#pub mobile

[vinylespassion]

Ile de la Réunion, NRJ Mobile, pub SFR

[becoach-a]

most people when they tell beard he’s so mysterious or that they don’t know how to talk to him

[archivedcoach]

I’m not saying I deserve to see beard actively comforted in s3 but….

[night-elf-king]

[thefabulous-mostgroovy]

my period must be coming up soon cuz there is no Way im crying over not being able to mute the discord music bot lmaooooo

[writersdrug]

Just thinking bout how bartender!simon would react to to someone leaving their number with a tip for the reader. Just imagine he’s going through the tips at the end of the night and sees a ripped piece of paper with a lil note and number scrawled on it clearly meant for her👀

You must not have seen it - otherwise, you would have pranced over to the bar and gloated about yet another phone number. This one catches him off guard since you hadn't announced it.

It's alright, though. You and Ghost had worked out a system for cock-sure customers like this one. It acted as a coping mechanism for Simon, letting his frustration towards your universal attractiveness out - you thought it was just a fun way to cock block them, and assumed Simon thought the same.

At the end of your shift, you sit at the bar, Simon leaning over it and his phone between the two of you. He texts the number with a general "hi, it's me from the bar :)". He lets you send a few lines to the guy - you atart off simple, slowly sending more and more off-the-rails comments, like "What kind of car do you have? I had to sell mine so the police wouldn't trace me back to the crime." Or "I'm actually under a contract here. I owe the bartender a favor for getting rid of my ex-husband. I can't quit until I'm sixty."

After you've had your fun, and the bar begins to wind down for the night, you head home and leave the rest of the conversation in his hands. He scrolls through what you've said so far, chuckling at the strangeness in your creativity. He then sends his own series of texts. "If you treat me nice, I can show you where I hide the bodies." "Oh, I can't eat at Sevvy's anymore - I got banned after the incident." "Did you know that it's relatively easy to kill someone by breaking their nose? Well, that one guy was easy. Maybe everyone's different."

It's not too long after that when his messages stop going out, and a notification generates on his screen, saying "this number has blocked you." Simon considers it a success.

In the office upstairs, all of the receipts with mobile numbers scribbled on them are pinned to the corkboard by the monitors. Price gives it a disapproving look every time he sees it, but he only becomes impressed with how quickly they begin to take up space on the board. Every Saturday afternoon, before the pub opens, you and Soap go up there and choose a victim at random. He enters the number into several spam websites, like job recruiters or the farmers almanac. Goes on something like "Roommate Finder" and replies to a bunch of postings with the number.

When Price decides to comment on it, Soap gives him a shrug. "Should ne'er have left 'is contact information in a public area."

[live-laugh-lenney]

Can you please do a fic where the reader and George Clarke absolutely hate each other they always argue but she’s best friends with Chris, and she goes on a night out her girl friends leave her and she’s drunk and scared men are hitting on her hard so decides to ring Chris but he’s asleep and George answers his phone and comes picks you up it ends up them two arguing but also something where they hook up (wether that’s the same night or different) please??

the ending to this feels almost rushed but i know i've promised this a few times... let me know what you think!

"come on."

the words come out of yn's mouth as a low grumble but it was loud enough to catch the attention of the guy stood beside her in the pub's smoking area. the time on her phone said it was quarter to two in the morning, the street on the otherside of the road was empty and baron of people walking passed, and the pub was becoming less and less busy as people got into their taxi's and uber's and went off home to nurse hangovers in the morning.

yet, here she was.

stuck in the middle of the london, all by herself and in a vulnerable state, as she tried to call the one guy she wanted to see in her moment of need. her best friend. who was, no doubt, asleep because he was sensible and chose to stay in that night rather than spending it getting drunk.

"everything okay?"

"yeah," she mumbles it lowly to show her disinterest, her eyes staring at the screen of the phone in her hand as she scrolled through all of her contacts to find christopher dixon's home number because calling him mobile number hadn't worked, "i just can't get hold of a friend, i kind of need him right now."

"can i be of any assistance?"

"no," she responds bluntly and she could feel the way he was taken aback by her abrupt answer, "i just want to go home. my friends have left me here by myself, i have no way of getting home and no one wants to answer their phones to help me."

"it is almost two in the morning."

"yeah, i know that," she scoffs it out sarcastically and she rolls her eyes, landing on the home landline to chris' flat, "no offence but i don't need any company right now. cheers but-"

"not just gon'a leave a pretty girl in a pub by herself," the guy says and, for the first time since she heard his voice, she looked at him - dressed in jeans that were too tight for his legs and a shirt that he definitely chose in hopes to pick up girls with the way he had his muscles on show - as she held her phone to her ear and listened to the dial tone beep through the speaker as the other end rung through the flat, "i'll take you home."

"yeah... no thanks," she shook her head, her face contorted with a look of pure disgust at the repulsive invitation he was insinuating; what had started out as a girl's night was always going to end as a girl's night, not leaving with a bloke she had never met before and waking up in an unknown bed the next morning. "We all know how that invitation ends and i'm not after that, thanks."

"oh, come on-"

"no," she shook her head and took a step to the side, furthering herself away from him to give him a hint of how she was over being nice to him and how she was over the conversation that she never wanted to start. her attention turning towards the phone that was warm against her ear. "answer the phone, idiot."

as she was about to give up and press the red button in the bottom corner, coming to terms with the fact that he was most probably asleep and completely dead to the world, the sound of someone picking up brought some comfort to her racing mind.

"hello?"

"chris, it's yn."

"newsflash, it's george. you know, one of the other guys who lives in this flat and got rudely woken up by this call."

"oh."

she gulps thickly, the lump in her throat aching, and she really wished she hadn't bothered. it wasn't that she hated goerge; it was the exact opposite... he hated her, for some reason, and she had no idea why. she wanted nothing more to be friends with him, making it three out of three successful friendships that she'd made through chris... except he was having none of it.

"i'm so sorry, i just-"

"i told you, babe, you can always come back with me."

yn's eyebrows furrowed as she tried to hold back the upset tears that were threatening to spill from how scared she was, the interruption making her lose her train of thought, and it was only when george spoke down the line that she felt a little intimidated.

"who's that?"

"just some guy-"

"is he bothering you?"

yn sighs and takes a glance out of the corner of her eye, checking to see if the guy was still standing close to her, already knowing that he was listening intently to her conversation and hadn't any plans to go elsewhere.

"yeah, a little," she responds and, on the other end of the line, she could hear him rustling around and moving in a pace that she could tell was quick and in a rush, "i just, my friends left me alone in this pub round the corner from waterloo and i'm all by myself right now and the pub is closing and i'm out the front and he's just here and i don't know who he is and-"

"okay, alright. i'm coming to get you, okay?"

"i don't want to be a bother, george," she heard him grunt back in response to her and she could feel a tear slip down her cheek, "i was trying to get hold of chris but-"

"chris would rip my bollocks off if he knew i didn't help you when you called. especially when you're on your own in london, drunk, with some creep standing with you."

