#raise a glass to the things we can't find again

[mourningstar113]

There must be a word for it. That specific grief over a lost thing, a lost artwork, rather than a lost person. But I guess it is the loss of someone too. Suddenly they're gone, and you never get to find out what happened.

raise a glass to the posts you love that end up deleted. to the fanart and fanfics you lose track of and can't locate. to the blogs you used to look through that ended up unexpectedly disappearing. to the things you didn't archive because you always assumed they'd be there.

[ghstyles]

Elysium | His Angel

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Pairing: College!Yn x CrimeBossl!Harry

WC: 6.5k

Summary: How Harry Styles met his angel

His Angel Masterlist

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The bass thrums through the exclusive nightclub, vibrating beneath Y/N's feet as she follows her friends through the crowd. The place screams money and danger in equal measure. All sleek black surfaces, private booths guarded by serious-looking men, and beautiful people trying too hard to look like they belong.

"I can't believe we got in!" her friend Mia shouts over the music, clutching Y/N's arm excitedly. "Do you know how impossible it is to get into Elysium without being on the list?"

Y/N shrugs, taking in the scene with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "Perks of knowing the right people, I guess."

Their other friend, Zoe, leans in, nudging Y/N’s side. "And being hot.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes. "That's ridiculous. We didn't get in because of that"

Mia nudges her, eyes wide. "Come on, let's get drinks!"

They make their way to the crowded bar. As Y/N waits, she feels a prickling sensation, as if someone is watching her. She scans the crowd, her eyes eventually landing on a VIP section elevated above the dance floor.

There, lounging with casual dominance in the center of the booth, sits a man who seems both part of the scene and separate from it. He's undeniably handsome. Sharp jawline, intense eyes, an air of controlled danger in the way he holds himself. Unlike the eager crowd around him, he appears almost bored.

Until his eyes meet hers.

Y/N feels the impact of his gaze like a physical thing. She quickly looks away, unsettled by the intensity of the brief connection.

"Who's that?" she asks Mia, nodding discreetly toward the VIP section.

Mia follows her gaze and nearly chokes on her drink. "Holy shit, that's him. That's Harry Styles. The owner. He never comes here on Saturdays."

Before Y/N can respond, a bartender approaches with a glass of amber liquid.

"Compliments of Mr. Styles," he says, placing it in front of her.

Y/N stares at the drink, then back at the VIP section. The man—Harry—is still watching her, one eyebrow raised slightly in challenge. She can feel her friends buzzing with excitement beside her.

"Tell Mr. Styles thank you," she says to the bartender, then adds clearly, "but I prefer to buy my own drinks."

She pushes the glass back across the bar, ignoring her friends' shocked expressions.

"Are you insane?" Zoe hisses. "You don't turn down Harry Styles!"

"Watch me," Y/N replies, turning her back to the VIP section and ordering a vodka soda.

The night continues, and Y/N determinedly enjoys herself with her friends, though she can't shake the feeling of being watched. An hour later, the same bartender approaches again, this time with a different drink. Something fruity with an umbrella.

"Mr. Styles thought perhaps his choice wasn't to your taste," the bartender explains with a barely suppressed smile. "He's offering alternatives until he finds something you like."

Y/N can't help the laugh that escapes her. "Persistent, isn't he?"

She glances toward the VIP section. Harry is leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, watching her reaction with undisguised interest. When their eyes meet again, he raises his own glass in a mock toast.

On impulse, Y/N takes the fruity concoction and walks directly toward the VIP section. The security guards look to Harry, who nods once, allowing her to approach.

"Most women would be flattered by the attention," Harry says when she reaches him, his voice deep and smooth, with an edge that suggests he's used to getting what he wants.

"Most women aren't me," Y/N responds, placing the untouched drink on the table in front of him. "And I don't drink things from strangers, no matter how expensive their clubs are."

Instead of being offended, Harry looks amused, his eyes traveling slowly over her face, down to her lips, then back to her eyes.

"Harry Styles," he says, extending a hand. "Now we're not strangers."

Y/N hesitates, then takes his hand. His grip is warm and firm.

"Y/N," she replies, deliberately withholding her last name.

Harry's lips curve into a smile that makes her heart beat a little faster.

"Y/N," he repeats, as if tasting her name. "Sit with me."

It's not a request, but not quite a demand either. Something in between that makes her want to both comply and resist.

"I'm here with friends," she says, nodding toward Mia and Zoe, who are watching with wide eyes from the bar.

"They can join us," Harry offers, though his eyes never leave hers, making it clear who he's interested in.

Y/N considers him for a moment, then shakes her head.

"Maybe another time," she says, turning to leave.

Harry catches her wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the strength she can feel in his fingers.

"Dance with me, then," he says, his voice lower. "Just one."

Y/N looks down at his hand on her wrist, then back to his face. Up close, he's even more attractive. Sangerous in a way that should send her running but instead makes her curious.

"One dance," she agrees finally.

The dance floor is crowded, but people seem to instinctively make space for Harry as he leads her through the press of bodies. When he turns to face her, pulling her closer than strictly necessary, Y/N feels a thrill of something that's not quite fear run through her.

"So," she says as they begin to move to the music, "is this what you do? Send drinks to women and expect them to fall at your feet?"

Harry's hand slides to the small of her back, warm through the thin material of her dress.

"Only when they catch my attention," he replies, his eyes holding hers. "And they don't usually send the drinks back."

"Maybe you need the challenge," Y/N suggests, surprised by her own boldness.

Harry's eyes darken slightly, his fingers flexing against her back.

"Maybe I do," he agrees, pulling her incrementally closer. "Though I usually get what I want in the end."

Y/N raises an eyebrow. "Pretty confident for someone whose drink I just rejected. Twice."

Harry laughs, the sound rich and genuine, transforming his face from intimidating to almost boyish for a brief moment.

"Yet here you are, dancing with me," he points out.

The song changes to something slower, more sensual. Harry's hand slides lower on her back, not quite inappropriate but definitely possessive. Y/N knows she should step away, create some distance, but something about him draws her in.

"I'm curious," she admits. "What does a man who owns a place like this do when he's not sending drinks to women?"

Harry studies her, as if deciding how much to reveal.

"I have various business interests," he says vaguely. "The club is just one of them."

"That's not an answer," Y/N challenges.

His lips quirk. "It's all you're getting for now."

They dance in silence for a moment, the chemistry between them building with each sway of their bodies.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” Harry says finally, his thumb tracing slow circles on her back. “And I notice everyone who walks into my club.”

Y/N raises a brow, amused. “That’s a lot of people to notice.”

Harry’s gaze sharpens, locking onto hers. Without a word, he spins her smoothly, guiding her back into his chest. His lips lower to her ear, his voice low and deliberate.

