am.” He sipped some more wine before he set it down in the table before him. Christine watched him duck on over to the record player when he saw there were no vinyl records there in the cabinet below the actual phonograph.

“What’s a record player that doesn’t have any records on hand?” he scoffed, and he threw his hands up. “Oy…”

She giggled at him, and then she took another sip. Alex then put his glasses on and shook his head about to ruffle his hair.

“We could still have some fun,” she assured him, and she stood to her feet and faced him. It was right then the effects of the wind swept over her. Christine had only had half a glass and yet, she was already slightly feeling the effects. He chuckled at her.

“You’re more of a lightweight than I am,” he told her as she sauntered closer to him.

“I keep picturing you naked,” she confessed to him.

“Me?” he asked her with a point of a finger towards himself.

“Yes, you,” she said, and she put her arms around his neck and stood up on her tiptoes for a little kiss on the side of his neck. Though he only had one glass, she could smell the wine on his breath.

“I pray that you don’t drink so much,” she confessed.

“I was never that much of a drinker,” he assured her with a shrug of his shoulders, “mainly because it quite literally doesn’t take much to give me a buzz. We’re talking a couple of glasses of wine or a couple of beers—that’s honest to god how much it takes for me to get even just a little bit tipsy. It’s hard on my stomach, too.”

She rested a hand on his belly, nicely round and soft under the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Hard on your little tum?” she asked him in a low voice.

“You sure aren’t, though,” he assured her once again, and that time he lowered his voice to a near whisper. Christine pressed her body against his own. It didn’t take long for her to feel tipsy, and it definitely didn’t take long for her to be in the mood with him. Alex shuffled back towards the wall next to the record player: she could once again see it in his eyes that he wanted it with her, and to get away from Captain Howdy and never look back for even one second. She could feel his desire even without even thinking twice. Christine fanned out her fingers and ran them down his chest onto his belly, and down to his belt.

“Oh deary me,” he remarked.

“That’s right,” Christine whispered into his lips.

“You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?”

“What else would I be doing?” she giggled into his lips as she moved in for another soft kiss, a sweet little peck right on those soft cherry lips. She moved her fingers onto his belt to find the end. She found it and nudged it towards the buckle.

She undid his belt for him with one hand. Alex then rested his hands on her shoulder blades, and he gently turned her towards the wall so he could have some control and she could command from the bricks behind her. He unzipped his pants and let them fall down around his legs: Christine peeled off her low cut white top and showed him her bra which buttoned at the front. He unbuttoned them for her and her breasts hung out for him.

“What are you?” he sputtered. “What are you, Christine Sixteen?”

“I’m your student, Professor Skolnick,” she growled, and she reached down to feel him.

“I don’t know if we can do this here, though,” he confessed to her in a breathy, husky voice.

“Sure, we can—”

“I don’t have protection,” he confessed once again as she stroked him with her thumb and her index finger.

“Are you healthy, though?” she asked him.

“Healthy enough.”

“Then there’s nothing we can’t do, baby,” she assured him as she leaned her back against the wall and put her hands behind her head. “Come on. Do your worst.”

“But what if we get caught?”

“Let ‘em look,” she told him, to which he gaped at her. “I want them to look. And I want her to look at us while we’re having some fun, baby boy.”

Alex bowed his head, and he planted some soft kisses on her breasts until the nipples were nice and tight.

“Down low, baby boy,” she coaxed him as the wine and the feeling of his body overtook her. Those long guitar player fingers fondled her under her hood, which sent shivers up her spine, much like that first night with him. But the wine had set him free.

The wine had woken him up to what he really wanted, and she wanted it so badly from him. 

Alex then came face to face with her.

Christine let out a gentle moan from the feeling of his shaft up against the outside of her lips. He locked eyes with her as he slipped the very tip in, and she treated him to a low, broken whimper. Her hands wandered up the curvature of his spine to the base of his neck. He slipped it in again to where she gasped and let out a low moan once again.

A third time and she gritted her teeth from the feeling.

A fourth time. The musky scent on the side of his neck was intoxicating for her, far more than Eric, Greg, and Louie’s combined colognes back on the main floor.

A fifth time. The fifth time was the charm. She opened her mouth all the way and a soft cry emerged. Alex leaned in and kissed the side of her neck.

“So good—so good—” she breathed out and she could feel that he had pulled out before he made a mess with her.

“Good for the soul?” he whispered into her ear.

“Like the feel of the music within me…” She opened her eyes and gazed into those baby blues, as soft and soulful as ever from behind those squared lenses.

“Christine… the Strawberry Girl,” he sang to her in a soft whisper. “Christine. The only one that I want—even if I wind up in a body bag—disintegrate me—” He licked his lips and moved back away from her to clean up and let her button up. A warm blush crossed his face, especially once he put his pants back on and fixed his shirt.

“If anyone asks, we were tipsy,” he told her, still in that husky voice.

“Of course,” she vowed to him, and she put her arms around his full waist and lay her head against his chest. Her breasts rubbed up against him, a good feeling to take with him even once Nathan and Matt showed up to the venue.

[ineed-to-sleep]

🖍🌈✨ for artist asks!

🖍 when did you start drawing? Do you remember?

Since forever as far as I can remember ajjdkdkf I've always loved to draw as a kid and from then on I just kept doing it. I think I started drawing more frequently tho when I was around like, 12 or 13, which is when I started getting into anime and started watching those ytb tutorials of stuff like "how to draw manga" and "how to draw anime girls" yk? Sjjfkfkgl I followed a lot of tutorials from this one guy called mark crilley who made his own comics. I think he's still making comics today but idk much about him now, he just seemed like a pretty chill guy and his tutorials were very helpful

🌈 do you use more warm or cold colors?

More warm, for sure. I try to break out of it more and try to use some cold colors, but I'm just really drawn to the warm tones for some reason 🤷🏻‍♀️ I usually end up sneaking them into my work in one way or another

🌠 how often do you draw?

Every day if I can help it djjfkf sometimes I don't on the weekends, but if I can, I'll sneak in a doodle no matter how small, just so I don't lose the habit. It's more a matter of stubborness at this point. I don't want to accidentally get myself into an art block where I lose motivation and confidence to draw and end up procrastinating it and going months without picking up the pen(which has happened to me before), so I make it a point to draw every day if I can.

[starry-bi-sky]

@bianca-hooks123

YOU ARE VERY SWEET TY FOR THE COMPLIMENTS (I always love seeing you in my activity feeds btw)

ignore how long it took me to reply i had a hectic week and weekend and replying to posts takes a lot of mental effort compared to reblogging them jhladsf

ALSO YES I WILL NEVER PASS UP AN OPPORTUNITY TO MAKE DANNY A LONG-HAIRED PUNK AND GIVE HIM PIERCINGS. It is law. I must do it. In some way or another he wILL have long hair or an alternative style.

He swept Kon off his feet with a cock-eyed smile, a pair of blue eyes that could swallow you whole, and some very, very well-timed humor. For the following week that Danny is in Metropolis, he's consistently texting Kon, and vice-versa, or walking around the city with him.

Lil Damian is maybe just a taaad angry about his brother's attention being elsewhere, but he's (steadily developing into) a clingy six-year old and Danny makes it up to him for it by showing him the new places that Kon brought him to, going to places Damian wants, and spending extra long time with him during their Arabic-English learning sessions.

On another note, I have less written thoughts and moreso doodles I did yesterday inspired by this au. THat's. Literally just how I imagine Phantom's ghost form (in this specific thread) looks (post-clone revelation) and Danny.

Never not gonna pass up the opportunity to give Danny a scarf if I can. They're cool :] and it adds a little flare. It leaves a little particle trail of stars behind him when the scarf moves, and when he's stagnant they kinda just float around him. It's also got a hood, but I hate drawing hoods so by the powers vested in me, I've decided that he can just summon the hood out of existence whenever he wants with a single flick of his hand when he motions pulling it up.

It does the batkid shadow blob thing where it casts his entire face in shadows, other than his eyes and, sometimes, his mouth whenever he smiles. Creepy mfer. As he deserves :]

He does indeed, have a forked tongue. It's green. I was this 👌 close to giving him a tongue piercing for the extra flare. Kill Kon a little bit more while I was at it. His ears are a little longer/sharper as Phantom and tend to move/pin back/prick up/swivel around when he's listening to things. As Danny, his ears are shorter and have the same range of movement as a human.

I like to think he eventually has this little travel-sized satchel thing strapped to his other thigh or his waist, close to his thermos, and it's basically just a small portal into his lair. He can reach into it and pull anything out so long as its in his lair. Bottomless pit bag-lite.

I also like to imagine he develops a habit of frosting over/hiding mirrors after finding out he's a clone when his identity issues get especially bad. But that's neither here nor there.