"but-"

"i'm leaving now, okay? send me your location and i'll be there as soon as i can, yeah?"

she couldn't tell if it was the happiness to know she was being looked after or whether it was the scared feeling that had overcome her - or both - but she struggled to keep back the tears that were burning her eyes.

"thank you, george."

it came out as a wet sob and she didn't care if anyone who looked at her and thought she was too drunk and weird. her previous problem of being hit on by someone she'd never met before, the same guy, didn't seem to want to leave her as he slowly sipped on the pint he had poured into a plastic cup.

"just stay safe until i get there, okay? go find a bouncer or someone from the staff and just say your taxi is on its way. stay away from the guy who's bothering you and keep to places where people can see you."

-

"yn?"

her head snapped up from where she was staring at her phone, to see george walking quickly down the street , his hoodie pulled over his head and he'd matched loose cotton shorts with it yet skipped out on pulling socks on as he opted for sliders, because he was in a rush to leave the house and had no time for trainers.

"yn. that's such a pretty name," she heard the guy say but she was no longer interested in anything he had to say, moving from her place on the bench she had chosen to wait upon and grasping the strap of her bag upon her shoulder, "oh, babe, it's a shame you chose him over me. he's got nothing to give you."

george felt his fists curl up under his sleeves yet he chose to not make the situation worse for her.

"when a girl says no to you, she means no," george calls out over to him, staring with a look of dark anger behind his eyes, "back off and maybe try being less of a creep, lurking around drunk girls, and you might just get lucky."

"george-"

"come on," he grabs her hand and tugs her away from the direction of the pub, desperate to get her away from the stare of the guy that was bothering her, "why the hell didn't you call any of us sooner? you were there for how long, by yourself, before you realised?"

"not long," she admits, "i'd only just realised as they were kicking us all out. i went to look for them at the booth we were in and they'd left."

"how many times have we told you to not hang around with those girls? they've been nothing but trouble for you," he reminds her and she rolls her eyes, legs burning from trying to keep up with his long strides back to the tube station, "what kind of friends do that to their other friends? bad friends, yn. they're not your friends-"

"i'm not a child, george," she interrupts him and pulls her hand free from his grip, standing still in the middle of the pavement as he came to a halt from her sudden movement, "don't speak me to like i am one."

he sighs heavily and brings his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips before dropping his arms back down to his sides, watching as she swayed to and fro from the way her world must have been spinning from alcohol.

"alright," he held his hands up in surrender, "i'm sorry."

"you should be," she retorts, "stupid."

"don't backchat me like a teenager and i won't speak to you like a child," he insists and turns on his heels, wanting to hop back into the warmth of the underground station and get back home as soon as possible, "now come on, i want to go home."

"my home. take me home and then go home yourself."

"no, my home," george calls back, hearing her scuffing behind as she tried to keep up with his pace so she wasn't left behind and out of his sight, "i'm gonna look after you, you can have my bed, and you can talk to chris in the morning because he's gonna have some choice words for those girls."

"i don't need you to make me feel worse."

"i'm not trying to make you feel worse."

"you are."

"yn," george sighs, "i'm too tired to argue with you, okay? can we just, we just need to get on the tube, do a couple of stops, then we're home. i'll argue with you tomorrow."

"i don't want to argue with you anymore," she frowns, "i just want to be friends with you. i don't like it when you're angry all the time with me. i've done nothing to you to make you treat me so badly."

"we are friends, idiot."

"no, we aren't. you're always moaning at me, you never say anything nice to me. i'm surprised you even came to get me," yn says, "only you, george. every other one of chris' friend's like me... television is my favourite but you-"

"i do like you, yn," george sighs heavily, "but this is a conversation we don't need to be having in the middle of the road, outside the train station."

"i want to have this conversation-"

"no," george shakes his head, "it's a conversation for when you're sober and not full of whatever alcohol you've ended up spilling down yourself."

he stares at her for a moment and she squints her eyes back at him, in a feigned annoyed look, feeling the chill in the air and the alcohol mixing in her system and as well as her belly. and she couldn't bring it in her to argue even more.

"fine."

-

yn stumbles through the front door and into the darkness of the flat belonging to the boys and she was thankful she wore flats opposed to the heels that were her second choice shoe for the night. a click of the lock filled the quiet as george closed the front door behind him, keys jingling with his keyrings as he dropped them in the bowl in the entryway, shuffling further into the room. as she slid her shoes off, not knowing where she was leaving them, a lamp flicked on and she took in the living space around her.

"you could have taken me home."

"not a chance," george grumbles lowly, shrugging off the over-layer he chose to brave the night air and draped it over the back of the sofa in the middle of the room, "i think chris would have murdered me in my sleep."

"i wanted to go home."

"and i wanted to get a full night's sleep but here we are," george shrugs his shoulders and she folds her arms across her chest, like a child in a tantrum, "you can have my bed, i'll sleep on the sofa."

"george-"

"please don't argue with me, okay? i'm giving you my bed, don't make me change my mind," he warns her and the interruption was enough for her to close her lips and forget about what she was about to say to him, "i don't know what you think is happening between us but i do care about you, okay?"

she could hear her heartbeat pounding behind her chest in the quiet of the room and she looks at him, properly, for the first time that evening.

"you don't show it."

"i don't know how," he scoffs and it's more aimed at himself than at her, his feet take him across the stretch of empty space before he stands before her, "you're chris' best friend... i'm not going to be the one to step in the way and ruin that."

"you could have treated me better. spoke to me nicer. actually made me feel like you wanted me around."

"you're not listening, are you? i like you, you idiot."

for the first time that night, she couldn't find the words to come back to his response. she stared at him, dumbfounded, with wide eyes that couldn't tear away from the way he was walking towards her. and she didn't realise her mouth had gaped open until his hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb pushing her the bottom of her jaw, lingering his touch that had her tilting her head into his palm.

"but-"

"you've always got something to say, haven't you?" and if he didn't have a smile twitching at his lips, hidden beneath the growing facial hair that grew from his upper lip, she would have taken offence to his words, "i wanted this conversation with a sober yn. not slightly drunk, in a mood because her friends abandoned her, in the middle of the night and stood in the middle of my living room."

"you-" she gulps back the lump in her throat and he smiles softly, "i don't believe you."

"are you trying to push my buttons?" he asks her, the gap between them slowly closing, "because it's working."

"and what happens if i push the last one?"

"i think you know already," he says it so softly yet it held so much behind it and yn couldn't stop the tingle in her belly that brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin and the way his breath washed over her face, warm and minted from when he'd done his nightly routine before bed, had her weak at the knees, "go on, push it."

her eyes dart between his, that stayed focused on her face, and the way his lips looked so inviting and soft. teasing and taunting her. her tongue slipping out between her lips and licking her own because they felt dry.

"what if chris finds out?"