“I would have noticed you.”

Her breath catches as his words settle over her, the bass of the music a faint echo compared to the quiet intensity of his tone.

“Probably because I don’t go out much,” she says, trying to steady her voice. “I’m at Westlake University. Moved here for school.”

Harry nods, filing away the information, spinning her back to face him. “Studying?”

“Psychology. With a minor in criminal justice.”

That earns her a small, intrigued smile. “Planning to analyze criminals?”

Y/N smiles. "Something like that."

Harry leans back in, his lips near her ear. "And what would your analysis of me be, Y/N the psychology student?"

His breath against her skin sends a shiver down her spine.

"I'd need more data," she manages to say, her voice steadier than she feels.

Harry pulls back just enough to look at her, his expression shifting to something more intense, more predatory.

"I could give you more data," he suggests, his meaning unmistakable.

Y/N knows she should walk away. Everything about this man screams danger and complication. But the heat in his eyes, the chemistry crackling between them, makes her reckless.

"Your office," she says, surprising herself with the decision. "Not your home, not a hotel. Just an hour, then I go back to my friends."

Harry's eyes widen slightly, clearly not expecting her directness. Then that slow smile returns, satisfied and hungry at once.

"My office it is," he agrees, taking her hand and leading her away from the dance floor.

They navigate through the club, Harry nodding to security as they pass. No one questions where they're going or tries to stop them. It's clear who's in charge here.

His office is surprisingly tasteful with dark woods, leather furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Harry locks the door behind them, then turns to face her.

"Having second thoughts?" he asks, noticing her hesitation.

Y/N shakes her head, stepping closer to him. "Just wondering if you do this often."

Harry's hands come to rest on her hips, drawing her against him.

"Bring women to my office?" he clarifies. "Never."

Before she can decide if she believes him, his mouth is on hers, hungry and demanding. Y/N responds immediately, her body arching into his as his hands slide down to cup her ass, lifting her against him.

"Fuck," he breathes against her mouth. "You taste even better than I imagined."

He walks her backward until she hits his desk, then lifts her onto it, stepping between her thighs. His hands are everywhere—tangling in her hair, tracing the curve of her breast, sliding up her thigh beneath her dress.

Y/N pulls at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin beneath her palms. Harry helps, practically tearing the buttons in his haste to remove it. His body is a work of art—toned and tattooed, with a strength that makes her mouth go dry.

"You're sure?" he asks, his voice rough with desire as his fingers find the edge of her underwear.

Y/N nods, beyond words as his touch sends electricity through her veins. Harry's eyes hold hers as he pushes the fabric aside, his fingers finding her already wet and ready for him.

"So responsive," he murmurs appreciatively, circling her clit with his thumb. "So fucking perfect."

Harry's fingers work with devastating precision, drawing small circles around her clit before dipping lower to tease her entrance. Y/N's head falls back, a breathy moan escaping her lips as he slides one finger inside her, then another, curling them to find that spot that makes her thighs tremble.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice low and rough.

Y/N forces her eyes open, meeting his intense gaze as he continues to work her with his fingers, his thumb maintaining that maddening pressure against her clit.

"I want to see your face when you come," he tells her, the crude words somehow making everything more intense. "And you will come, angel. First on my fingers, then on my cock."

The confidence in his voice, the absolute certainty that he can deliver on that promise, sends another rush of wetness to her core. Harry feels it, his eyes darkening as he increases his pace.

"That's it," he encourages, his free hand gripping her hip to keep her steady on the desk. "Let go for me."

Y/N feels herself tightening around his fingers, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. When his mouth drops to her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, she shatters, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through her.

"Fucking beautiful," Harry murmurs against her skin, working her through the orgasm, not stopping until she's trembling from oversensitivity.

Only then does he withdraw his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to taste her as he holds her gaze. The sight is so erotic that Y/N feels desire pooling in her belly again, despite having just come undone seconds before.

"You taste even better than I imagined," he tells her, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through her. "And I've been imagining it since I saw you walk into my club tonight."

His hands move to the hem of her dress, pushing it up her thighs.

"Off," he orders, helping her pull it over her head and tossing it aside.

Y/N sits on his desk in just her black lace bra and matching thong, feeling both vulnerable and powerful under his hungry gaze. Harry steps back just enough to unbuckle his belt, his eyes never leaving her body.

"Touch yourself," he instructs as he unfastens his pants. "Show me how you like it."

The command should embarrass her—she's never been this bold with previous partners—but something about Harry makes her want to obey. She slides her hand between her thighs, fingers finding her still-sensitive clit as she watches him free himself from his boxers.

The size of him makes her breath catch, both intimidated and desperately eager to feel him inside her. Harry strokes himself slowly, watching her fingers move between her legs.

"Condom?" she manages to ask, her voice breathy with arousal.

Harry reaches into his desk drawer without taking his eyes off her, retrieving a foil packet. He tears it open with his teeth, rolling it on with practiced ease before stepping between her thighs again.

"Spread wider for me," he directs, his hands gripping her hips to position her at the edge of the desk.

Y/N complies, letting her knees fall further apart as Harry aligns himself with her entrance. He teases her first, running the head of his cock through her wetness, circling her clit in a way that makes her whimper with need.

"Please," she breathes, beyond pride now, wanting only to feel him inside her.

"Please what?" Harry asks, his voice strained but still commanding. "Tell me what you want, Y/N."

The use of her name sends another jolt of arousal through her.

"I want you inside me," she tells him, meeting his gaze directly. "Now."

A flash of approval crosses his features before he pushes forward, entering her in one slow, deliberate thrust that has both of them groaning. Harry pauses once he's fully seated, his forehead dropping to rest against hers.

"So fucking tight," he murmurs, his breathing ragged. "You feel even better than I imagined."

He gives her a moment to adjust to his size before he begins to move, setting a pace that's deep and measured, each thrust hitting spots inside her that make her see stars. Y/N wraps her legs around his waist, changing the angle and drawing him even deeper.

"That's it," he encourages, one hand moving to the small of her back to support her. "Take all of me."

The desk creaks beneath them as Harry's thrusts grow more forceful, his control visibly slipping as pleasure builds. He reaches between them, his thumb finding her clit again, working it in time with his movements.

"Come again," he orders, his voice strained. "Come on my cock, angel."

The combination of his touch, his words, and the relentless pressure of him inside her pushes Y/N toward the edge again. She clings to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as her second orgasm approaches, more intense than the first.

"Harry," she gasps, her inner walls beginning to clench around him.

"That's it," he growls, his pace becoming punishing. "Say my name when you come."

The command sends her over the edge, her body arching as pleasure explodes through her, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. Harry's rhythm falters as she tightens around him, but he doesn't stop, working her through the orgasm before pulling out completely.