Danny, meeting Batman as Phantom: *spiderman point* THANKS FOR THE ANXIETY DISORDER, YOU FUCK. Batman: ????? what Danny, refusing to elaborate: *disappears*

Danny's a total teaser though. Btw. Like he can't handle being flirted with but goddamn is he one mean flirter. Even if it's sometimes unintentional. He takes his natural witty banter, amps it up by eleven, and watches Kon's face turn pink like a lion watching a gazelle limp across the savanna.

One of the times Kon makes a comment on his eyes, it's to say, through a stammering voice: "Jesus-- you have eyes that could swallow a man whole." after Danny said something vaguely flirty and then watched him intently.

Which, it's not the first time someone's commented on his eyes -- even before his accident, strangers and teachers used to say that he had the brightest blue eyes they'd ever seen. They were creepy; pretty; unsettling; boring into you. A random fortune teller at the mall who was somehow even crazier than his parents, who reeked of burned wood and cheap incense, pointed at his face and ominously slurred that he had the eyes of a ghost.

(He was six at the time, and never forgot about it.)

-- it's one of the few times it's said with an uncontrollable, flustered smile and a dark blush on the commenter's face. It's one of the few times it's said as a compliment, and it's so different and so bizarre compared to the usual things he hears, that Danny tumbles straight into loud, belly-laughter. He catches his breath long enough to stumble out a confused; "Th- thank you?" that flushes Kon's face an even darker shade of red, and tilts him into more laughter.

Which, Kon is one to talk, Danny could say the same about him.

Kon knowing about the ghost stuff in Amity Park. If only for the interaction of him visiting Danny for the first time, watching a fight break out from across the street in the local tech store (Technus got out) and after the fight ends, Kon goes, mostly to himself; "I didn't know Amity had a villain problem."

Danny appears beside him suddenly, his hair even messier than usual, holding a venti-sized cup of expresso (he terrifies the newbie baristas at the nearby starbucks, they all know him by name), and sporting a brand new shiner around his eye that, when questioned, says he "forgot to duck" and then doesn't elaborate on, and blandly states: "Most don't."

Whenever he's on call with Kon, Danny complains about the ghosts like one complains about the weather. Which isn't out of the norm for cities with villains and heroes, Kon's heard all about it from Tim (and he's done it himself), but it's a little different hearing it from a 'civilian' perspective.

Kon: how long has this been going on?? Danny, sprawled over his beanbag chair and painting his nails, Damian is Elsewhere: going on about threeee--? Yeah -- wait-- yeah, no, three years now. Almost four. Danny: Ghosts began popping up at the start of my freshman year, and they've become a constant ever since. Danny: It's a pretty big shock for newcomers since Amity does a fantastic job of keeping it on the downlow so we don't tank tourist sales, and most people usually keep touch on places like Metropolis, Central City, Star City, etcetera... since that's where the more legacy heroes are. Kon: huh Danny: yeah, I would've warned you beforehand had I known you were going to visit, *half-hearted glare* but late is better than never I suppose. Danny: take your time processing. Dames needed a minute too when he moved in with us, but he's been acclimating really well to... well, everything. So if a six year old can process the reality of ghosts, I'm sure you can too. Kon, sarcastically: wow, thanks.

Also Kon asks about Phantom, and Danny is thrown for a loop for a minute. Not because Kon's asking about Phantom -- it quickly rings for him that ofc Kon would ask him about the guy fighting off all the ghosts -- but because he is abruptly made aware of the fact, that talking about himself is fucking weird.

People don't ask Danny Fenton about the Phantom. Nobody is going to ask the ghost hunter's kid who runs away at the first sight of a ghost about the ghost kid. Especially when his parents explicitly state every chance they get how much they despise the ghost kid.

So the first time Kon asks about Phantom, Danny opens his mouth to respond, and then goes "oh what the fuck". Because trying to describe himself without being too descriptive or all-knowing about it is hard, and also just weird in general.

He rubs his neck and makes an uncertain noise, and goes; "Hhn, I'm not really the person to ask about that, Connor. I don't stick around ghost fights long enough to see him that much, and my parents would ground me until I died if they found out I was hanging around him at all."

(which is actually sorta based in canon! when the GIW were investigating the area during the Gregor episode, they went to the Fentons and told the parents they had reason to believe that their son was friends with the ghost kid. Maddie and Jack looked visibly upset by this, and when Jack called for Danny, he used the all-too-well-known parental tone of "you are in SO much trouble, young man")

Then he shrugs, and settles back into his chair, "Phantom doesn't really stick around after ghost fights anyways, from what I've heard. He's pretty shy; doesn't really talk to the living."

I am thinking about these two SO much

Over 900 prompt

Okay I love the Danny is a clone of Batman aus but I've never seen this done.

Danny and Kon dating and Then Danny learning his parents cloned Batman thinking he is a ghost only to find out he isn't and kept Danny as their kid.

Just think of the hilarious reactions

Caue this immediately popped into my head.

Kon: *muffled screaming into Tim's couch*

Tim: ....you good?

Kon: danny is the clone of Batman

Tim: ...

Kon: I'm the clone of Superman

Tim:...

Kon: AND WE ARE DATING!

[moonbeamnights]

A Breakfast Surprise

Summary: Milah bakes a homemade version of a processed snack.

Author's Note: Inspired by conversations with @justmilah about Milah cooking for Killian and making fun of him for not liking processed foods if she was in Storybrooke.

Read on AO3

Killian wakes to the faint beeping of the kitchen timer. As soon as he registers the absence of Milah’s presence beside him, his eyes snap to the bedside table, searching out of habit this time rather than panic for the note she always leaves. Sure enough, there’s a pastel pink sticky note stuck to the table, the words ‘I’m making a special surprise for breakfast’ accompanied by a small doodle of an oven.

Killian leans back on his pillow and closes his eyes again as he waits for Milah to call him to breakfast.

She brings it to him instead. “Good morning, sleepyhead. You didn’t want to come peek?” she says, nudging open the bedroom door, carrying a plate topped with an upside down bowl in imitation of a serving platter.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Killian says as he sits up. “Besides, I trust you.”

That makes Milah laugh. She sits beside him, grinning mischievously. “Oh, good. You’ll need to trust me.”

Killian raises an eyebrow. Milah lifts the bowl away in answer to his silent question.

He stares down in disbelief at the rectangular… thing confronting him from the plate.

“Is that a poptart?”

Milah falls into another fit of giggles.

“Is this like when you tried to make me eat jello last month?”

“What, you didn’t like the pirate hat molds I got to make it more appealing?”

Killian makes a disgusted face. “Nothing can make jello more appealing. And I have never in my life as a pirate worn such a hat. The very concept is an affront to style.”

Killian tries to study the poptart to determine what Milah might have done, like with the jello, to “make it more appealing” (the frosting looked less dry and stale, had she put her own frosting on it?), but she can’t keep a straight face and keeps laughing to herself amidst the smirking. Killian finds himself unable to focus on the poptart, watching Milah instead – even at his expense her amusement is adorable.

“Try it,” she urges. “Just try one bite.”

“Have I done something to upset you?”

“It’s a pastry, dear, not a punishment.” If she can at least say that seriously, then it’s probably fine. Killian picks up the poptart.

“I don’t know why you get such entertainment from feeding me this world’s grossest foods,” he mutters and takes a bite.

The crust is almost as crumbly as he’d expected, but surprisingly in a good way, and it’s fresh too. The frosting is smooth and creamy, not dried into brittle chunks. And the filling tastes suspiciously like the raspberry jam Milah bought at the last weekend’s farmers’ market. He’d been wrong. This wasn’t a poptart, at least not one from a box. And whatever else it was or wasn’t, it was certainly not gross.

“Did you make this?” he asks.

“Uh-huh,” Milah nods smugly. “So do you like it?”

Killian just glares, because nothing approximating a poptart has the right to taste this good, but of course Milah would be the one to accomplish it.

Milah starts to laugh again. “You do, don’t you. I knew you would. You can say so, you know.”

“Was this all some kind of ploy to record me saying I liked a poptart?”

“Dammit! Why didn’t I think of that? If I go get my phone would you say it?”

Killian chuckles softly. “You’re a menace,” he teases. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Hmmm… Kiss me?”

“That could be arranged.” Milah must have eaten one of the poptarts herself, because her lips taste like sugary frosting and raspberry jam. “I love you,” he says when he pulls away. “And yes, I love your not-a-poptart too.”

[the-thoughts-of-a-lonely-girl]

Highschool was rough. That's an understatement.

At 13, I was already lingering a little too long at the curb side on the way to school. Watching the trucks barrel past the main road, I walked beside and thought about how easy it would be to veer left.