"you're a grown woman," george mumbles softly, "i think you can make your own decisions, huh?"

it's the first time she feels a tremble in her hands as she brings her arms up, resting her forearms on his shoulders and letting her fingers comb through the hairs at the back of his head. soft strands so gentle against her cold hands.

and george seizes the opportunity to test the waters of the situation by pressing his lips against hers in a peck, quick and messy, before he pulled away and waited for a response... a verbal response... yet it never came.

because it came in the form of a reciprocated kiss, fingers digging deeper into his hair as she pulled him closer, his arms wrapping around her waist as he brought her into his chest and held her tight in a hold that made her melt. he wanted her to have control, on her own terms, to test herself out in what was happening.

"chris is going to kill me," she says softly, "you guys were off limits."

"he'll get over it."

yn laughs softly and drops her forehead to his chest, his arms still tight around her waist and just couldn't let go of her, and there was a comfortable silence that swallowed the two of them. the previous moments playing on their minds.

"fancy sharing that bed tonight?"

he grins at her question, hearing the hidden desire in her voice, and presses a kiss to her head.

"i'd love that." x

[humanpurposes]

So thrilled you’re taking requests! I love winter themed fics this time of year. I’m requesting modern Aemond (if not allowed then Michael Gavey) + stuck in this cabin until the storm passes/come sit by the fireplace. As much smut as you’d like with maybe a teeny bit of angst?

Thank you for taking requests, I know they will all be lovely

A/n: Took the liberty of making this a Michael Gavey request 😈 Also this gif is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!! Shoutout @barbieaemond and all the other amazing gif makers on here. These guys are such an integral part of fandom and they deserve all our love, appreciation and credit ❤️✨

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+, slight angst, handjob, thigh riding (ish), Michael Gavey being awkard, but not quite a virgin

Main Masterlist

“Fucking skiing holiday. Should have fucking known this would be a fucking disaster.” 

Michael’s foul mouth hardly phases you anymore. When you first met him you thought he’d be a shy type of guy, with his baby blue shirts, cargos and wire frame glasses he kept pushing up with his middle finger.

You’d quickly found that he wasn’t at all like you expected. He can be abrasive, often judgemental and vulgar, not so unlike your other friends but with Michael it seems to come from a place of unashamed honesty. You sort of admire him for it.

He’s pacing the small living room and kitchen of the cabin, furiously fiddling with his mobile. You’re kneeling by the wood burning stove, hovering a lighter by the kindling in the hopes that you can light a proper fire.

You’re surprised he agreed to go on this trip at all. 

You have a few friends who do Maths, and at the start of second year they started inviting Michael to the pub on the weekends. You recognised him from your trips to the library, where he’d usually sit alone after his friend ditched him for Felix Catton.

They’d been all talking about a skiing trip between Christmas and New Year, to this little Italian village in the Alps. You didn’t— and still don’t— actually know how to ski, but spending a few nights in a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by snow sounded like a dream. Michael had been sceptical at first but you’d managed to convince him to come when you said you’d need someone to keep you company when the others were on the slopes.

The others had all gone out as soon as you arrived, leaving Michael to get settled in the cabin.

But it’s turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. It’s too dark to actually see the snow storm but you can hear it, shrieking and howling against the walls and windows of the cabin. You have no service, no central heating, just the small assortment of snacks you had brought with you, a packet of paprika crisps, a bar of chocolate and a prosciutto sandwich you’d bought back at the main resort, back down the mountain, back in civilisation.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

“What now?” You ask, still focused on the fire.

“Mobile’s fucking dead. Shit! I have a charger in my bag but the bloody electricity isn’t fucking working so I can’t fucking charge it!”

You smile to yourself as the kindling catches alight and the flames start to lick at the larger logs.

You glance over your shoulder as Michael tosses his phone on the sofa, runs his hands through his hair and catches his lower lip with his teeth.

“I have plenty of charge on mine,” you say, “I’ll turn it off to save the battery and we can see if the service is working in the morning?”

Michael stares at you for a lingering moment. He can be so intense sometimes, almost unsettlingly so. “You want us to stay here all night?” he says softly.

“People know we’re here. I’m sure someone from the resort will come up when they can. Until then, we just have to wait out the storm.”

He tuts, but he knows you don’t have any other options.

You sit together with your backs against the sofa so that you can be as close to the fire as possible. The heat pleasantly burns your face and skin through your jeans and jumper. Even then, where your arm presses against Michael’s, you feel the warmth of his body beside you. 

You grab the crisps and the sandwich out of your bag, offering them both to Michael. He only takes a handfuls of crisps and when you split the sandwich in two he takes the smaller half. You offer him more of the chocolate bar but he insists he’s not hungry. You frown at that. It might not be a Crunchie, but Michael never turns down chocolate. 

“How was your Christmas?” You ask, popping a square of chocolate on your tongue.

“Fine,” he says, looking down at his hands, “had dinner with my dad and my nan, went to see my mum on Boxing Day.”

Guilt twinges in your chest. “Are your parents not together?”

“Oh no, they split up a long time ago,” he says, like it should have been obvious.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns to face you, staring intensely. “Why would you be sorry?” 

“Because I didn’t realise.”

He smiles. You think it’s because he knows you’re nervous. “I’ve been splitting Christmases between my parents every year since I was twelve, I’m well used to it now.”

The topic doesn’t seem to phase him. He takes another crisp from the packet and looks into the fire as he crunches it between his teeth.

The low light reminds you of the nights you’ve sat opposite him in the King’s Arms in Oxford, all the times you’ve been tipsy off wine spritzers and found yourself trying not to make it obvious that you’re staring at him. He’s handsome, especially up close when you can see the details of his face, his lips, his surprisingly pretty eyelashes, the little cleft on the tip of his nose.

When his eyes turn towards you, you think your heart might leap out of your chest.

You take a quick breath, eyes darting around the room, at the fire, the pile of logs beside the stove, the sprinkling of ashes on the floor, but it seems inevitable that you’ll find your way back to him.

“Why did they split up?”

Michael raises his eyebrows but keeps his face solemn. “She left him for someone else.”

“Oh,” is all you can think of to say. 

“It happens,” he says. “People always want to find something better. My dad was never the most exciting guy to be around.”

“But what about you?”

He huffs a laugh to himself. “I’m not exactly enticing company either.”

You can’t tell if you just want the conversation to end or if you should say something else.

“It’s not something I can fix,” Michael says. One of his hands rests on his thigh and he slowly flexes it so the tendons shift beneath his skin. “And it’s not something that needs to be fixed. People come in and out of your life, but you move on. That’s just the way it is.”

He’s almost hunched over himself, with his chin tilted down and his glasses sliding down towards the end of his nose. 

You’d seen him in the pub once, back in first year, with that friend of his, Oliver Quick. Oliver had gone up to the bar and ended up sitting with Felix Catton and his band of admirers. You’d watched Michael leave the pub and remember your heart shattering for him, for this boy you didn’t even know.

Now, stuck in this cabin, snow swirling past the windows, the sound of the fire crackling a few feet in front of you, and Michael’s side pressed against yours, your heart shatters all over again.

You place your hand over his, and he instantly stops moving. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.”