Before she can protest the sudden emptiness, he's turning her around, bending her over the desk, her chest pressed against the cool wood surface.

"I'm not done with you yet," he tells her, his hand running down her spine before gripping her hip. "Not even close."

He enters her again from behind, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper. Y/N cries out, oversensitive but still somehow wanting more. Harry establishes a brutal pace, one hand gripping her hip while the other tangles in her hair, pulling just enough to arch her back.

"Look at you," he says, his voice rough with exertion. "Taking it so well. Like you were made for my cock."

The crude praise should offend her, but instead, it sends another rush of arousal through her already overstimulated body. Harry seems to sense this, his words becoming filthier as his thrusts grow more erratic.

Just when Y/N thinks she can't take anymore, he pulls out again, turning her to face him before lifting her effortlessly. Her legs wrap around his waist as he carries her across the room, pressing her back against the wall.

"Hold onto me," he instructs, supporting her weight with his hands beneath her thighs.

Y/N locks her arms around his neck, marveling at the strength it takes to hold her this way. Harry enters her again in this new position, the angle hitting a spot inside her that makes her cry out.

"There it is," he says with satisfaction, adjusting to hit that same spot repeatedly. "One more time, angel. Give me one more."

She didn't think it was possible. Not after two already and especially when most guys struggled to get one. But the way he's moving inside her, the way he's looking at her like she's the most exquisite thing he's ever seen, has her building toward a third peak.

"I can't," she gasps, even as her body tightens around him.

"You can," he insists, one hand moving from her thigh to where they're joined, his thumb finding her clit again. "And you will. For me."

The pressure of his thumb, combined with the relentless thrusting and the weight of his gaze locked on hers, pushes her over the edge one final time. This orgasm is different. It’s more intense, almost painful in its pleasure, ripping a scream from her throat that Harry captures with his mouth.

Only then does he allow himself to follow, his rhythm becoming erratic as he chases his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside her, a guttural groan escaping him as he comes, his body shuddering against hers.

They stay like that for several moments, both breathing heavily, his forehead resting against hers. Y/N feels boneless, completely spent, her body still pulsing around him in aftershocks.

Eventually, Harry carefully lowers her to her feet, keeping an arm around her waist when her knees threaten to buckle. There's something almost tender in the way he steadies her, a gentleness that seems at odds with the man who just fucked her senseless against his office wall.

"Alright?" he asks, his voice quieter now, a hint of concern in his tone.

Y/N nods, unable to form words just yet. Harry guides her to the leather couch at the side of the office, grabbing his discarded shirt along the way and helping her into it. The gesture is unexpectedly thoughtful, as is the bottle of water he retrieves from a mini-fridge, uncapping it before handing it to her.

"Drink," he says, the word still carrying that commanding tone even as his expression softens slightly.

She obeys, suddenly aware of how thirsty she is. Harry sits beside her, still gloriously naked and apparently unconcerned about it. His hand comes to rest on her thigh, thumb tracing small circles on her skin.

"You're full of surprises," he comments, watching her with an intensity that makes her wonder what he's thinking.

"How so?" Y/N asks, finding her voice at last.

Harry's lips curve into that dangerous smile again.

"You don't seem like the type to follow a stranger into his office," he observes. "Let alone let him fuck you three ways from Sunday."

The crude language makes her blush, but she holds his gaze.

"Maybe I'm not usually," she admits. "But there's something about you..."

Harry's smile widens, satisfaction evident in his expression.

"The feeling is mutual," he tells her, his hand moving higher on her thigh. "Which is why I'm not done with you yet."

Y/N's eyes widen, her body somehow responding to the promise in his words despite how thoroughly he's already wrung her out.

"I don't think I can—" she begins, but Harry cuts her off with a kiss, this one slower, more deliberate than the desperate ones they'd shared before.

"You can," he assures her when he pulls back, that same absolute confidence in his voice. "And you will. But not here."

He stands, offering her his hand.

"Come home with me," he says, and it's not really a question, though his eyes search hers as if waiting for permission. "Let me show you what I can do when we have a proper bed and all night."

Y/N knows she should say no. She knows nothing about this man except that he owns this club, commands respect from everyone around him, and just gave her the most intense sexual experience of her life. Going home with him is reckless, potentially dangerous.

So  shakes her head, reality returning now that the haze of desire has cleared.

"I can't. My friends will be worried."

Harry looks like he wants to argue but instead reaches for his pants off the floor, extracting a business card. He scribbles something on the back before handing it to her.

"My personal number," he explains. "Call me."

Y/N takes the card, tucking it into her purse without promising anything. Harry pulls her in for one more kiss. Slower this time, almost tender.

"You'll call," he says against her lips, somewhere between a statement and a question.

Y/N smiles enigmatically. "We'll see."

She doesn't call. Not that weekend when she returns to her university, not the following week. She tells herself it was just a one-time thing, an exciting story to remember but not repeat.

But two weeks later, as she exits her favorite coffee shop near campus, a familiar black Range Rover pulls up to the curb. The window rolls down to reveal Harry, looking both out of place and perfectly at ease in the college town.

"You didn't call," he says simply, his eyes taking in every detail of her surprised face.

Y/N stares at him, coffee clutched in her hand. "How did you find me?"

Harry's smile is slow and confident. "I told you, Y/N. I usually get what I want in the end."

And despite knowing better, despite all her training in psychology telling her this is a dangerous path, Y/N finds herself walking toward the car, drawn by something she can't—or doesn't want to—resist.

She steps closer to the car, “what do you want Harry? I’m busy” she crosses her arms, taking a sip of her coffee that Harry knew had too much sugar than a normal person should have

He leans slightly out the open window, his forearms resting on the door as he studies her with those intense eyes. He's dressed more casually than at the club with a simple black t-shirt that clings to his shoulders, expensive watch glinting on his wrist, but he still radiates the same controlled power.

"Too busy to call?" he asks, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Or just busy in general?"

His gaze drops to the coffee cup in her hand, then back to her face.

"Three pumps of caramel, extra sugar, light on the actual coffee," he says, nodding at her drink. "Your barista looked concerned for your health."

Y/N's eyes narrow slightly, unsettled by how he knows her coffee order.

"That doesn't answer my question," she says, maintaining her composure despite the flutter in her stomach at seeing him again. "What are you doing here, Harry?"

Students pass by on the sidewalk, some glancing curiously at the luxury vehicle and the imposing man inside it. Harry seems oblivious to the attention, his focus entirely on her.

"You were supposed to call," he says simply, as if that explains everything. "When someone doesn't follow the script, I get...curious."

He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against her arm where it's crossed defensively over her chest.

"Get in the car, Y/N. Let me buy you lunch."