My best friend had her own battles. She tried but we were from very different worleds and I don't think she really got it. Existing in a school where kids woild litterally throw their lunch at me and then go home to hear another one of my parents' screeming matches. Always walking on eggshells. Not to discredit her efforts!

Dispite having a mother that would drive her to school in a clean car and drop her at the gates with a smile, she still insisted on being let out at the top of the hill, where I lived, so she could walk beside me. It helped, but when you're in that deep, its kinda hard.

One morning, I'd gotten sick of the relentless teesing. The kids that would jeer at me before I even got to the gates. Most of us lived in the same area, that's how it is with public schools, so I got to enjoy their company long before I braved the actual building.

I'd wandered a little far from my house that weekend and discovered a small bridge over the canal, and after some Google maps, I found it went around the back streets and up to the front gates.

I just couldn't do it that day so I texted my friend to meet me at the gates instead, today, and, at 7am, drowned in a blazer with sholder pads higher than my future prospects and a backpack full of scribbles and doodles I did instead of classwork, I walked to school the long way 'round.

And I found the most incredible thing.

In the early morning, away from the cars thundering down the road and shouting of school children, you could hear the dawn chorus. Little birds flitted across my path to and frow from the green that laced the canal. Once I dragged my feet across the beaten, small tarmac path and to the centre of the rusted, old, metal bridge, I found I could see the sunrise perfectly.

The oranges and pinks lit the still water ablaze. The horizon seemed to stretch forever over the surface. Cold, unbroken morning air stung my face and filled my chest.

Sure, in retrospect, I was a ratty teenager standing on an equally ratty bridge, stearing out at dirty water at stupid o'clock in the morning but at the time? It felt like the first breath of air I'd ever tasted. Like true. Actual. Quite.

So from that day on, I walked to school the long way 'round. I took a moment to stand on the bridge and watch the sunrise and actually breathe before I had to face what lay ahead of me.

Nothing really got better until I got out of that hellhole they called a high school but on bad days. When I was so numb, I felt like just running off and into that road I lived beside, I thought about that part of my walk to school.

Every time I decided that I wanted to hear the dawn chorus one more time. That just one more time, I wanted to see the sky light up with orange and breath that chilled morning air.

And it kept me alive.

Now, when life gets too much and I feel that pit in my chest try to swallow me hole, I remember that.

And I take the time to walk the long way 'round.

[luveline]

Ok but like shy!reader doodling Eddie's tattoos onto her own arms and then getting embarrassed when he sees them. But he's just like "wdym you're embarrassed, it's cute... But you're missing a bat, there's seven of them :)"

this is the cutest idea ever!! ♡ shy!fem!reader | 1k words

You'd forgotten all about your penned imitations by the end of the day, a boring morning at work spent idly doodling swiftly replaced in your memory by a turbulent afternoon. 

You stare at the desk with your hands braced at the sides of your face. You're tired and aching and you just really want to see Eddie, his frizzy curls all windblown from driving with the windows down, his ripped clothes. 

Life is sometimes fair. As soon as you think of him, he appears.

"Hey," Eddie says, bright and easy.

You blink at him and grin from behind the Palace arcade desk.

"Miss me?" he asks, smirking.

You try to hide your smile but the damage has already been done. Refusing to answer, you pretend to be busier than you are, reaching under the counter for another roll of quarters. 

"I was thinking we'd go get milkshakes. You know, celebrate the weekend," he says, his hand clasped around the crook of his arm, head inclined to yours. 

"I'm sorry you have to wait for me," you apologise.

Eddie finishes school an hour and a half before you finish work. You know he's taken to spending that time in the parking lot, shooting the breeze. Or, from the smell, smoking it. You feel very guilty to take up his time like that, and also, secretly, very special. 

"Don't be. You know," he turns so his back is to you and points to his van, "when I park right there? I can see you running around in here. You realise they're only paying you minimum wage, right?" 

"You watch me working?" you ask. 

"What?" He spins around, a hand sewn into the hair behind his neck. "Of course not… Hey, what's that?" 

It's your worst nightmare to be caught like this, his tattoos badly replicated over your arm and on clear display. If he didn't know how hopeless you are about him before this is an amazingly obvious indication. 

You pull your arm to your chest in a poor attempt at hiding it and he vies for it, fingers kind but insistent as they close around your wrist. You're not in the habit of denying him anything but you can't look at him as he lays your arm across the desk. He's unusually quiet as he slides a ringed finger under your sleeve and hikes it up high. His fingertips stay bordering your sleeve and his thumb brushes over a clumsy wing, his eyes a shade from blank.

You squirm under his touch but don't pull away. Eddie's eyes flit up to your face. He takes in your embarrassment and is quick to try to make you feel better, his grip loosening. 

"Hey, it's okay. They look good on you." 

Your relief is palpable. You step as close to him as you can with the counter between you and he screws his lips to the side, a lopsided smile. 

"You're missing one," he says wryly. 

"Huh?" 

"You're missing one of the bats. D'you have a pen?" 

You lean back to the register and grab one for him. He takes it gratefully and unstoppers it with his teeth, holding the cap between his lips. The nib is small and thin and tickles you worse now that it's Eddie drawing on you. He sets it to your skin gently, a feathering sketch stretching out besides the other bats as he slowly completes your temporary tattoo. He does a much better job than you, though he has a clearer point of reference. 

He strokes your arm when he finishes, a cheerful smile affecting his every feature: his eyes crease, his cheeks perk up. 

"Voilà," he says. "Perfect." 

He changes his mind abruptly. "Oh, wait." 

He sets the pen to your skin again. You struggle to see it as he writes E.M in his brilliant hand, letters all pointy and broad. From your angle it looks like a W and a backwards E so it takes you a few seconds to recognise what they are.

"Gotta sign the artwork." 

You hold your hand out for the pen and he passes it to you. You struggle to write upside down, reworking your initials in your head before you set them underneath his with a small plus sign. 

He leans forward and squints at it. His hair falls in his face. You ditch the pen to tuck it behind his ear, your hand tentative, your touch lingering behind his earlobe. 

You're distracted by his earring, a tiny silver stud, and don't notice he's taken the pen again until he's half finished his next addition. 

He puts the pen down with a self-satisfied hum. 

A confident heart encapsulates both of your initials. 

"You should get that for keeps." You laugh, breathless, and his smile only grows. "Yeah? That would be sweet. The bats too, if you can stomach it."

"I should start small," you murmur. 

Funny, to see any kind of bashfulness on Eddie, who's features seem designed for smugness or something similar. 

"Maybe just the E," you add with a feigned nonchalance. 

He looks like he wants to jump over the desk. Nervous laughter bubbles up your throat and you pull your arm out of his grip to cover your mouth with your hand. 

"When's your shift finish?" he asks, though he knows. 

"Five minutes." 

He starts to back out of the arcade, eyes on yours and hand aloft. "You spend those five minutes thinking about what you want tonight, yeah? I'm gonna start the van." He almost hits a little kid on the way out. You can see the muttered cuss word on his lips. When he looks back at you he's electric. "Anything you want, you can have!"

His promise makes the last five minutes feel longer than any of the hours before. 

[daydreamingleclerc]

the babysitter 0.3 - mason mount

this is the third and final part to the single dad!mason x babysitter reader story. you can find part one here, and part two here. i just want to say a huge thank you for the support on this mini-series, i’ve enjoyed writing it so much and single dad!mason will always have a special place in my heart. i hope it’s everything you hoped it would be <3 

story summary: in which, after his ex-fiancee and your best friend, ashley, walked out on mason and their two year old daughter, gabriella, you’ve been babysitting her while mason goes to important events, and after a heated night, things get complicated.

warnings: swearing, soft, protected, fluffy sex, a bit of cockwarming i guess? swearing, argument, that’s about it i think? this is very very cheesy. hasn’t been proofread.

requests are closed. for reference, about eight weeks have passed since the last chapter. dedicating this to everyone who love’s single dad mason as much as me and all my sexy mutuals <3

your laptop sat open in front of you, your notebook full of doodles as you sat on the phone with your mother in the quiet cafe that was adjoined to the library, watching everyone pass in front of you picking up books they liked the look of or books they needed for school; and everytime she spoke you stifled a yawn. 

the sun beamed through the window beside you, and everytime you turned your head to the side, even slightly, it made you squint. you always chose the worst possible seat in the cafe, it was either too loud, too messy, too quiet, and now you had too sunny to add to that list. you stifled another yawn. 