Michael tries not to smile. “You don’t need to flatter me,” he says.

You curl your fingers over his hand and tighten your grip. His eyes meet yours and you feel yourself frowning, because he doesn’t understand, because he doesn’t see himself the same way you see him. 

“I mean it. You’re funny, even when you don’t even mean to be, and honest, and straightforward…”

You glance down at his lips, slightly parted as he listens to you. It crosses your mind to lean in closer, but something stops you.

“I really love that we’re friends,” you say.

Michael looks down at your hands. His lips are pressed together.

He doesn’t want this, you think. He doesn’t want me.

So you pull away, with a little smile to keep it friendly.

He blinks a few times as he looks back at your face. “Thanks,” he says, softly. 

He stands, and you don’t think you can bear to look at him as he moves towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

You turn your attention to the fire, add another log for good measure and poke at the glowing embers in its heart.

You hear movement behind you, footsteps and fabric.

When you look back you see Michael has his arms full with pillows and blankets. He layers some of the blankets on the rug, and soon he has two makeshift beds, one on the sofa and one on the floor.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“We’ll freeze in the bedrooms without the heating, we might as well make use of the fire.”

It’s a good call, and now that you have somewhere to sleep you start to realise how tired you are. 

You rummage through your suitcase and pull out a pair of pyjamas you got for Christmas. Michael changes in one of the bedrooms and comes back in one of his maths pun t-shirts and a pair of red and black bottoms. 

You go to lie in the bed on the floor but Michael puts his hand on your shoulder and insists you sleep on the sofa.

Even with the heat of the fire on your face and the blanket pulled up to your chin, you can’t stop shaking. Your limbs are frozen and your skin is tight, but it feels deeper set than that. You feel the cold in your chest like a fever.

It feels like hours have passed and you still can’t sleep.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” Michael’s voice grumbles below you. You peer down over the edge of the sofa. He’s turned away from you, towards the fire. You hadn’t even realised he was still awake.

“It’s fucking cold,” you say, wincing at the quiver in your voice.

Michael shifts to his other side so he’s facing you. You’ve never really seen him without his glasses, and he looks completely different, somehow softer, not as harsh.

“We’ll be warmer if we, if we share,” he says quietly.

His suggestion weighs heavy in the space between you, unless it’s just in your head. You can already imagine yourself pressed against him, feeling the warmth from his body and letting it sink into yours.

You don’t trust yourself not to try something stupid either.

You take the blanket with you. The floorboards are piercing against your bare soles so you step on the balls of your feet, quickly slotting yourself by Michael’s side, on the layers of blankets. 

He’s facing you now, your noses must only be inches apart and you feel his breath running over your cheek.

You try to steady your own breathing, but it only makes your heart beat faster.

You see his neck move as he swallows. “Come here,” he mutters, and brings his arm around you, pressing his palm to your back to pull you closer into his chest.

You let your arm drape over his side and your legs intertwine with his. You need the heat, tucking your head in under his chin and resting the side of your face against him.

You move with the rise and fall of his chest, breathe in the scent of him with every breath, hear his heartbeat against your ear.

If you shifted your head slightly, your lips would meet the base of his throat.

Want tightens and lingers in your stomach, but curled up under Michael’s arm, you let its dull ache soothe you to sleep.

You wake slowly, opening your eyes to cold sunlight glaring through the windows. In your haste to get warm last night, you had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains. All you see on the other side is white, the snow now settled and piled high.

The fire has long since died and the air is colder than it was when you fell asleep, sharp as you take a breath through your nose.

It’s still warm where your cheek meets Michael’s chest, where his hand rests against your back and your bodies are pressed together.

It feels good to be so close to him. He’s still asleep, as far as you can tell. You hear the heavy sound of his breathing, air fluttering in his throat and passing through his pouted lips.

As you start to become more aware, more awake, a warm wanting stirs in your gut and between your legs.

It’s a stupid little crush, one you’ve not been able to distract yourself from these last few months.

You start to trace your fingertips over his chest, feeling where his chest is hard, then soft, and remember everything you said to him the night before, and what you perhaps should have said.

You nuzzle your face in closer to him, to the clean scent of his t-shirt and something else that is so uniquely him.

You try to stay like this for as long as possible, even if it’s torture not to want more.

“You’re moving a lot,” he mutters. You feel his voice rumbling in his chest and humming against your head like it’s a part of you.

Only when you freeze do you realise you’ve been rocking your hips, every hint of friction you get against the fabric of your pyjamas only fueling your hunger. But you’ve stopped now, resting your palm against his stomach.

“I’m cold,” you say.

“Hmm,” he says, resting his lips and his chin against your head, over your hair, “I don’t feel cold.”

The low rasp of his voice only makes you want him more.

The lingering haze of sleep must be clouding your judgement, your sense.

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips over his throat like you’d imagined. You feel him shudder, and feel his stomach tighten under your touch.

He utters your name in a breathless whisper as he paws at your back and pushes his hips into yours. His arousal is evident, hard and pressing to your centre through two layers of fabric.

And then he pauses, and his hand slips away.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says.

You drag your hand down a little further, to slip under his t-shirt and feel the ridges of his surprisingly toned stomach, just above the waistband of his bottoms. “Why are you sorry, Michael?”

“I don’t know, I just…” he huffs in frustration as his hand returns to your body, gripping at your waist through your shirt.

You start to snag your fingers on the waistband, and realise he’s forgone wearing any boxers to bed. “Do you want me to help you?” You whisper, unable to hold back a grin.

“Yes, fuck, please,”

A whine sounds in his throat as you shift his bottoms down just enough to free his cock, and close your hand around it. He’s bigger than you expected, long and thick, heavy, hard and soft-skinned as you stroke, up, down, up, down.

You enjoy the feel of him, run your thumb over his weeping tip as he starts to pant and try to hold back his moans, leaning against you and ghosting his lips against your temple.

You only feel yourself becoming more and more desperate. You hook your leg over his, grinding your core against his thigh. Sparse sparks of pleasure course through your body, not enough for a release, but it still feels good.

You tilt your head again, eagerly pressing your lips to his. He seems taken by surprise at first, but meets you with clumsy enthusiasm. He kisses you like it might save him from something. Once or twice he seems to lose track, dragging his lips to the corner of your mouth only to pull you back into him.

The movements become more and more frantic, your hand pumping Michael’s cock, his hips bucking under your touch.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your lips, “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You rock particularly hard against his thigh, and he brings his hand to your rear, squeezing at your flesh and urging you on.

You tease your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling at the wanton noise he makes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Are you gonna cum for me Michael?” You whisper as you up the pace.

“Please,” he grunts, “please…” and suddenly he’s moaning against your skin, holding you tightly as you feel his cock pulse in your hand as he spills over your fingers and knuckles.

You quickly move your head back so you can look at him, eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack and tongue just peeking out from behind his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” you say quietly.

He blinks his eyes open, looking down at you with a dazed smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“So fucking pretty,” you say, with another drag against his thigh.