It's not quite a command, but it's definitely not a request either. That same in-between tone that had worked on her at the club.

Y/N takes a deliberate step back, out of his reach.

"I have class in an hour," she says, though she doesn't immediately walk away. "And I don't appreciate being tracked down. It's creepy, not flattering."

Harry studies her for a moment, then nods as if coming to a decision. He opens the car door and steps out, his height and presence immediately dominating the sidewalk. Several passing students actually stop walking to stare.

"Forty-five minutes," he counters, moving into her space with a confidence that borders on arrogance. "That's all I'm asking. Then I'll drive you to your class myself."

He reaches for her free hand, his touch surprisingly gentle as he uncurls her fingers from their tight grip.

"Unless you're scared," he adds, the challenge clear in his voice. "Afraid you might actually like me beyond a quick fuck in my office."

Y/N inhales sharply at his crude reminder of their encounter, heat rising to her cheeks despite her best efforts.

"I'm not afraid of you," she says, the lie obvious to both of them.

Harry's smile turns knowing, almost predatory.

"Not afraid of me," he corrects softly. "Afraid of how I make you feel."

He's standing too close now, close enough that she can smell his expensive cologne mixed with something uniquely him. Close enough to remind her body exactly what it felt like to be pressed against his.

"Forty-five minutes," he repeats. "Then you never have to see me again if that's what you want."

Y/N knows she should walk away. Everything about this man from his unexpected appearance at her school to his obvious disregard for normal boundaries screams danger. But there's something else there too, something in the intensity of his gaze that makes her wonder if there's more to Harry Styles than the dangerous club owner with too much money and power.

"Thirty minutes," she counters, asserting what little control she can. "And you stay on your side of the table."

Harry's smile widens, genuine amusement mixing with triumph.

"Deal," he agrees, opening the passenger door for her.

As Y/N slides into the luxurious interior of his car, she can't help wondering if she's making a terrible mistake. But when Harry gets in beside her, his eyes meeting hers with that same electric intensity from the club, she also can't help wondering if some mistakes might be worth making.

"So," she says, buckling her seatbelt as he pulls away from the curb, "how exactly did you find me? And don't say 'I have my ways.' That's not an answer."

Harry glances at her, then back at the road, his hands confident on the steering wheel.

"You told me you study at Westlake," he reminds her. "Psychology with criminal justice."

"That doesn't explain how you knew I'd be at that specific coffee shop at this specific time," Y/N presses.

Harry is quiet for a moment, then shrugs slightly.

"I had someone look into your schedule," he admits without apology. "You go to that coffee shop every Wednesday between your morning classes."

Y/N stares at him, caught between outrage and disbelief.

"That's…that's stalking, Harry. You can't just investigate people because they don't call you back."

He turns to look at her, his expression serious despite the casual way he's just admitted to having her followed.

"I wanted to see you again," he says, as if that justifies everything. "Normal methods weren't working."

"Normal methods like accepting rejection?" Y/N suggests pointedly.

Harry's jaw tightens slightly, the first crack in his composed facade.

"Is that what you were doing? Rejecting me?"

His tone is casual, but there's an undercurrent of something else, perhaps genuine uncertainty, which surprises her.

Y/N sighs, looking out the window as they drive through the college town.

"I don't know what I was doing," she admits quietly. "That night was... intense. But complicated. You're complicated."

Harry pulls into the parking lot of an upscale restaurant and the kind of place college students rarely frequent due to the prices.

"I'm actually very simple," he says, turning off the engine and facing her. "I see something I want, I pursue it."

His eyes hold hers, intense and unwavering.

"And I want you, Y/N. More than I've wanted anyone in a very long time."

The raw honesty in his voice catches her off guard. Y/N swallows, trying to maintain her composure.

"Thirty minutes," she reminds him, reaching for the door handle. "And then I have class."

Harry's smile returns, confident now that he's gotten what he wanted—for the moment, at least.

"Thirty minutes," he agrees. "For now."

They take a seat and Y/N sit with her arms crossed, “so, how many other women have you harassed into having lunch with you?”

Harry settles across from her, his posture relaxed despite the tension between them. The restaurant staff clearly recognizes him, a nervous maître d' having practically tripped over himself to seat them at the best table in the house.

Harry smirks at her question, unfolding his napkin with deliberate movements.

"Harassed? Is that what we're calling this?" he asks, seeming genuinely amused rather than offended. "And to answer your question: none. Contrary to what you might think, I don't make a habit of tracking down women who ignore me."

He signals the waiter, who appears instantly at his side.

"Bring us the chef's selection and a bottle of the Château Margaux," he says without consulting the menu or Y/N. "And water for the lady."

The waiter nods and hurries away. Harry turns his attention back to Y/N, his eyes tracing over her face as if memorizing every detail.

"You're special," he says simply. "A first for me in many ways."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, maintaining her defensive posture.

"Let me guess: I'm the first woman to ever say no to the great Harry Styles?"

Harry's expression shifts slightly, something darker passing behind his eyes.

"Among other firsts," he acknowledges. "But I'm more interested in why."

"Why what?" 

"Why you didn't call," he clarifies, leaning forward slightly. "We had a connection. You felt it too so don't bother denying it. Yet you walked away."

Y/N shifts uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny. The waiter returns with water and wine, pouring a glass for Harry before retreating again.

"Maybe because normal people don't pursue connections with men they meet at clubs and sleep with once," she says finally. "Especially men who clearly have...complicated lives."

Harry takes a sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass.

"And what exactly do you think you know about my life?"

Y/N uncrosses her arms, leaning forward slightly.

"I know enough. The way people react to you, the security, the resources to track down a random college student." She gestures around at the restaurant. "The fact that you can walk in here without a reservation and get treated like royalty. You're either old money or you're something else entirely."

Harry's lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Perceptive," he murmurs. "That psychology degree is working for you."

"You didn't answer my question," Y/N points out.

Harry studies her for a long moment, then sets down his wine glass.

"What if I told you I'm both?" he says finally. "Old money...and something else entirely."

A server appears with their first course, small plates of artfully arranged appetizers. Harry waits until they're alone again before continuing.

"My family had money," he says, his tone shifting to something more detached. "But I built my own empire. Through methods that wouldn't exactly make the cover of Forbes."

He watches her reaction carefully, waiting to see if she'll run.

Y/N takes a sip of her water, processing his words.

"So you're what…a criminal with a trust fund?"

Harry actually laughs at that, the sound unexpectedly genuine.

"That's one way of putting it," he acknowledges, his posture relaxing slightly. "Though these days, most of my businesses are legitimate. On paper, at least."

He picks up his fork but doesn't eat, instead pointing it at her plate.

"Try the scallops. They're exceptional."

Y/N ignores the food, focusing on him.