“i promise i’ll come down and visit at the weekend, okay? we can cook a roast and i’ll listen to all your stories about paula,” she sighed, but ultimately agreed to your offer with a soft tone of voice, “okay mum, i’ve really got to go. yeah, i love you too, bye.”

the cafe was quiet now, after an after-school rush from all the school children that made you lose complete concentration, it was now back to its usual quiet atmosphere which you were thankful for. there was a couple in the corner sipping on iced coffee, a man in his fifties was sat at the counter with a newspaper, and then there was you, on your third coffee of the day as you tried desperately to power through this portion of your essay. 

coffee didn’t help with your exhaustion anymore, you’d drank too much of it in the last month for the caffiene to have any affect on your body, but that didn’t stop you from drinking it. you brought the cup to your lips and continued making notes, your fingers slapping down on the keys too loud for their own good. 

you knew, sooner or later you would have to pack up and leave. your headphones were hanging on their last thread of battery, and your laptop was overheating so much it might as well have packed in on you then and there. through the low music coming through your half-dead buds, you heard pushchair wheels and a small childs giggle. you furrowed your eyebrows at the sound, something inside of your body lit up like a match when you clocked it sounded painfully like gabriella, and your heart sank. 

it had been almost two months since you told mason you couldn’t be that woman, and not a day went by where you regretted your decision. ashley had got what she wanted, but you were miserable without mason and gabriella to look forward to. 

“Y/N!” 

you were so engrossed in your own thoughts at first to hear the high pitched squeak of your name from behind you, but when you felt a small pinch on your bare thigh you turned to find your instinct had served you well. 

gabriella was stood beside you with a smile on her face, dressed in her favourite outfit, a little pink gingham dress with her hair in pigtails and matching pink bows, with her favourite pair of beige sandals. ironically enough, you were wearing the same print of dress in blue, and you couldn’t help but smile widely at her when your eyes met hers. 

you looked around you, craning your neck around so you could scout out who gabriella was with, a flood of panic washing over you. “gabri, are you with mummy?” 

“nope,” she popped the p, and rocked back and forth on her heels. you took a breath, “i’m with daddy, he promised he’d buy me a milkshake.” you hooked your hands under her armpits and the child giggled when she found herself sitting on your lap.

“gabriella, you can’t just - oh,” mason appeared from behind you, pushing gabriella’s buggy in one hand, and her milkshake and a cookie in the other. you looked up at him as soon as you heard his voice, and his eyes scanned your face much like you did with his. his face softened quickly. “Y/N, hi.” 

“hi, mason,” you smiled softly, thankful for gabriella softening the blow of awkwardness, “sorry, i shouldn’t of, uh, i shouldn’t of picked her up.” 

“no, no, it’s fine,” mason’s smile got wider then, and despite himself, he slipped into the chair opposite you, “i didn’t realise you came in here.” 

gabriella made grabby hands at the plastic cup, her eyes glued to the whipped cream surrounding its top as mason helped her hold it, his eyes leaving yours for only a moment. as much as you tried to fight it, your heart swelled and immediately you felt like you’d never left. 

“could say the same about you,” you hummed, “i didn’t put you as the library type.” 

he laughed, and broke off a section of the rounded cookie for gabriella to eat while she sat content in your lap. “i’m not, but gabriella seems to like it in here,” he looked across at you, his eyes flickering to the three books piled up to the side of your now-dead laptop, “i can’t ever think why.” 

“oh yeah,” you played along with his joke, “i was definitely reading her jane austen before bed.” 

the pair of you shared a chuckle, and gabriella looked up at you with a big, chocolatey smile and you laughed, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of your cardigan hanging on the back of the chair. “she’s missed you,” mason hummed, but quickly played it off as if he were talking to his daughter, even though you both knew what he wanted to say. so have i. “haven’t you, bree?”

the brunette nodded, and quickly she’d started babbling about the new babysitter, who according to both of them was never as good as you. mason admired you from across the table, your sillhouette shining in the unusually hot april sun. his eyes travelling down to the neckline of your dress, where he could see the faintest of tanlines where the paler curves of your chest met with the tanned ones, and when you caught him, his cheeks turned a soft shade of red. 

“daddy, when are you going away again so Y/N can look after me?” 

gabriella’s question made both you and mason laugh, she’d never had a fear of being abrupt with her words, a trait she’d developed from him. “i don’t know, princess,” he leaned over the table and wiped whipped cream from his daughter’s nose, “but Y/N might be busy like she has been for the last few weeks.” 

you averted mason’s gaze then, another pang of guilt washing over you at realising he’d told gabriella you were just too busy to babysit; and the look on his face told you that he’d been telling himself that too, but that you’d been forgiven. 

“can she come and play?” 

“what, now?” 

“yes, daddy,” gabriella groaned, as if telling mason to keep up with her quick-wit brain, “can Y/N come and play now?” 

silence fell among the three of you, and mason’s eyes glistened when they looked into your sombre ones, teetering on the edge of whether to say yes or not. gabriella, hopeful as ever, looked between the pair of you and she tapped on your wrist, “daddy will cook turkey dinosaurs for us,” a soft little smirk found its way to her face at the prospect, “and we can make cookies!” 

you couldn’t help but laugh at the child’s persuasion techniques, and mason laughed too, squeezing his daughter’s cheeks. “she’s right, if you come over i’ll cook for you, i can’t promise it won’t be turkey dinosaurs, but i’ll drive you home afterwards so you don’t have to walk.” 

his face mimicked his daughters now, full of hope and excitement. this was your second chance, to talk things over and set your story straight. 

“i’ll come and play as long as you promise to let me decorate at least one cookie this time.”

gabriella huffed again when she hopped off of your lap and in to the pushchair, but ultimately she held her pinky finger up for you to loop yours around, “and daddy can have a judging contest!” 

                                            *

“snap!” 

you put a matching shark card down next to gabriella’s on the playmat, and she beat you to the winning word with a big, cheeky grin, her hand covering the cards. you feigned shock, sighing loudly and gabriella laughed. 

“when did you get so good at snap, gabri?” 

“at nursery.” she stated matter-of-factly, a proud smile on her face, and she picked up a turkey dinosaur from the plate beside her, chomping down on the snack. 

“mrs. oliver told daddy she’s the best,” mason chimed in, sitting himself down on the mat, his legs outstretching either side of his daughter and caging her inbetween them. he brushed all her hair back and left a big, wet kiss on his daughters forehead, “didn’t she, baby?” 

gabriella just nodded, knowing it was rude to speak with her mouthful. you smiled, and collected all the cards in your hands to put them back in the box. mason’s eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, and then he looked over at his daughter who was rummaging in the toybox for some more dollies. 

“sweetheart, half an hour and then it’s bedtime, daddy’ll go and make you some milk, okay?” 

all she did was nod, finishing her dinosaur. mason lingered in the doorway for a few seconds, and he watched gabriella clambered onto your lap softly with a smile on his face. 

that half an hour flew by, with gabriella falling asleep almost instantly on your chest after drinking her milk. you joined mason when he put her to sleep, hovering in the doorway as he told her how much he loved her before shutting the door and switching on his baby monitor. 

“can i stay?” you asked, blurting it out halfway down the staircase. mason spun around, his feet stopping and his eyes meeting yours, “i feel like there’s still a lot to talk about, that and my flatmate isn’t home right now and i don’t like being there alone.” 

“of course, you don’t have to ask.” he smiled, and continued his walk down the stairs with you following suite. you shadowed him like a lost puppy as he walked through the kitchen to collect some things, and found comfort when he patted the sofa seat beside him, to which you slid onto. 

silence got the better of you both again, trickles of awkwardness dripping through now that gabriella had gone to sleep. 

“i’m sorry for everything,” you admitted sheepishly. mason was half invested in the programme on the television, but as soon as the words left your lips he turned to face you. “i feel really awful over how i left it.” 

“you don’t have to apologise, Y/N.” 

“no, mason, i do.” you frowned, shifting on the sofa so you were facing him, your feet tucked under your bum. 

“you and gabriella didn’t deserve that, and i shouldn’t of let ashley get under my skin, she just made me feel so guilty for what we did.” 

“hey, hey,” mason cooed, scooting closer to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “i’m not mad at you ‘cause if i were you i’d have done the same thing,” his thumb stroked circles around your shoulder, “you didn’t want to break up a family, and it took a while for me to understand, but i did. as far as i see it ashley was never in the family to begin with.” 

silence hit you again, but it was a good silence, a better silence. the kind of silence you had before. “i really like you, mason,” you admitted sheepishly, your voice quiet and feeble, “i have for a while, ashley could see right through it like she always could, and if i’m being honest with myself, i couldn’t bare the pain if you didn’t like me back so cutting it off felt like the best option.” 

suddenly, the silence fell upon again, but you couldn’t tell whether it was the bad kind, the one you wished you’d never have to suffer again, or the good one, the one you’d happily sit in for eternity if it meant he would be there too. “i need to know if you feel the same, mason,” you sighed, regretting everything you’d said, “because if you don’t, not only have i made a tit out of myself but i can also move on.” 

his eyes met yours, and when you looked into them, they were soft and warm. homely. 