He hums, low and cryptic in his chest. “Do you need some help there?”

Before you can answer he’s slipped his hand underneath your pyjamas. He cups your bare, wet cunt, lightly circling over your clit with the tip of his finger.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he mutters, all but teasing your lips as he leans in to kiss you. “Got yourself all worked up, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “fuck, don’t tease me, please…”

“Now, sweetheart,” he coos as he presses more firmly against you, hastening his movements so your breath catches in your throat. “We might still have a few hours before anyone comes to get us, and I can think of more than a few ways to pass the time.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 9 || 514 Words || Read on Ao3 —

30 January 2005

Tucked into a little booth in the pub, Lily reaches over the table and squeezes her husband’s hand to get his attention.

“You literally checked your mobile three seconds ago,” she chides, wrapping her ankle around his under the table. “Your poor old wife can’t hold your attention anymore?”

This cheeky lamentation gets his attention, and James puts his phone on the table between them. “You are only one of those things, my love,” he grins, leaning forward for a quick kiss. “Forty-five has never looked so good on anyone else, I swear it.”

Lily snorts, “Padfoot will be furious to hear that.”

“Well, then, no need to tell him and make both our lives worse.”

The mobile on the table dings and James scrambles to grab it, causing Lily to raise a brow at him.

“Really? I’m starting to regret teaching you how to use that thing.”

Muttering a hasty apology, he clicks a few of the buttons before putting it down again and takes her hands, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She cocks her head, eyes narrowing with a bit of trepidation. “Oh no, what have you done?”

“I can’t tell you,” he says, keeping a straight face though his eyes sparkle behind his glasses. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Oddly, that doesn’t ease my nerves at all.”

“Well hopefully this can,” a new voice says from her left. Her attention snaps to the newcomer, his voice warm and light and such a surprise to her, and she feels James squeeze one hand as his other takes the glass of white wine Harry is offering to her.

Like a bolt, she’s up and wrapping her arms around their son, forcing him to bend down to her height  as she crushes him to her chest. Harry returns the embrace, grinning at his very smug-looking dad over her shoulder.

“You said you wouldn’t be able to get away from the tournament!” she cries, pulling back and holding him at arms’ length. His often-untidy hair is trimmed neatly as it usually is for Puddlemere’s active season, and he wears a team sweatshirt.

“I can’t stay too long,” he confesses, ushering her back into the booth and sliding in beside her. “But I got them to agree to a few hours’ free time and an international portkey in exchange for a small media junket they’ve been hounding me about. I’ve only ever missed your birthday dinner when I was at school, I don’t plan on starting now.���

Lily makes a sound of gratitude, slipping one hand into James’ and one into Harry’s, and gives them both a squeeze as her heart pounds in her chest and her cheeks ache with the brightness of her smile.

“You and that bloody phone of yours,” she says to James, shaking her head with amusement. “I can’t imagine the mischief you would’ve pulled if you had that when we were younger.”

James chuckles, taking a sip of her wine before pushing it over to her. “I think I did just fine without it.”

“Happy birthday, mum.”

[octuscle]

Changed taste

Callum had left after the second act. The production at the alternative opera had been a cheek. The singers had been a disaster. And the announcement of the underground strike had been a good excuse not to have to listen to this debacle to the end. Unfortunately, the underground drivers had shown no consideration for Callum. The strike had already begun. The underground shafts were deserted. So it was a taxi. This contradicted Callum's attitude to sustainability. He always excused his flat in Kensignton by saying that it was so centrally located that he didn't need a car. Only a few of his friends knew that there was an old Jaguar E-Type and a brand new Porsche 911 in the underground car park. Callum's family had made a fortune from property speculation over 100 years ago. He owned the exclusive block of flats in which he lived. This and a few more.

When he came up from the underground, it had started to rain. And he had left his umbrella in the cloakroom at the opera. Underground strike and rain. Not a good combination for getting a taxi. In the shelter of the entrance to the underground, Callum searched on his mobile phone. A bus station was only 200 metres away. And it wasn't raining that hard. So he set off. And after a few metres, the heavens opened their floodgates. A downpour of torrential proportions drenched Callum in a matter of seconds. His dinner jacket was ruined. And his mobile phone only flashed once more before it died in the pouring rain.

The rain intensified. The few passers-by who hadn't yet found shelter quickly ran through the puddles to find somewhere to hide. Callum's best chance was a launderette where the owner or employee was about to lower the blinds. Callum asked if he could seek shelter until the rain had stopped. The young man looked at Callum and waved him in. He introduced himself as Kieron and said that he had to wash and dry a washing machine for himself while he cleaned the launderette. Callum would be happy to stay here for that long. Callum thanked him and asked if he could return the favour somehow. Kieron shook his head and showed Callum where he could find hangers to hang up his wet clothes. And pointed to a basket of washing. A customer had left it here. Callum could take some of it if he wanted to.

The clothes were obviously still unwashed. They smelled of sweat and cold cigarette smoke. There were dried precum stains in the pants. Callum was disgusted. But also soaking wet. And somehow he was… Turned on? Him? By those disgusting clothes. Kieron had switched on some music. Very loud. Gangster rap and hip hop. Definitely not Callum's style. But that didn't matter. He took the laundry basket and asked where he could change. Kieron pointed to the door with the "Private" sign. There were towels there too. Callum thanked him.

After pulling the door shut behind him, Callum took off his shoes, jacket, trousers and shirt and hung everything on hangers. A little hesitantly, he also removed his stockings, pants and vest. He was able to wring everything out, everything was so wet. He took a pair of boxer shorts out of the laundry basket. Yellowed white cotton. Precum and piss stains. Callum smelled it carefully. And then he pressed them to his nose and inhaled deeply. So good! He had no idea why, but it smelled so good! Slimy drops formed on his own cock. The pants were a size 32, not his size. But they fit like a glove. His bulge was frighteningly large. And the wet patch was growing fast. Callum rummaged through the dirty laundry. The polyester tracksuit bottoms did it to him. He pulled them on, just high enough so that the waistband of his pants could still be seen. Now a pair of dirty white socks… Call took his trainers. Yes, they were still a little wet… But they would be fine. The T-shirt that went best with the trousers stank of sweat. Sure, Call had worn it for several days in a row. For sport, in the pub in the evening. During the day, he wore the Hiviz street-cleaning gear. He took his necklace, which he was so proud of, out of his T-shirt. Then he took his tracksuit jacket off the hanger, put on his gloves, put on his cap and posed in front of the mirror. If he played with his balls a little longer, he would cum here and now. Then Kieron would be fucking pissed. After all, making Call cum was his job.

"I hope the damn rain stops soon!" That was the caption under his latest post. Kieron shouted about how much longer he needed. Call opened the door and shouted back that it was up to Kieron when he could finally cum. A few seconds later, Kieron was standing in the doorway, grinning. He put the mop to one side. And got down on his knees.