"And that doesn't bother you? Breaking the law?"

Harry's expression turns contemplative.

"Laws are made by men in suits who've never had to fight for anything," he says quietly. "I learned early that following the rules only works for people who are born into the right circumstances."

There's an edge to his voice now, something raw and personal that catches Y/N off guard.

"So you just decided to make your own rules?" she challenges, though her tone has softened slightly.

"I decided to survive," Harry corrects her. "And then I decided to thrive."

He reaches across the table, his fingers stopping just short of touching hers—respecting her earlier boundary despite the clear desire to break it.

"I'm not a good man, Y/N. I won't pretend to be. But I'm honest about who I am, at least with you."

Y/N studies him, her training in psychology making her look for tells, for signs of manipulation or deception. But all she sees is surprising sincerity.

"Why me?" she asks finally, the question that's been bothering her since she saw his car outside the coffee shop. "You could have anyone. Why chase after a college student who didn't call you back?"

Harry's expression shifts again, something almost vulnerable appearing before he masks it.

"Because you looked at me and saw a person, not a resource," he says quietly. "Even when you were walking away."

He picks up his wine again, taking a drink as if to wash away the unexpected honesty.

"And because you're fucking gorgeous when you tell me no," he adds, his tone shifting back to the confident man she met at the club. "It's refreshing."

Despite herself, Y/N feels a smile tugging at her lips.

"You're used to people saying yes," she observes.

Harry's answering smile is predatory.

"To everything," he confirms. "Always."

Their eyes lock across the table, the air between them charging with the same electricity from the club. Y/N is the first to look away, suddenly interested in the scallops he recommended.

"These are good," she admits after taking a bite.

"I know," Harry says, watching her with undisguised interest. "I only surround myself with the best."

The implication is clear, and Y/N feels heat rising to her cheeks despite her determination to remain unaffected.

"Twenty minutes left," she reminds him, glancing at her watch. "Then I have class."

Harry nods, accepting the boundary for now.

"Tell me about your studies," he says, surprising her with what seems like genuine interest. "What made you choose psychology and criminal justice?"

Y/N hesitates, then decides there's no harm in answering.

"I've always been fascinated by why people do what they do," she explains. "Especially when their choices hurt others or themselves. Understanding the mind behind the action..."

She trails off, suddenly aware that she's basically describing her interest in people like him.

Harry's smile suggests he's made the same connection.

"And what have you learned?" he asks, his voice dropping lower. "About people who break the rules?"

Y/N meets his gaze directly.

"That they're usually running from something," she says honestly. "Or toward something they think they can't have any other way."

Harry's expression flickers, something hitting home in her assessment.

"And which am I, Dr. Y/N?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes serious. "Running from or running toward?"

Y/N studies him, seeing beyond the dangerous exterior to something more complex beneath.

"Both," she answers softly. "Just like most of us."

Harry looks momentarily taken aback by her insight, then nods slowly, acknowledging the truth in her words.

"See?" he says, his voice rough. "This is why you should have called me back."

Y/N checks her watch again, gathering her things.

"Time's up, Harry," she says, standing from the table. "I have class."

Harry rises immediately, signaling for the check without taking his eyes off her.

"I'll drive you," he says, making it clear this isn't negotiable.

As they walk to his car, he stays close but doesn't touch her, maintaining the boundary she set despite the obvious tension between them.

"This doesn't change anything," Y/N says as he opens the passenger door for her. "One lunch doesn't erase the fact that you had me followed."

Harry nods, his expression serious as he closes her door and walks around to the driver's side.

"I know," he says once he's settled behind the wheel. "But it's a start."

He drives her to class in comfortable silence, pulling up outside the psychology building with five minutes to spare.

"Thank you for lunch," Y/N says formally, reaching for the door handle.

Harry reaches out, his fingers wrapping gently around her wrist to stop her.

"Have dinner with me tomorrow," he says, his tone making it clear this matters to him. "A proper date. No tracking, no showing up unannounced. Just text me yes or no."

He releases her wrist and pulls out his phone, sending her a text so he can be sure she has his number.

Before she can question how he knows her number, Y/N feels her phone vibrate in her pocket but doesn't check it yet.

"I'll think about it," she says, which is more than she intended to give him.

Harry's smile is knowing, as if he can already sense her answer.

"That's all I ask," he says, though they both know it's not all he wants.

As Y/N walks away toward her class, she can feel his eyes on her back, watching until she disappears inside the building. Only then does she pull out her phone to see his message:

Say yes. I promise to stay on my side of the table. Unless you ask me not to.

Despite herself, Y/N smiles, already knowing she'll probably say yes, even though every instinct tells her Harry Styles is dangerous in ways she's only beginning to understand.

· · ─────────────·────────── · ·

A/N: what do we think of the series so far?

Taglist: @silastylesswift @babegoals @harryssunflower17 @puzio19 @goldensunflowerss-blog @drewrry @tinawritesstuff @dipmeinhoneyh @spinninc @harrystyleshotwife @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @estaticheart

[harrysfolklore]

BLURB ABOUT MAX BECOMING WORLD CHAMPION 😩

i wrote this in like 20 minutes it probably sucks but MAX IS THE WORLD CHAMPION AGAIN AND I LOVE HIM SM

Your hands are shaking as you watch the final laps unfold on the screens. Your fingers find the small "33" necklace he gave you years ago – before the switch to number 1, before the championships. Some habits die hard.

When Max finally crosses the line, the explosion of noise is deafening. GP's voice breaks with emotion: "MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE THE 2024 FORMULA ONE WORLD CHAMPION!"

"Fucking yes!" Max shouts over the radio. "Thank you so much, guys. This one… this one was the hardest yet. I love you all!"

You're crying and laughing simultaneously as his car approaches.Max practically vaults over the barrier, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. "We fucking did it!" he yells, lifting you up and spinning you around. His race suit is soaked with sweat, but you couldn't care less.

"I never doubted you for a second," you say against his neck.

He pulls back, grinning. "Liar. You were freaking out after Singapore."

"Shut up and kiss me, World Champion."

He does, and you can feel him smiling against your lips. The photographers are having a field day, but this moment is yours.

After the media obligations, you find yourself in the back of a car with Max heading to the team party. The Vegas lights streak past the windows as he holds your hand, thumb absently tracing circles on your skin.

"You know what's funny?" he says quietly, the adrenaline from earlier settling into a softer contentment. "After Abu Dhabi 2021, I thought nothing could top that feeling. But this…" he brings your hand to his lips, "this one feels different."

"Because you had to fight harder for it?"

"Maybe. Or maybe because I know exactly what I want to do next." There's something in his voice you can't quite read, but before you can ask, the car pulls up to the Bellagio.