“why are you looking at me like that?” 

“you talk too much.” 

the hand that was on your shoulder brushed your cheek and when he leaned in, you didn’t stop him. his lips were soft, much softer than you remembered them to be, and he kissed you so delicately, as if he would break you if he put any force behind it. 

he pulled away first, but the kiss still reverberated through your body and he laughed when he saw your lips slightly parted. 

“i think that answers your question, doesn’t it?”

within seconds, your lips were back on his, your hands wrapping around his shoulders as you melted into his touch, a wave of relief washing over your body after wanting to do this a million times in the last two months. 

“as much as i want to do this,” mason pulled away from you, unsure of where to put his hands, so he wrapped his fingers around your arms softly, “i don’t really want to have sex on the sofa my daughter sits on every day.” 

your head fell into the crook of his neck, and when his lips found yours again you felt like you were floating. the pair of you made your way upstairs, stopping every so often to leave a hot kiss on the others lips or neck, like hormonal teenagers.

“you look so gorgeous,” he said once you’d made it to the comfort of his bedroom, his fingers hooking into the straps of your dress and watching them fall to your elbows, “have i told you that before?”

his lips found your neck, sucking at the skin softly and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hands tugging at the hairs around the back of his head. “once or twice.” you murmured. a shiver rolled down your spine when he sucked particularly harshly on a bit of skin.

“mhm,” he bumped your chin backwards with his nose and his lips moved to suck gently on the underside of it, “thought so.”

your hands fumbled with the hem of his shirt, pushing it up his torso until it hooked around his neck and he had no choice but to tug it off. his fingers pushed your sundress up, higher and higher until he pulled away and admired you.

you felt a blush fall against your cheeks when his fingertips located the zip at the side of the dress, nimbly working to free you of the material until it pooled at your feet.

you sunk to your knees and your fingers worked on the buttons of his jeans, your eyes waiting eagerly for the thing you’ve wanted so much in the last two months.

your lips wrapped around him, tongue flat against the underside as you bobbed your head gently around his dick and you watched as his chest heaved in anticipation.

your tongue swirled and you used your hand to stimulate what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, and mason pushed the hair from your face with every thrust. “fuck, Y/N,” he whimpered, “you’re so good at that.”

you hummed against him, pulling off of his dick with a pop, “lay back, mase.”

he did as he was asked, laying on the bed with his head propped against the pillows, and he admired you as you sat on his torso. your fingers fumbled in the dresser when he began to rock you against his abs, the friction of his skin against your clit making your vision go fuzzy.

you stayed like that for a while until you felt like you were ready, rocking back and forth on mason’s stomach with one of his hands on your hip while the other massaged one of your nipples. he watched from underneath you as you ripped the condom wrapper apart with your teeth and rolled it on, almost as skilled as him in that department.

“ready?”

in the time he had asked the question, he’d managed to shift, so he was now sitting upright. you still hovered over him, legs now either side of his and you nodded, bracing your hands on his shoulders as he held the base of his dick in one hand and your hip in the other.

no feeling compared to this, you were sure of it. being filled up to the hilt like this had never failed to startle you, and as you sunk down on him it felt like he was never ending.

“oo-oh, fuck, mason,” you whimpered once your bum hit his legs, a signal that he was inside of you fully, “you’re filling me up so well.”

you stayed like that for a moment, not moving but fully content, and then you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and carefully began to bounce up and down.

it was painfully obvious right from the get go that neither of you would last long at all, but you really did not care in the slightest. mason’s head buried itself in the crook of your neck when you started moving faster, soft whimpers and cries of his name tumbling from your mouth so fast neither of you could stop them.

“you’re so - holy fuck - so deep,” you whined, your head now burying in his neck as you felt the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter.

“and you’re so tight,” he replied, one of his hands finding your cheek and carefully guiding you to meet his face, “my pretty, pretty girl.”

your lips found his and you pushed him backwards until he was flat once more, the angle far easier and gave you the ability to go faster, which made the both of you let out a stifled groan from the back of your throats. one of his hands found your boob and he watched your face scrunch up into one of pure pleasure as you stablised yourself with your hands on his thigh. 

“mason ‘m gonna, i - i can’t-” 

“cum for me, darling,” mason’s words were soft, and you did exactly as he asked, your hips faultering as you stilled on top of him, clenching around him tightly. “fuck, fuck, Y/N, ‘m gonna-” 

mason couldn’t finish his sentence either, his orgasm hitting him quicker than he’d anticipated, his hands gripping at your hips as he bucked up into you, the both of you riding out your highs together. 

you fell forward onto his torso, head resting in the crook of his neck, kissing the slither of skin that sat between his beard and jawline, your lips filling the gaps between hair. his fingers traced shapes on your back until you eventually and reluctantly climbed next to him, leaving him free to toss the condom off to the side and bury next to you. 

“thank you.” you said after a while of silence, your head buried in the crook of mason’s neck, with one hand tracing the thin brown hairs on his chest. 

“for what?” he furrowed his eyebrows together, voice muffled in your hair. 

“for giving me a second chance,” you admitted sheepishly. mason’s heart fluttered and when you lifted your head to gaze into his eyes, sleepy and content, he thought his heart would swell. 

“no one deserves this more than you.” 

his lips found yours again, and you knew it would be a long sleepless night tangled between the bedsheets, but neither of you seemed to mind.  

* 

when you woke up that next morning, the bed was cold, and when you rolled over mason was no where to be found. if it weren’t for the fact that you could hear him and gabriella whispering as the staircase creaked, you would’ve panicked, but instead you rolled back over and shut your eyes. 

“good morning sunshine!” 

mason’s voice rang through the bedroom a few minutes later in a sing-song type of tone, and when you poked your head out from underneath the duvet, gabriella jumped on the bed beside you. she wrapped her arms around your neck and you felt painfully exposed when you remembered you were all but fully naked under the duvet, with only a pair of mason’s boxers covering your bottom half. 

your eyes trailed over to mason, who was in his gym gear and ready to head down to his gym room, but he had a tray in his hand, and you knitted your eyebrows together. 

“what have you been up to?” 

“gabriella wanted to make you breakfast in bed,” mason smiled, a loose-lipped smirk hanging off of his lips as he got closer, “we’ve got the full works here.” 

“i thought i could smell burning.” you joked.

“no daddy,” gabriella grumbled, “you wanted to make Y/N breakfast in bed.” 

mason’s cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink and when he put the tray down on your lap you noticed a little note tucked underneath the plate of toast in mason’s handwriting with a little yes or no box. 

“what’s this?” 

“gabriella has a question for you.” 

you turned your head to the child beside you and she looked up at you with twinkling silver glimmers in her eyes and when she looked at mason for confirmaftion on her cue, you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“will you be daddy’s new friend?” the room went silent, only for a second as you clocked gabriella’s question. friend. daddy’s new friend. new girlfriend. “don’t tell me you need to tick a box and give it to daddy.”

you blushed, averting both their gazes as you ticked the yes box with the big green pen, handing it to mason with a smile on your face. when he opened the note his face lit up into a bright smile and he leaned over to kiss your lips softly, which made gabriella squeal. 

“using your daughter to ask me to be your girlfriend? shame on you.” you teased, mumbling the words against his lips. mason shrugged. 

“foolproof way of getting you to say yes,” he snagged a bit of toast from your plate, “i’m just going to work out, be back in half an hour.” 

“so i might be your girlfriend now but i’m still a babysitter?” 

“you can join me if you want,” he mocked, hanging around in the doorway, but then when he saw the upturned expression of your nose he giggled, “thirty minutes. promise.” 

true to his word, mason was back in thirty minutes, and when he entered the bedroom to find you with a towel on your head and gabriella in your arms in her towel he melted. 

“daddy look!” gabriella squealed, holding out her arms for mason to sniff, “i used your soap and so did Y/N!” 

mason did a big dramatic sniff of his daughters arm and pressed a kiss to your cheek. he hooked his arms under his daughters armpits and the pair of them rubbed noses, “does this mean daddy gets to use your shampoo?” 

“no, daddy!” 

“but it makes my hair all soft!” 

you watched the two of them have a moment as you got dressed, slipping on your bra and the shirt you snooped around mason’s drawers for which fell to your thighs. his eyes caught your frame when you pulled the towel from your head and he sat gabriella on the bed, “once i’ve showered we’ll go to yours and you can pack a bag to bring some clothes to keep here.” 