Inspiration by @barty123

[becoach-a]

i still think it’d be funny if they had given beard and ted a two bedroom flat instead of two separate ones

[spareisms]

She smiled at him, for their lasp in conversations that didn’t derail anything, that didn’t completely ruin the mood( or the entire evening). He didn’t seem offended by her questions or her naivety — on the other hand, he seemed a bit embarrassed at himself! How humble, to be a bit vulnerable and unsure of how to talk to her. As though she was something other than, well, just her. It made her feel special, it made her feel as though her consideration mattered.

“No no it’s —“ and before she could say ‘alright!’ His explanations had emerged, and she was so grateful for them, for the shot descriptions of the world beyond the fjords. “That sounds incredible,” she breathed, a bit more to herself. “I mean, it must be so amazing to meet people from all over the world like that — just, naturally. Not in court or ballrooms, not being fancied around in carriages and hurried up to meet my sister.”

The last bit wasn’t bitter — but there was a tinge of sadness in the encounters she’d had with people from afar. Always staged, never quite real. That was why she was so surprised by Aladdin: despite their arrangement, and all the pressures which came with uniting their kingdoms in such a permanent way, from the moment she’d locked eyes with him she felt as though she was given access to the real him. Or the version of him she hoped was more real than what he offered the rest of the world. She supposed she could only find out by spending more time with him, and a thrill went through her as she remembered that was exactly what they were getting — an eternity.

She laughed when he asked his question, in delight and eagerness to answer. “Those are the Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights. Apparently you can see them in a lot of different parts of the world, but I bet they are the best here — especially when Elsa decides to add some of her magic to the sky. That’s something really spectacular!”

Before she could keep going, and she certainly felt like she could talk about Arendelle’s skyline forever, their waiter returned with two piping hot plates, and another round of drinks (perhaps preemptively) for the pair of them.

“Thank you,” Anna said, excited to finally get some food for Aladdin, who, she thought with a skeptical glance towards, was pretty sure might never be warm again. “This will be perfect, trust me.”

spareisms​:

Anna watched him, watched the way the words fell from his mouth. Listened to them tumble, almost unwillingly, from his lips. It described the kingdom almost too perfectly — there was diversity in Arendelle, and she was proud of the way her kingdom welcomed immigrants, almost always will open arms. But, Anna was not going to admit there was an absence of prejudice — some members of the kingdom had trouble keeping their opinions to themselves, especially at Harvest Festivals after too much mead or wine.

But her gut twisted in an odd way when he spoke. She could tell it wasn’t out of spite or malice — Aladdin was just making an observation. A correct one. For Anna, it was pointing out just another thing about the world she was ignorant of: the diversity of her cold kingdom paled comparison to the wonders of the wider world. The thought that there were those in Arendelle who would rather never experience that kind of immersive difference ….it just made her want to get out and explore the world as much as she could.

But she couldn’t do that without Aladdin. Their paths just…didn’t separate in her mind. Rather than be put off by his observation, she was fascinated. She couldn’t wait to understand.

She leaned closer to him, her voice dropping low but not losing its vibrancy. “What do you mean? Is that bad? I’ve been pressuring Elsa to open up more immigration talks since the GREAT THAW, but some Trustees are concerned about ‘militant action’, whatever that has to do with anything —“ she paused, cutting herself off when she realized she was talking a million miles a minute.

“I’m sorry — I don’t know where any of that came from. I know you didn’t mean anything by that, but I’m just curious. I don’t know anything really about — well I mean —“ she fumbled herself, feeling the blush rush to her cheeks. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

She hoped it didn’t, she hoped he could live in a place so different from his own home. But she wouldn’t force him to be somewhere he didn’t feel like he could just…exist. Exist in all his wonder, in all his genuine hope. He was perfect exactly as he was, and she would personally see to it that he felt like he was wanted and respect in his role. She would never let anyone disrespect the man she already loved so deeply. It just wasn’t going to happen.

Everyone here is white? What the hell was he thinking!

He winced in anticipation—nice going, Al. He was familiar with his lack of verbal finesse by now (many trade meetings had seen to that), but never had he been so mortified by it. More than anything, he wanted to impress her, to show her that he was worthy of being her husband — and he was hardly managing to do that by putting his foot in his mouth as constantly as he had been.

Her reaction was the exact opposite of what he expected. Blinking at her in surprise, he struggled to come up with a response, trying to get her words to sink in properly. When they did, he could only blink at her again.

“What?” he said finally, the pinnacle of intelligence. “I mean — no, I’m not uncomfortable. I’m…” shocked, honestly, that she cared — or maybe just that her reaction was at first curiosity, then concern, when he’d been expecting offense. “Surprised that I’ve been so welcomed,” he settled for. “It’s not bad, everyone being white, just different. Agrabah has people of all kinds thanks to the trade routes, and I’ve traveled a bit on my own.”

As for Trustees being worried about militant action… “As for the advisors, they’re probably worried about backlash. Not that they should be, honestly, because Arendelle seems pretty open for a place that hasn’t seen much diversity.” Again, his eyes drifted to the Agrabanian flag on the wall. 

“When I said that I, uh. Didn’t really know what to say,” he admitted finally. “Everything here is different. In a good way! The food and the people and the culture is all different, and exciting. The, uh,” he fumbled for something, for any of the details he’d managed to come up with in his head just minutes ago. “The sky is different,” he ended up blurting. “There are — I’ve never seen such colors. The way they form. What is that called, anyway?”

[aziraphales-library]

Hi, just wondering if you have any fics were Crowley and Aziraphale text frequently? AU's are fine 😊

Thank you!!

We have some texting fics here and you may enjoy fics on our #social media tag, which will include fics with online messaging. Here are more fics with texting...

Short Message Service by squiddz (E)

He got halfway down the page before the phone flashed with a notification again. Another message from Crowley. It took all of three seconds for Aziraphale to fold and pick up the phone. Crowley: so Crowley: what are you wearing Aziraphale: What kind of question is that? You know exactly what I'm wearing. --- In which Crowley gives Aziraphale a mobile phone, and then tries his level best to sext with him.

just friends (he's too important) by Narwhalhavingsomuchfun (T)

Biology student Anthony Crowley can't afford to fail his gen ed history class at Tadfield University. But luckily he's found a someone willing to tutor him in history. 3 guesses as to who that may be *** Crowley POV Strangers to friends to best friends to lovers texting fic

Play The Game by ffonippop (M)

Aziraphale was a university student on his last grueling year of pursuing a joint-honors Bachelors degree in Biology and Theology. His favorite day of the week was Sunday, because on Sunday, he could forget about the lab and leave behind the library to gather with his friends and play a competitive game of trivia— Quiz Bowl. He liked Quiz Bowl because it was a brain game, it was engaging, and it promoted teamwork. But most of all, he liked Quiz Bowl because he was the best at it. Until Crowley, the arrogant bastard with a swagger in his saunter, started showing up.