The party is in full swing when you arrive. The entire Red Bull garage has taken over one of the hotel's exclusive clubs, and someone (probably Daniel) has convinced the DJ to play "Super Max" for the third time. Max is immediately swept into the celebration, accepting drinks from every direction.

"To the four-time world champion!" someone raises a toast, and the room erupts in cheers.

You watch from nearby as Max does shots with his mechanics, his face flushed with happiness and alcohol. He keeps looking over at you every few minutes, that soft smile you love so much playing on his lips.

"He's been fidgety all day," Lando mentions, appearing beside you with two glasses of champagne. "More than usual race nerves."

Before you can respond, Max is pulling you onto the makeshift dance floor, attempting to spin you around despite his questionable coordination at this point.

"You're drunk," you laugh as he nearly trips over his own feet.

"I'm happy," he corrects, pressing his forehead against yours. "Dance with me?"

"Since when do you dance?"

"Since I'm four-time world champion and I can do whatever I want."

You're both laughing when he suddenly becomes serious, glancing around the room before taking your hand. "Come with me for a minute?"

He leads you away from the noise, out onto the terrace where the famous Bellagio fountains are creating their water symphony against the night sky. The air is cool for Vegas, and Max shrugs off his jacket to drape it over your shoulders.

"Max?"

He takes a deep breath, and you notice his hands are shaking slightly. Max Verstappen, who can handle a Formula 1 car at 320mph, is trembling.

"I had this whole thing planned," he starts, running a hand through his hair. "Was going to wait until we were back home, do it properly. But standing here now…" He reaches into his pocket, and your heart stops. "I've been carrying this around since Monaco. GP's been calling me an idiot for waiting so long, and he's probably right."

"Max…" your voice catches as he drops to one knee.

"You've been there through everything – the good races, the bad ones, all the championships. You understand this crazy life, and you make it better just by being in it. I love you more than racing, which if you know me, is saying something."

You're both laughing through tears now as he opens the small blue box, revealing a stunning ring that catches the light from the fountains.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes," you manage to say through your tears. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"

His hands are shaking as he slides the ring onto your finger, and when he stands, you throw your arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. Behind you, you hear the terrace doors burst open and cheering erupts – the entire team had apparently been watching through the glass.

"Finally!" Daniel shouts, leading the charge with champagne bottles. "I've been guarding that ring since Monaco!"

Max keeps you close as everyone surrounds you with congratulations, his arm firmly around your waist.

"I love you," Max whispers in your ear as the celebration continues around you. "Even if I needed four world championships to get the courage to ask."

You look up at him, at this man who can be so fierce on track but so gentle with you, and smile. "I love you too, World Champion. Always have, always will."

The party continues well into the night, but now it's a double celebration. You keep catching glimpses of your ring under the lights, still hardly believing this is real. Max hasn't let go of your hand, and every time someone offers congratulations, his proud smile grows bigger.

"You know what this means?" Charles says with a smirk, raising his glass. "We might actually have a chance next season while he's distracted with wedding planning."

"Keep dreaming, Leclerc," Max laughs, pulling you closer. "I'm just getting started."

[wosospacegirl]

no such thing as a private life in Barça

Summary: Y/n's secret relationship with Ingrid is accidentally revealed when the team starts teasing her about something personal.

Warnings: lot of teasing <3 beware!!!

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: this was based on a request + concepts!! <3

Masterlist

..

The Barcelona Femení was once again gathered around a bar table, trying to fit every single player after an amazing win against Real Madrid. Alexia, Pina, and Vicky had scored, so the three girls were incredibly chatty throughout the night, recounting every moment of the game.

The conversation flowed easily, although all players were still high enough on adrenaline that the topics of conversation began to steen to more intimate, and to some people inappropriate directions.

The girls had no shame when talking about more private topics, though Alexia tried to tone it down as much as she could when things went too far.

"Ei, quedeu-vos quietes! No podem parlar d'això davant de les nenes," [Hey, stay quiet! We can't talk about this in front of the girls,] Alexia said, rolling her eyes.

The ‘nenes’ were technically all in their twenties, but for Alexia, anyone who had been at La Masia less than six years ago was practically a child.

"You know we have lives, right, Ale?" Jana said, taking a sip from her drink.

"We date, and, well… go out with people,"  Salma chimed in, casually stealing a fry from Y/n's plate. Y/n pretended not to notice. "You can talk about sex around us. We're not kids."

"Yeah, we’re not nenas," Vicky added, wrapping her arm around Y/n’s shoulders. Y/n immediately shrugged it off with a laugh.

"You’re literally nineteen" Y/n teased, raising an eyebrow "If anyone here’s a nena, it's you."

"Oh, va!" [Oh, come on!] Vicky shot back. "You're talking like you're not the only one at this table who hasn't gotten laid yet."

Everybody on the team knew Y/n had never been with anyone. It was a well-established fact, one that came with lighthearted teasing and amused grins. She always shrugged it off, laughing along with something like, "Yeah, I'm scared of pretty women. What can I do?" or some other excuse.

The girls would tease her in good fun, saying things like, "Don’t worry, we’ll find a nice girl for you someday." It was harmless, just another running joke within the team. It never bothered Y/n; she didn’t mind it.

But Vicky’s teasing hit differently this time.

Pina and Claudia tried to stifle their laughs, while Salma and Jana exchanged looks, as if Vicky had said something wrong. Alexia, on the other hand, sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose like a tired mother.

This time, however, Y/n didn’t know how to respond. Because Vicky’s statement wasn’t true anymore. It hadn’t been true for over a month–thanks to a certain Norwegian who sat across the table from Y/n, a knowing glint in her eyes.

And that’s when Y/n flushed.

She never flushed.

Y/n and Ingrid had been secretly dating for two months now, but they hadn’t told anyone yet. They weren’t quite comfortable with the whole team knowing just yet–they were still getting to know each other better, figuring out their relationship.

Ingrid had mentioned a few times that they should just tell everyone one day, not make a big deal of it–just show up to training one day, holding hands, and let the team figure it out on their own. But it hadn’t happened yet, so of course, the girls didn't know.

Another thing they didn’t know was that Y/n, considered one of the "nenas" by Alexia's standard, had finally had sex. Y/n, however, wasn’t sure if this was the right moment to bring it up to the whole team, especially not at a bar table in the wee hours of the night in Barcelona.

Silence settled over the group for a brief second, the same one that comes just before something…changes. Y/n’s fingers tightened around her glass, her eyes darting anywhere but at her teammates, focusing on a pretty painting on the walls. 

The usual teasing energy of the team seemed to fade, and the others exchanged curious glances, especially Jana, Vicky and Salma.

"Is there something you wanna share with the team?" Vicky asked, leaning forward, an all-too-knowing grin spreading across her face.