“where’ll they go?” 

mason shrugged, “it’s about time i took this stuff to the charity shop, don’t you think?” 

you rolled your eyes and shoved him into the bathroom, unamused by his stupid humor, and continued getting both yourself and gabriella ready. she sat in your lap on mason’s livingroom floor while you plaited her wet hair so it would end up curly, engrossed in whatever it was that she had put on the telly. 

“Y/N?” 

“yes, gabri?” 

“because you’re daddy’s new friend does this mean you’re my new mummy?” 

your heart sank to the pits of your stomach, particularly at the sound of her hopeful voice. 

“sweetie i’m never going to replace your mummy,” you cooed, hands running softly through her hair, “you can still call me Y/N, okay?” 

she nodded sheepishly, her attention drawing back to the television in front of her while you continued to play with her hair and plait it like you’d done with yours. just as the shower switched off, the doorbell rang through the house, and you heard mason calling you from the top floor of the house. 

“babe can you get that?” he shouted, “it’s probably lewis, he’s watching summer while jaz is on holiday and he said they might pop round.”

“no problem!” 

when you opened the door the warm air hit your skin and it felt like you’d just stepped off the plane into a foreign country, until you looked up and a shiver ran through your spine at the person standing in front of you. ashley was standing there, engagement ring glistening in the sunlight and you frowned angrily at the sight. 

“let me guess, you fucked my husband again last night.” 

her eyes trawled over your body, and you felt more exposed than ever at that moment, glancing up at the staircase. you could hear mason humming as he made his way around the bedroom, and you could hear gabriella fumbling around in the livingroom. 

“what’s your problem, ash? are you jealous of me or something?” 

“you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” she spat. the anger on her face was painfully obvious, and it provided a little flicker of serotonin to fire up in the pit of your stomach. 

“yeah, actually, i would,” you admitted, and you watched as the jealousy bubbled up in her stomach. she went to open her mouth but you cut her off, “mason’s just got out the shower, gabri’s in the livingroom, do you want a cup of tea?” 

“you’re a bitch.” 

“i know.” 

“babe? was it lewis?” mason’s voice called over the bannister, and you kept eye contact with ashley the whole time. 

“no, it’s ashley.” you called back, and you felt the mood in the air change, positive that it wasn’t just you who felt it. gabriella came skipping out of the livingroom at the sound of your voice, but she soon stopped in her tracks when she saw her mum stood in front of you. 

“hi mummy,” she smiled, her actions juxtaposing her words as she tugged on your leg, “Y/N’s done my hair like hers do you like it?” 

ashley didn’t answer. mason came jogging down the stairs, hair damp and flat as he looked at you with a sorry, sympathetic look in his eyes. you smiled at him softly and he turned to face his ex-wife, his eyes immediately rolling at the sight of her in the engagement ring. 

“still wearing that stupid ring?” 

“why wouldn’t i?” 

mason’s tongue poked at the corner of his mouth, and he brought a hand to rest on his hip. you hooked your hands under gabriella’s armpits, and poked her nose when she looked at you with a frown, “c’mon gabri, shall we go and paint your nails?” 

she nodded and you swiftly took her across to the living room, shutting the door enough so that the noise of the two of them could be drowned out but also giving you the ability to listen in if you wanted to. 

“are mummy and daddy going to fight?” she asked, a frown on her face as she handed you the shimmery green nail varnish. 

“probably,” you hummed, and you watched as she slumped, “but i’ll be with you the whole time, and if it gets too bad i’ll go out and tell them to keep quiet, okay?” 

she nodded, and eased herself down on the beanbag as you painted her little toenails. 

“i don’t know who you think you are,” mason’s voice was raised, “accusing me of being a bad father for wanting to give our child a decent female figure to look up to.” 

“you’re shagging my best friend, mason!” 

“don’t act like a fuckin’ saint, ash,” you heard him spit, “we both know if she wasn’t with harry when we got together it would’ve been her anyway.” 

“what?” 

what? 

your mouth went dry and silence fell among the pair of them. gabriella cocked her head to the side and once her toenails were dry she clambered up onto her knees and stuck her chin on the windowsill to watch her mum out of the window, although she seemed to be more interested in the pigeon’s hopping around the grass. 

“come on, ash, it was bitterly obvious that i was intoxicated with her even though i loved you, but i never wanted to hurt you or her or harry, so i learned to live with it, pushed the feelings away because i was in love with you,” he rocked back and forth on his heels, “which is more than you can say.” 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“you know what i mean, ashley.” 

gabriella’s eyes turned to you when she watched you poke your head out of the livingroom door, and she was infatuated with you, almost as much as mason. 

“how do you feel about me now?” mason’s head turned to the side, his eyes softening at the sight of you, lips immediately curling up into a smile. “because i know how i feel about you.” 

“i bet you love this, don’t you?” ashley frowned, “you take everything from me, and now you’re taking my husband-”

“-i’m not your fucking husband!” 

mason’s voice was so loud, it reverberated around the house and made you jolt beside him. ashley’s face softened, all hope of bargaining to get mason away from you failing in front of her eyes, and she watched the pair of you with a bitter expression. 

“i love you, Y/N.” 

mason’s hands pressed against your cheeks, his forehead pressed against yours as his words fizzled around your head and heart, “it’s always been you.” 

“first you get your daughter to ask me to be your girlfriend and now you’re confessing your love for me in front of your ex-wife, could this get any cheesier?” you shared a laugh, mason’s warm breath on your skin and prickling the fine hairs on your cheeks. gabriella halted behind you, watching in amazement. 

“i love you too, mason.” 

* 

mason posed beside you with gabriella in his arms as you got your graduation pictures two months later, holding your graduation scroll in your hands with a big, proud grin on your face. 

“i’m so proud of you,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your face when you got into the car. gabriella fell asleep almost instantlly as soon as mason began to drive away from the ceremony, “in fact i don’t think i’ve ever been prouder.” 

your hand found his on the gearstick and you hummed. 

“it’s always been you, mason.” 

“i know,” he brought your hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “forever and always, yeah?” 

“forever and always.” 

[lokislastlove]

Mans Rea (Dark!Andy Barber x Reader) part 2

Summary: Your TA, Andy Barber, has you over for a private session.

Warnings: Noncon/Rape, dubcon, smut, spanking, marking, edging, a bit of humiliation and degradation.

Note: Ok this really was supposed to be a one shot but then y’all came out and read it and liked it 😭 I felt inspired to add just a bit more, so thank you for that you lovely humans, y’all are awesome! It’s probably not as good as part one, but it is what it is. 🧡 thanks for all the support, you guys are so kind.

Part 1 Here

Part 2:

Professor Ryan prattles on in his lecture, doing his best to try and make the dry lesson plan as engaging as possible, often falling short of the mark. You zone out, as you’ve found yourself doing more and more lately, the squiggly vine-like doodles spreading the length of the lined margins before the whine of the door opening draws your eye away from your notebook. You feel your chest clench, air stilling in your lungs as you watch Andy nod at the professor, holding up a stack of papers before silently taking a seat off to the side.

“Ah, excellent Andy,” your teacher pauses, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his sweater vest. “Our wonderful TA has been hard at work grading your written exams, so be sure to give him a big ‘thank you’ as you grab it on your way out the door. I think we’ll end here for the day. Have a wonderful weekend everyone.”

The classroom breaks into a cacophony of sound as people fold down the small desk tray attached to the seat and gather their stuff. The girl two girls sitting in front of you twitter together flippantly, shushing each other’s giggles as they rush to flirt with the ‘hot’ TA.

Dread has you hesitating until you realize you are one of only a handful of students left. The fear of being alone with him only marginally overpowering the concern of what he might say in front of the other students. Your mouth goes dry as you descend the last few steps from the auditorium seats and near your tormentor. Two students linger a few paces away, discussing their weekend plans, as you steal yourself and come face to face with Andy for the first time since your library indiscretion.

Your hand shakes as you reach for your paper, keeping your eyes down and lips tight. He holds the essay just out of reach until you are forced to look him in the eye. His grin widens, teeth biting his bottom lip as he takes in your naturally submissive posture. You grip the edge of the paper and try to pull but he tugs you first and you gasp as he leans in closer.

“Don’t forget to say ‘thank you’, dove,” he smirks, the paper crinkling in his tight hold.

“Thank you,” you murmur, stumbling back as he suddenly lets go.

You swallow thickly as you back away toward the door, Andy’s piercing blue gaze tracking your retreat. Your shoulder hits the doorframe painfully and you finally look away as you scurry out of the room. The large ‘A’ etched into the corner of your exam feels undeserving, the familiar red ink making your cunt clench in memory as you shove it into your bag.