Dim the Lights and Sing You Songs by Polaris (E)

A few months prior to leaving the Dowling household, Crowley had downloaded Grindr for the sole purpose of catfishing randy morons. He was not expecting a paragraph that began with: ‘hello. I hope you don’t think this is too forward, but I couldn’t help but notice you have the most lovely nipples.’ Crowley keeps trying to meet his Grindr fuckbuddy. Aziraphale keeps showing up at all his meeting spots. This is terrible.

Readings From the Books of Ashtoreth by Quefish (E)

Vicar Aziraphale Bookman has a comfortable life. He lives in and serves the small village community of Tadfield. He enjoys contributing to local businesses, taking walks, and of course reading. His 'guilty pleasure', which gives him no guilt and all pleasure, is a series of novels by one AJ Ashtoreth. But what happens when he reaches out with an innocent bit of fanmail?

What We Make of It (Shotgun Wedding) by charlottemadison (E)

The important thing, Crowley tells himself -- the most important thing -- is Adam, his brilliant, creative, empathetic nephew. Being fourteen's hard enough; the kid didn't ask to deal with the weight of the world on top of it. And if taking care of Adam means Crowley has to tough it out at a job he can’t stand, so be it. And if Crowley's job means that Adam’s charming English teacher is NOT a romantic possibility, well, that's just how things go. But the occasional drink with Aziraphale proves hard to resist. They frequent the same pub, so who can object to them saying hello? Briefly sharing a table? Perhaps a little conversation? The painful knowledge that it can’t be anything more -- not without somebody getting fired or sued or both -- well, that can't be helped. Until Crowley stumbles onto a terribly reckless idea...

- Mod D

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hi everyone!

So now that Stardew Valley is on mobile, I can finally play! The Mobile version makes it easier to take around.

I was wondering about the green rain event. It looks…like there’s something wrong. The TV won’t work. Everyone is meeting in Gus’s pub, Demetrius is in a hazmat suit taking samples.

I was thinking it could be radioactive. Since you can find radioactive ore, it would make sense that the rain could be green. Maybe from a nuclear reactor? I was thinking about a new area to explore. Maybe the reactor itself?

Imagine it having negative effects on our character like being debuffed (poison, feeling sick, moving at a slower pace, ect.)

It would add so much to the story and the town too! Maybe some dialogue similar to Demetrius telling you he’s taking samples.

What do you all think?

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

The Agreement

quinn hughes x nhl player!reader

note: this take place on Jan. 27/28 of 2023

warning: food mentioned, badly written/rushed (even though it took the longest to write) smut, lowkey Quinn is a simp

word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t ever supposed to happen, sure Y/n had always found Quinn attractive, but that was where the line was drawn and she told herself never to cross it. Y/n had been on men’s teams since she was 13 and started liking boys, but she never even kissed any of them, let alone slept with them. 

-last night-

It all started when the team went out to celebrate their win against Columbus, and with them not having another game for a couple days, they probably got a couple rounds too many.

“Another!” “No! We’re done, yeah just the check please.” “Bo, you are no fun.” The only woman at the table says, pointing her finger at him while she does, before grabbing her purse and searching through the mobile junk drawer to hand him a couple bills. Before she gets the chance Quinn taps her hand, a signal for her to stop as he paid both their shares. Before Y/n could open her mouth to argue, Quinn interrupted with, “You get the uber?” “Okay.” She says, smiling, Y/n gets very smiley when she’s drunk, and flirty, which did not go unnoticed by Quinn; he watched her flirt with the waiter all night.

After saying their goodbyes to their teammates when their uber arrived, the two walked out of the pub and into the cold Vancouver air. “I really love Vancouver, I’m glad I got drafted by a Canadian team. It has a piece of home. Rains a bit too much though, I could do without that. And you lived in Toronto right? I never went there before playing the leafs.” She also rambles when she’s drunk, “That’s us I think.” The tall woman walks over to the black car, confirming it was theirs, before opening the door for Quinn. 

“Shouldn’t I be getting the door for you?” “If you know me at all Huggy, you know that’s not true.” “True.” Y/n had always been independent, and with playing in the NHL she never wants the guys to treat her differently just because she’s a woman. And maybe it was a bit of internalised misogyny, and she was working on it, trying to be seen as strong while not giving up her feminine side, it was hard.

The drive was quiet, Y/n gazing out the window, Quinn gazing at her. And between his looks towards the woman he couldn’t help but notice the uber driver also taking his fair share of glances at the beautiful woman. Just like back at the pub with the waiter Quinn had this overwhelming urge to pull the guy’s eye out of their sockets so he could never look at his girl like that. Well not his girl- she wasn’t his girl and at the rate they were going Quinn doubted he would ever get the confidence to change that. His thoughts were interrupted by the uber driver himself, 

“We’re here.” “Thank you, bye Quinny see you-” Her words being cut off by Quinn closing his door. “Oh… OH! Jeez!” Y/n’s door opened in time with her scream, “Quinny, god you scared me.” “You should come inside.” “Why?” Quinn sent a quick glance to the man behind the wheel, before turning attention back to wear he often found it, Y/n, “This guy gives me bad vibes I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” “Quinn, it will be fine.” “No, come on, I’m serious.” His words slightly strained as he reaches over to undo the woman’s seatbelt, and grabs her wrist to bring her out of the creep’s car, slamming the door and continuing to his building. 

“You didn’t have to do that, I can handle myself and-” “You know that I am the last person to think you can’t handle yourself, it’s not a matter of that-” “-then what-” “-My mom raised me right, and I got bad vibes from that guy, and I didn’t feel comfortable leaving you with him. If you don’t want to stay here tonight I can drive you home myself.” “...Thank you. I’m fine to stay here tonight, I’ll just sleep on your couch” “Nonsense” The man mumbles, reaching over to press the floor his apartment was on, then continuing, “I’ll sleep on the couch, you sleep in my bed.” “No.” “Yes.” “No- '' Before Y/n could reply with her argument, Quinn walked out of the elevator on his way to his door. “Hey!-” Quinn opened the door for them, moving his arm to signal Y/n to enter, “-Thanks-'' He then closes the door, and makes his way to the kitchen to get water for the two, while Y/n continues her case, “I’m not taking your bed, it’s yours.”

“Fine, whatever you say, you want to watch something?” Quinn asks, knowing he will get his way, turning on the TV and skimming through the different streaming services he has. Y/n comes over, sitting next to Quinn, “Left, Up.. Right, right.. Hmm down-” “I’ll just give it to you.” She takes the remote from him and eventually selects friends, knowing it was a safe option.

“God, I hate Ross. I think it’s because he reminds me of every guy I've dated.” With a quick glance Quinn determines it safe to ask, “How so?” “How so? Well let’s see, he’s controlling, and overly possessive and jealous, he’s never happy for Rachel’s accomplishments, and he has this egotistical air of superiority about him.” “Not that you're bitter or anything.” “I don’t know why I attract these terrible guys. Or I’m not going for the right one’s, like you. You’re good, I don’t know why I can’t get a guy like you.” At that, Quinn leans over to grab his water, suddenly really needing it.