Y/n froze, her throat suddenly feeling too tight to swallow as she held her glass a little too tight, "No." Her voice was a little too flat, and she cursed herself for that. 

Not casual at all.

But of course Vicky didn’t believe her, it only made her more persistent. They weren’t going to drop the subjects so easily this time.

Y/n could feel the weight of her teammates on her, some of them had a confused expression on their faces, others had grins. Ingrid's grin was still strong, but the girl was naturally quiet, so none of them were even paying attention to her.

Pina raised an eyebrow, her mouth curving into a playful smirk. "You’re acting weird, Y/n. What’s going on?"

"Nothing," Y/n muttered quickly, but the edge to her voice gave her away.

Ingrid, sitting across the table, studied her with a knowing look, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Y/n," she said softly, her tone more amused than anything. "Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell them?"

Y/n opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She had never been good at lying, especially when it came to the girls. "I… I really don’t think this is the time," she mumbled, looking down at her drink.

"Is there something you’re not telling us?" Jana pressed, her tone light but persistent.

"Come on," Vicky chimed in, her grin widening as the realization started to creep into her mind. "We all know you’ve been acting strange lately."

Y/n shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over at Ingrid, whose eyes were sparkling with a mix of amusement and something else–something that only made the situation worse.

Now Y/n wasn’t sure if she was supposed to talk about the whole ‘I’m not a virgin anymore’ thing or if she should disclose the whole relationship.

She really hadn’t planned for this to happen when she agreed to take a couple of sangria after the match.

But before she could even decide how to handle either of those topics, it was as though a lightbulb had flickered on all at once, and the entire table erupted into chaos.

“No way!"

"Wait, really?" 

"Y/n, you're telling us now?!"

 “Yes, guys, it finally happened,” Y/n murmured as her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

She was suddenly bombarded with questions after questions about her from all sides. 

"How was it?" 

"When did it happen?"

Y/n looked at Alexia, trying to find refuge in her capitana who was, oh so protective of her nenas. But even Alexia wasn’t on her side.

"Okay, okay," Alexia finally said, shaking her head teasingly. "So, who’s the lucky person, huh?" She raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the sudden chaos.

Y/n rolled her eyes at Alexia

“Look, it just…happened okay, it was a last month and–”

“Last month!” Vicky dramatically exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “Why didn't you tell us!?”

Y/n sighed, taking a slow sip from her drink to avoid making eye contact with the one person at the table who sat perfectly composed, as if she had no idea what was going on.

"Why would I tell you guys that?" Y/n countered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Because we're basically family?" Vicky huffed, rolling her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You made me bring my first girlfriend to training on our first date."

Y/n blinked, momentarily taken aback by Vicky’s comment. The rest of the table paused, some of the girls snickering at the unexpected comparison, clearly agreeing with Vicky.

So what if Y/n wanted to know the girl Vicky was going out to make sure she was an acutely good person? That didn't give them the right to know details about her life.

"Okay, well, that’s... a bit different," Y/n muttered, trying to steer the conversation away from the awkwardness that was settling in.

"Tell us who it is!" Jana said , practically bouncing in her seat.

"Okay girls enough! Stop bothering Y/n," Alexia finally intervened, her captain voice cutting through the chatter as she wrapped a protective arm around Y/n's shoulders. "She doesn't have to tell us anything."

The younger girls groaned but relented, shifting into another conversation. Y/n exhaled in relief, thinking she was finally off the hook…until Alexia leaned in and murmured in her ear.

"You'll tell me, right?" she asked, her lips curving into a pout. “After the bar, actually we can pretend to go to the bathroom and–”

Y/n stared at her, her eyes eide. "No, Ale."

“What?” Alexia replied, her face showing genuine disappointment.

“I’m not telling you!”

“Why? You told me about your first kiss when you were fourteen in la masia!”

“Because this is way more embarrassing than me kissing another girl on the pitch during truth or dare!” Y/n said crossing her arms

"But do I know the person?" Alexia pressed, disappointment being changed into mischievous 

"No."

Alexia narrowed her eyes. "Liar."

Y/n barely had time to react before Alexia’s gaze swept over the table, studying every single face. "I'm almost sure it's someone from the team, actually…but who?"

Y/n scoffed. "What makes you think that?"

"Because if it was someone else, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to keep it from us." Alexia said, still swiping the table with her eyes,

"Since when do you notice those kinds of things?"

Alexia smirked. "I always did, alright? And I’ll find out who it is."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that, Capitana."

Alexia wasn’t as observant as she liked to think, because she surely missed the way Ingrid winked at Y/n after the table had settled down.

But Patri, who had been quiet the whole time, was quick to pick up on it.

Patri suddenly sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Wait, what was that?"

The entire table went silent, following the direction of Patri’s gaze.

"Ingrid... winked,” she said, staring at Ingrid who looked unbothered.

Y/n’s stomach dropped.

Y/n peeked at Ingrid through her fingers, both mortified and grateful for her directness.

The team, to their credit, actually let it go. But as Ingrid and Y/n stood to leave, Y/n could feel their amused stares burning into her back.

And, of course, just as they were walking away, someone wiggled their eyebrows suggestively.

Because, naturally, there was no such thing as a private l"Sh-she didn’t wink… she–blinked!" Y/n blurted, glancing at Ingrid, who remained utterly relaxed, an infuriating grin tugging at her lips.

"No," Patri countered, setting her drink down with conviction. "She winked. Because it was just one eye."

"Maybe you blinked while Ingrid blinked with the other eye," Y/n suggested.

Patri’s brows furrowed. "That would mean Ingrid has some weird eye-blinking pattern."

"Maybe she does. Not nice of you to point it out."

"But—"Patri’s argument was cut short when Pina gently placed a hand on her thigh. 

"Babe, just keep drinking. Yeah?" Pina said, her tone calming.

Patri frowned but complied, though not before pointing accusingly between Y/n and Ingrid. "There’s something going on between you two."

Y/n opened her mouth to protest, but Ingrid beat her to it.

"We’re dating," she said casually, as if she hadn’t just set off the biggest gossip at the table, completely unfazed by the attention suddenly directed at them.

The table went dead silent for a heartbeat. Then, it erupted in chaos.

"We knew it" Vicky and Jana screamed in unison, dramatically throwing their arms around each other. "That’s why you’ve been so close during training!"

Y/n gaped at Ingrid. "Ingrid!"

Ingrid only shrugged, looking entirely unbothered. "What, kjære? They were going to figure it out anyway. They can’t help being nosy–it's a Spanish thing."

Y/n could feel the heat in her cheeks. She was not ready for this. She glanced over at Alexia, hoping for some sort of support, but Alexia had gone unusually quiet, her expression both surprised and confused, still processing the information.