That night, the terror you felt in his presence sours into a bitter resentment. Instead of celebrating a great score on a test worth half of your overall grade, you stew in silence cursing Andy for tainting your happiness. You had always prided yourself on your work ethic and dedication to your studies, but now he’s even stolen that, casting doubt on what you did to deserve that A. Did you actually do well? Or is the favorable outcome paid for by your promiscuity?

—

Hey, early bird. :)

You stare at those three words, the taste of bile on the back of your tongue. How did he get your phone number? Do you reply or just delete? Minutes tick by as you go through a pros and cons list for every option. Your finger hovers over the ‘delete’ button only to be interrupted by another incoming message.

I know you’re awake. And I can see that you’ve read my message.

You cover your mouth instinctually, looking around as though expecting him to pop out of your dorm room closet. You pull up the keypad and reply with a curt ‘what’.

Straight to business, I like it. ;) I got a new assignment here I’m gonna need your help with. I’ve got plans this afternoon but you can swing by my fraternity this evening.

You scoff and send back, “no.”

Well, I don’t mind the library but you haven’t been by for a week. I suppose I could make a stop by the Callahan building. You still on the third floor?

Your blood runs cold, stunned by the veiled threat in his words. Suddenly the ordinary sound of footsteps passing by your door have you holding your breath in trepidation. As your paranoia reaches its peak you shakily reply, “which fraternity?”

—

Your knock on the door yields no results so you take a deep breath and timidly ring the doorbell. Boisterous voices sound just on the other side of the door. The sun barely set and already the majority of Greek row are drowning themselves in booze. You bounce on your toes, looking over your shoulder as a group of girls shivering in their tiny dresses and heels rush up behind you.

“Ugh they never answer the fucking door! Hold on,” a tall blond whines as she removes her phone from her cleavage and her nails clack against the screen.

Not thirty seconds later a large man whips open the door. “Ladies!” He bellows, throwing his arms up in welcome.

You try to stand off to the side as the girls push through into the warmth of the house and you catch the door and let yourself inside.

You stand there awkwardly for a moment, feeling wholly out of place as the blaring music vibrates below your feet. The group of girls disappear quickly down towards the flashing lights coming from the basement. You really don’t want to go down there. The tip of your boots straddle the edge of the top stair, as you gaze down at the sea of people grinding against each other.

Your heart rate quickens as you watch them and wish more than ever to be anywhere else, preferably alone in the quiet sanctuary of the library. But then you remember the Library is no longer safe for you, and the reason for that is exactly why you are here.

“Hey! I know you,” a drunken voice shouts up the stairwell.

You watch the tall silhouette climb the steps and you move back, panic fluttering in your stomach. The foyer light hits his face and you remember why his voice sounds familiar.

“Hard to forget an ass like that,” he snickers, licking his lips like he did that day across the library table.

“I’m looking for Andy. Can you tell him I’m here?” You insist, ignoring his lecherous grin.

“Back for more, huh? I’m sure I could help you with that,” he winks.

You scoff and cross your arms, “just tell me where he is. Please.”

He huffs and shrugs off your rejection, “upstairs, third floor.”

He turns and descends back down the steps while screaming incorrect lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody then disappears into the crowd. You shake off the awkward interaction and feel suddenly motivated to climb the stairs, at least you’ll put some distance between yourself and the party below. If only you knew the real trouble would be waiting as you reach the third floor.

You pass by several open doors on the second story, people sitting around playing drinking games or sneaking off for some privacy. A pair of girls pass by on your way to the next floor complaining loudly about how no one takes the theme for these parties seriously.

“Why do I bother making these outfits if half the people don’t even dress up?” She whines.

Her friend laughs and tosses her curly hair over her shoulder, “we look hot, who cares.”

They giggle and ignore you as you arrive on the third floor landing. They open a closed door just to the left and disappear into a room blasting EDM. Feeling hopelessly lost, and hesitant to just start testing doors, you take out your phone and text Andy, “I’m here.”

You wait near the stairs, pacing back and forth so you can peek down both long hallways. A door suddenly slams open right in front of you and the large man from the front door is standing there stark naked with a desperate look on his face. You stand there like a deer in headlights as he comes bounding toward you, huge and hard, before veering off to pound on random doors.

“CONDOM! Condom! I need a condom!” He bellows, unashamed of his nudity as people start popping their heads out to look.

There are several wolf whistles and a few jokes shouted from his fellow fraternity brothers before a deep voice cuts through the jeers.

“Nicky, here!” A whole sleeve is hurled down the hall and to your dismay he then bends down to pick it up.

Your hand slaps across your eyes too late to prevent the image of his hairy ass and balls from burning into your cornea. You press yourself to the wall as he runs back toward you and quickly shuts himself in his room.

Admittedly, you had never understood the whole trauma behind being flashed until this moment. It really isn’t a pleasant sensation to be that exposed to a stranger, especially when you aren’t expecting it. Something about the moment rattles you, vulnerability and disgust make you sway as you finally recognize the compromising position you put yourself in by coming here.

“There she is,” Andy’s voice draws you from your spiraling thoughts and you watch him walk down the hall to meet you.

The all black outfit is tight, hugging his muscles enticingly, a shift from the usual pressed button ups and slacks you normally see him in. But it’s the grey handcuffs dangling from his belt loop on his hip that really grab your attention.

He notices your concern and laughs, “don’t worry, these ones are fake. I keep the good ones in my room.”

He loops his arm around your shoulders and escorts you to the end of the hall to the large corner room. You appreciate the quiet, and the lack of musty odor as you enter the tidy space. He closes the door softly behind you and you feel his fingers trail across your shoulders, tugging at the hood of your bulky sweatshirt.

“This just won’t do,” he tuts.

You feel that familiar heat rush to your face at his disapproval, “I just came to pick up the papers Andy. I’m not looking to impress anyone.”

He hums and circles you, grabbing your chin as he stops in front of you, “you came here because I told you to.”

You scowl back at him, your jaw aching as he tightens his grip. He releases you and walks back to the door with a huff.

“Kyle!” He pauses until he hears a response, “bring me the box of leftovers!”

You stand there confused as he leaves the door open and circles you, sizing you up. He tilts his head as he considers you and reaches for the hem of your sweatshirt. He tugs it up and it catches on your arm as you try to pull it back down and smack his hand away harshly. A deep inhale through his nose is the only warning you get before he is suddenly in your face, his chest pressed to yours.

“Hit me again, and see what happens,” he growls threateningly.

You stare at him, blinking dumbly and at a complete loss for words when someone busts into the room carrying a beaten up cardboard box. Andy steps past you and retrieves the box before closing you in once again.

He tosses the box on the desk and begins silently undressing you. You flinch at his rough treatment but otherwise put up little fight. He rifles through the mystery box and pulls out something sparkly. Your brow furrows when he tosses a small bundle of fabric at you and barks a simple, “put it on.”

You obediently tug the tight dress over your head and adjust the thin straps as best you can, trying to hide your bulky bra.

“Take off the bra,” he orders.

You reluctantly slip off the straps and pull it out from under the dress, feeling completely ridiculous. You suppress the desire to ask where the clothes came from, but based on the name of the box you could probably make a guess. The sequined top hugs your chest tightly and the skirt flairs out, the short hem tickling the tops of your thighs. How do people wear this as a dress, you feel like your ass is completely on display, but, come to think of it, that’s probably the point.

“This is supposed to get people to take me seriously?” You mutter as you look down at yourself.

“No. This is just for me,” he smirks as he nears you.

You back up and hit the door, “wait, wait, please. I’ll do the grading, ok? But please don’t… just don’t,” you whimper, quivering under his hungry gaze.

“I can get anyone to do that,” he returns flippantly.

“Then why? Why are you doing this?” You plead.

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I was there remember? It was my cock you used to get yourself off in the middle of the library, while my buddies watched,” he drags his fingertips up your arms, pleased with the goosebumps left behind. “I felt that tight pussy come all over my lap like a good little slut. I know exactly what you need, but I’m starting to think you still don’t.”

You gasp at his vulgarity, hot tears pricking your eyes as it sends an unwanted spark between your legs. You close your eyes as he tickles along the low neckline before squeezing your chest firmly. He hums at the shaky breath you let out. His touch, a tantalizing mixture of gentle but firm. His confidence, that dominant aura that makes you weak and you can’t help the muffled moan that escapes as he tweaks your nipples through the rough fabric.

“That’s right,” he whispers. “I’m exactly what you need. In fact you should be thanking me.”

He pulls back and his hand grips the back of your neck, urging you to your knees. You let out a sob and try to push him away, but he grabs your wrists and pins them to the door above your head. He places a foot on either side of your knees, keeping you completely immobile while he unzips his pants with one hand.