“Sorry, that made things weird, maybe I’m still a little drunk.” Y/n mumbles, turning to face the man that is already looking at her. Against her own control, her eyes fell down to his lips, they’re a perfect shade, and looked so kissable. Not that she was thinking- oh hell, yes she was. After noticing how long she had been staring, she quickly brought her eyes back to his, only to find that the man’s own eyes were on her lips. So with the positive signals and the little bit of vodka and diet coke still in her system, the woman brings her hand to Quinn’s jaw, the action causing his eyes to finaling meet hers again. And while not saying anythingl, their eye contact said it all, and their lips crashed together.

They fit together flawlessly, moving in sync with each other. Y/n tongue coming to Quinn’s bottom lip, begging for access, which he qladly gave up with no fight. Her hands moving to around the man’s neck, and swinging her left leg over his to straddle him, his hands now moving down to her hips. Y/n could tell he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch her ass, so she did it herself, grabbing ahold of his wrists and moving his hand to comfortably grasp the flesh there. Subtly Y/n began to rock her hips against his, eliciting a groan from Quinn. 

This must have been Quinn’s last straw because he quickly stands, his hands holding Y/n up as she wraps her legs around his waist. He carries her to his room, never wincing from holding Y/n’s body weight, probably because her weight was his warm up weight, that fact only making him so much hotter to Y/n. He closes the door with his foot, continuing the walk to the bed, throwing the woman in his arms on his soft comforter, and crawling over top of her. 

Hastily kissing his way up her body and he does, deciding to set up camp at her neck, kissing and sucking on her pulse point. Tired of the slow pace, Y/n starts pulling at Quinn’s shirt wanting it off, getting the idea, Quinn leans back to take it off, Y/n did the same leaving her just in a sports bra. They have both seen eachother in this state many times before, but in the new setting, it was far more sensual. After taking off her shirt, Y/n moves her hands to her dress pants, Quinn mirroring her movements, “Are you sure about this?” “Yes.” bringing her knees to her chest, Y/n throws her pants on the floor for future her to find, while Quinn stands to take his own off.

Now both in just their underwear, Y/n drags Quinn with her hands on his shoulders, to sit against the soft headboard straddling him again, it was now her turn to suck hickies on his neck. Grasping the hair at the nape of Quinn’s neck and grinding against his hard-on with fewer layers, evokes moans from both. Quinn moves his hands from her back to wear Y/n is grinding herself on him to move the constricting fabric of their underwear, pulling his boxers down just enough for his cock to slap against the man’s abs, “Jesus.” “What?” Quinn asked, he never got complaints about his size but hearing Y/n’s reaction made him more self-conscious about his dick than he ever has been. “You’re just.. Big” Y/n laughs at her choice of words, not having known what to say. And after realising what she said, Quinn laughed too. It was nice to know they were still comfortable around each other; hopefully that won’t go away in the morning. 

“Um, thanks” “Anytime.” Y/n respond quickly, bringing her hands back to around Quinn’s neck pulling him into another kiss, just as fast as she started it, Y/n breaks the kiss reaching for the hem of her sports bra to rip it off, and somehow seeing the woman’s boobs made this all feel real, and Quinn must have been staring longer than he thought as Y/n reaches forward to raise his chin so his eyes are looking back at hers, “My eyes are up here, Huggy”

Without waiting for his response, Y/n brings Quinn in for another heated kiss, and after a moment brings her hands to move her panties to the side, feeling the wet spot on them. She grasps Quinns cock in her hand, giving it a few good pumps, before rising to her knees, and lining her wet hole with his hard cock. “Last chance, you sure Quinny?” “God, ye-.” 

Before he could finish, Y/n sinks herself fully on his cock, giving herself a moment to adjust to Quinn’s size before moving up and down, with the help of Quinn with his hands on her ass once again. “Oh, Quinn.. So full.” Y/n really having to carry the conversation as Quinn is too pussy drunk to respond, only moaning and groaning when Y/n does something he likes. “Fuck Y/n! You’re so tight, pussy feels amazing” Saying this, Quinn brings his thumb to Y/n's bottom lip, in her lustful state, she opens her mouth allowing his thumb to enter without much thought. Swirling her tongue around his digit, then releasing it, when Quinn makes moves to bring his thumb towards the woman's swollen clit. Rubbing small circle there, which cause Y/n to moan loudly at the feeling.

Neither of the two last that long, “Oh fuck- Y/n I’m gonna- fuck.” “Me too. Fuck! Oh fuck!” With one last sink down Y/n is cuming harder than she has in a long time, not completely stopping her movements but slowing them, trying to help Quinn find his orgasm and for her to ride out her own. Feeling Y/n come around him, Quinn is about to give in, “Where- want it.” “Inside! Please!” And at that Quinn is gone, bucking his hips up into Y/n more riding out his orgasm. “Ah~ Quinn ‘s sensitive.” "I know, baby"

Both panting, Quinn still inside and slides down for his head to be on his pillows, and Y/n leaning her body on his chest. “Let me get you a washcloth.” Quinn said, making moves to leave, before Y/n put her hands on his pecs and stopping him, “Give me a sec.” Y/n pants out and about a minute later says, “Okay.” And she starts rising on her knees, only for them to give out, “Do you want-” “Nah, I’m good.” Giving her legs their redemption, which they do well at, and lays on her back next to Quinn. “I’ll get you a washcloth.” Quinn reaches for his boxers, getting up, putting them on, then starting for the bathroom “No wait. I have to pee."

-the morning-

The late morning sun dipped into the bedroom, hitting Y/n in the eyes, causing her to wake up, not only to the feeling of the winter sunshine on her face but to the feeling of an arm around her, a man’s arm, Quinn’s arm. “Fuck.”

Softly, Y/n slips out of Quinn’s bed and tries to find her clothes to get dressed, all while trying and failing to not wake Quinn. “Morning” He says, in a husky morning voice. “Good Morning. I’m gonna be on my way, don’t want to intrude on your off day.” “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll make breakfast.” 

Y/n now dressed in Quinn’s clothes and Quinn making the two of them eggs on toast, the girl had to put her mind to rest and ask Quinn. 

“So.. Last night..” “Yeah.” With neither knowing exactly what to say, silence engulfed the room. 

“It was good- great! It was great.” “Yeah” “...Would that ever happen again?” That shocked Quinn he was preparing himself to get rejected, “Do you want it to happen again?” “I mean..Yeah.” “Okay.” With their nonchalant-ness you wouldn’t think they just agreed to sleep with each other again. Though their nervousness and tension in the room could be cut with a knife. “But, if we’re doing this we should have like a couple ground rules.” “Oh, yeah. That's a good idea.” 

The two sat at Quinn’s island turning their bodies to face each other, “Okay.. obviously not telling anyone.” “Of course.” “And no kissing, unless we’re leading it somewhere.” “Okay.” “And no dates or anything like it.” “Right.” “Okay, that’s the agreement?” “Yep.” “Shake on it.”

Y/n said, sticking out her hand, Quinn taking it and shaking her hand in agreement.

These rules will kill him.

~taglist~

@books-hlmc