You close your eyes, tears cooling your cheeks as you listen to the fabric rustle. Something soft and warm pokes at your quivering lips and you yield to his unspoken demand. He groans as he ventures deep into your hot mouth, your cheeks aching due to his above average girth. He feels even bigger than you remember as he starts gliding his shaft over your tongue.

“Ah, fuck,” he sighs, tapping the back of your throat and listening to you choke. “I could listen to that all day.”

You struggle to breath as he becomes more eager, interrupting your gasps with his quick thrusts. You feel him grow harder and harder as he fucks your face without relent, head thumping loudly against the door at your back.

You pull against his hold on your arms as you feel your sight start to blur, your chest tight with lack of oxygen. Just as you feel as you are about to collapse an insistent knock has Andy cursing and pulling back enough for you to take a big gulp of air.

“What?” Andy barks, slapping his hand over your mouth.

“Hey, sorry man, but Laurie is here and she’s looking for you,” a hurried voice mutters against the door.

“Fuck,” he growls, running his hand through his hair. “Ok, wait right there,” he orders to his friend.

He tucks himself back into his pants, pinning his erection as best he can into the elastic of his briefs. He grabs you by the hair and pulls you to your feet. He wipes your face, clearing away the tears and fixing your dress before yanking the door open and shoving you out of the room. Tripping over your own feet you stumble into the awaiting arms of the other goon from the library.

“Ethan is going to take you to the party, don’t try anything stupid and I might reward you later,” Andy warns, dragging his thumb over your swollen bottom lip.

Ethan’s hold tightens on your upper arm as Andy turns to him, “put her in the cage if she steps out of line. I won’t be long.”

“Cage?” You fret and Ethan shushes you, pulling you along.

As you reach the end of the hall you hear a feminine voice calling up the stairs, “Andy?”

“I’m here, hun! Come on up,” Andy returns and you look over your shoulder to see him raise a finger to his lips in warning, his eyes full of dark promises should you disobey.

A petite girl with alabaster skin and dark brown hair smiles politely as she passes you at the top of the stairs. The urge to say something is there but so is the fear of Andy’s wrath. Ethan pulls you along and you stay quiet until you reach the main floor.

“He has a girlfriend?” you ask quietly.

“Why? Jealous?” He snorts, pushing you toward the basement stairs. “Come on, let’s go dance. You can bounce that ass on me just like you did with him in the library.”

Your heart races as you eye the front door and try to push past him. He catches you and pulls you back against his chest, “cage it is then.”

The strobe and laser light machine make you squint as the bass vibrates your entire body, hammering your ears painfully. If anyone could hear your protests you doubt they were sober enough to do anything. Half naked girls grind against sweaty young men, some forsaking all sense of modesty as they fondle each other against the walls. A raised DJ booth sits on one end of the room while the other is lined with shoddily-built “jail”s.

Large rough structures clearly made by a few members of the house who fancy themselves a future handy man. A few individual ‘cell’s house girls dancing provocatively while greedy hands reach for them through the bars. With a slam and a click you find yourself alone in the tight space, watching the girl next to you gyrate her hips to the music, holding the bars so she could flip her hair around.

“Come on! Get it girl!” She yells at you, shaking her ass at you in some bizarre form of motivation.

You glance back at Ethan, standing with his arms crossed, taking his assignment a bit too seriously. He nods expectantly and you shut your eyes bouncing awkwardly off beat. Ethan leans in, and yells loud enough for you to hear, “gotta do better than that or I’ll tell Andy you tried to run.”

You gulp and try to loosen up, shutting out everything except the music. You face the wall, not wanting to see if anyone is watching and reach out to hold the bars as you dip low and rotate your hips. After a few songs it gets easier, visualizing you are alone in your room. Eventually the girl next to you leaves, yet you still refuse to look behind you.

Something brushes against your thigh and you freeze, shimmying away as your hem gets caught in someone’s fist. They tug hard, pulling you closer and you resist, trying to catch the fabric along your chest before it slips down too far.

You bat away the hand as you squint through the darkness and see a flash of a familiar bearded jawline. Andy flicks open the latch and stands there stoically, waiting for you to step down. Your knees wobble, partially from all the dancing but mostly due to the stern expression that greets you. He looks pissed and you wonder why. He gestures back toward the stairs and you solemnly march back up to his room, a growing dread filling you as you finally step foot inside and the door clicks shut.

Biting your tongue, you suppress the questions and the outrage you feel, too far gone to fight back now. It seems as though he really can get away with anything. His power is what scares you, but it’s also what has you submitting so easily.

“Now where were we?” He coos, his warm hands sliding up your arms to grip your shoulders.

You shiver as he pulls down the straps and slowly glides his hands down to fondle your breasts. He squeezes firmly, holding them and jiggling them in his palm. He plays with you and you feel him grow hard against your back. The mixture of his soft lips and scratchy beard along your neck as he kisses you gently has you sagging against him, not necessarily relaxed, but relief that he doesn’t seem angry.

Just like the cage, you find yourself getting lost in the sensation, separating yourself from reality as you unconsciously wiggle your hips. The feel of your ass against his length has him growling and nipping at your collarbone. His hand flies up to hold your neck as he walks you forward and bends you over his desk.

“Stay,” he orders as he leans up, dragging his nails down your back.

He flips up the hem of your dress and hooks his fingers under your panties. His fingers dig into your skin once again as he slowly rakes them over your ass and down the back of your legs until your underwear hangs from your ankles. You can feel the scratch marks along your skin as he then smooths his palms back up over your heated skin. Every touch is deliberate, a yin and yang of pain and pleasure.

“Look at you, I’ve only just got your panties off and you are already dripping,” he says as he drags a finger through your folds.

The sound of him sucking on his finger followed by the lewd pop of its release has you clenching as he hums in delight. You struggle to stay still, hips twisting wantonly in search of friction.

“Such a shame I can’t reward you like I wanted to. You had been doing so well, but you just had to try and run.”

You gasp at his words, chest tightening in fear, “Andy, I-“ but your defense is cut short by a sharp slap. Your ass stings as tears blur your eyes, your hands clinging to the rounded edge of the desk.

“Do you know how hard it was to sit there and listen to her prattle on about the damn charity benefit she wants me to go to this weekend? All I could think about was how cute you look with my cock stuffed down your throat.”

You whimper as he scratches over the swell of your ass, the rough treatment making it extra sensitive, which somehow adds to the dampness between your thighs. Trembling in anticipation you wait as his fingers trail between your cheeks and poke at your hot, wet entrance. He presses in, barely getting half a finger inside before pulling back out, making you groan in disappointment. What is wrong with you? Why do you feel like you want this?

“I had been looking forward to feeling your cunt on my tongue, watching you unravel, crying out desperately, screaming my name.”

He spreads your ass, the delicate skin stretching to the point of discomfort and with a grunt he buries himself inside you. You welcome him easier than last time, your body practically buzzing with arousal as he fills you completely. Your brain is fuzzy, no thoughts other than the pleasure that lights your skin, a burning need for more.

“Oh god,” you cry, circling your hips to find that perfect spot.

Another harsh slap to the back of your thigh has you biting the edge of the desk, grounding you as you fight the overwhelming urge to move.

“That’s your second warning. I was lenient in the library, but now you have to mind the rules,” he lectures calmly, your walls clenching at his serious tone. “We’ll start easy… First you say ‘thank you’ when I use you. And second, you don’t cum unless I tell you to. Understand?”

You cry but nod slowly.

“Good girl,” he praises and draws his hips back, cock dragging against your walls agonizingly slow.

He sets a steady pace, slow but forceful as his breaths get heavier, punctuated with pleasured moans. His grip settles on your hips and his thrusts get harder. Your climax builds, though you focus on keeping still and holding off, but the harder you try to resist the faster it seems to grow.

“Please, I can’t…” you beg, reminiscent of the last time he had you like this.

“Are you close?” He asks huskily.

You nod your head rapidly, your whole abdomen clenching as you try to stop from falling over that enticing ledge. In that moment he speeds up, frantically rutting into your core as you cling to the desk, body sliding back and forth as he chases his own release.

A moment of clarity through the euphoric haze has you wondering why you are holding it in to please this man who is clearly taking advantage of you. You decide to let go, your orgasm growing until you are about to explode. You’ll deal with the repercussions later, for now you need that liberation.

“Fuck,” Andy bellows suddenly, pulling out of you and coming with labored groans, his hot seed spilling up your back.

A pathetic whine escapes as you morn the loss of your quickly dissipating orgasm. You sob into the desk, the aching need in your core souring as you realize he did it on purpose, his cruel laughter echoing through the room.

“Shouldn’t have tried to run, dove,” he pants, wiping his sticky hands on your ass. “You’re in for a long night.”

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