"Wait…" Alexia finally spoke up, her voice low as she tried to put the pieces together. "So Ingrid was the one you had your first time with?"

Y/n’s face burned, her brain scrambling for a way out. "I— we… well, you see—"

"Yes," Ingrid confirmed, her voice smooth and calm, almost smug as she leaned back in her chair.

Y/n groaned, dropping her head into her hands as the table erupted once more.

"But," Ingrid added, voice firm, "my elskling doesn’t want to talk about it, so let’s drop it, yeah?"

Y/n peeked at Ingrid through her fingers, both mortified and grateful for her directness.

The team, to their credit, actually let it go. But as Ingrid and Y/n stood to leave–together, Y/n could feel their amused stares burning into her back.

And, of course, just as they were walking away, someone wiggled their eyebrows suggestively.

Because, naturally, there was no such thing as a private life in Barça

..

Notes: Hope you guys liked it! <3

Masterlist

[dollfacefantasy]

Under the Influence ♡

pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

summary: when you and dick are left with an extra sedative after a mission goes wrong, you share a little fantasy of yours with him

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, intoxication kink, drugs + drinking, praise + degradation

word count: 3k

tags: @nexysworld @gor3-hound

"I wonder how it feels."

The simple sentence falling from your lips was the start of this whole thing. Dick turned to where you sat at the bar next to him sipping your drink. He raised an eyebrow, trying to determine if that was some sort of attempt at a joke.

"I don't think it's a real mystery," he says and shrugs, "We were basically gonna roofie the guy."

The two of you had been assigned by Bruce to follow a suspect potentially involved with a string of recent kidnappings. You were to incapacitate him, and then bring him to a rendezvous where he could be questioned upon his return to consciousness. Only the problem tonight was that the target hadn't shown up where he was supposed to, leaving you and your boyfriend with an extra sedative on hand.

"Yeah, I know that," you respond with a roll of your eyes, "But... I don't know. You never wonder how it would feel?"

"No," he nearly laughs at you. He struggled to see why that thought would ever cross his or your mind. Taking another swig of his drink, he can see you leaning in closer out of the corner of his eye.

"You never think about how it would feel, getting all dizzy? Drifting off and feeling totally dazed, other people doing everything for you?" you ask, your voice getting softer as your breath fans over his ear.

"No, but I'm starting to get an idea why you might," he says and glances over at you again, "You have something you wanna tell me?"

Next thing he knows, your hand is on his thigh and you're looking at him with the sweetest pair of puppy dog eyes you can manage. Your nose is close enough to brush against his own. If he had to guess, he'd say you'd had this little fantasy for a while now.

"Lemme try it, Dick. Gimme the pill," you plead, "It'll be fun. Everything'll be up to you, every thought in my head up to you."

A smirk grows on his face at your devotion. Your desire to give him so much control over you that it felt like ownership. His fingers come up to your jaw, holding you by the chin as he kisses you. It's lingering and wet. A little bit of saliva coats your bottom lip when he pulls away.

"Y'know... if you wanted to try something like this, all you had to do was ask," he says lowly.

Smiling, you peck his lips again as his hand slides past you to drop the tablet in your drink. You nip at his bottom lip before pulling back and reaching for your glass to down some more of the liquid within it. You go to put it down, but he stops you by your wrist.

"Not yet, sweetheart. I want you to drink the rest for me. You want your head to get all nice and fuzzy, don't you?" he says.

You nod while staring into his pretty blue eyes. The cup returns to your lips and the rest of the booze slides down your esophagus.

"Good girl," he croons. His amorous smile begins to reach his eyes as his voice continues to lower, his words meant for you and only you. "Let's get you another one of those before we go."

He orders one more, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. Once the bartender brings it to you, his lips find the space behind your ear and tease you there while you drink.

"Look at you, doing so well for me. You're so eager to shut that brain of yours off," he coos.

You nod again and nurse your glass until it's empty. Your head is already starting to swirl a bit, and you wonder if the blossoming arousal in your belly has any effect on it. You can't help melting into Dick's affection right now, your head floating over to rest against his. He hums in approval and nuzzles the crook of your neck.

"Feeling it already, baby? Or do I get you dizzy all by myself?" he mocks.

"Shut up," you mumble, your eyes fluttering shut. It felt like the music was slowly getting louder while your surroundings were sliding further away. Dick was the anchor keeping you from slipping away with it all.

He chuckles at your defiance and decides it's time for the two of you to head out. The drug was entering your system, and Dick didn't think it would be the smartest idea to make your exit by tossing you over his shoulder while you were knocked out.

He tucks you to his side and guides you over through the doors over to the car. He can almost see the gears in your head slowing down on the walk to the vehicle alone. You stay pressed up against his toned torso until he can get the passenger door open and deposit you in the front seat. Once he's done, he leans down, buckling you in and giving you a quick kiss on the lips.

"Such a sweet girl," he praises before heading over to his own side of the car. You lazily preen at the compliment. He can't help but laugh at how delayed the reaction is.

The drive back to your apartment feels like it only takes a minute. You don't know if that's because Dick is as eager as you are or if the sedative has already stolen your perception of time. All you know is that your eyes start to droop, and your head tilts over and bonks against the glass window. It feels nice and cool though, so you keep it there.

When he parks the car, you feel like you're still in motion. The world feels like it's spinning all around you, rotating in every direction all at once. You don't even hear his commands to you before he opens your door and you nearly topple out onto the pavement. His quick reflexes and strong arms spare you a busted up face.

He smiles as he pulls you up to stand beside him and locks up the car. You're considerably more out of it than you were while leaving. He leads you to the elevator and pulls you inside. Standing behind you, he laces his arms around your waist and rests his chin over your shoulder.

"You wanna press the button, honey?" he murmurs in your ear. His grin becomes absolutely smug as your head wags back and forth in a haphazard gesture for no. "Oh, why not? Need me to do that for you too? Silly girl, can't even hit a button by yourself anymore."

He pushes you against the wall as the elevator car starts to move. The spinning feels even stronger than before now that you're physically moving vertical. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth and tussling with your own. He can taste the liquor on you. The manifestation of your mental state.

A few seconds later, a ding sounds through the confined space. You miss it for obvious reasons, but it nearly passes Dick by too. He's so wrapped up in you, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts. But he does reluctantly pull away, reveling in how disheveled you look from less than a minute of making out.

Now he has the privacy to take you over his shoulder, and he does. He boosts you by the hips and drapes you over himself like it's nothing. You giggle too loud for this time of night. Your feet swing weakly in what are probably your distorted mind's version of kicking. He gives you a firm swat on the ass while walking down the hallway to your shared unit.

"Calm down, angel. Don't wanna drop you on your head before we get to the best part," he teases.

You laugh more, the idea of a cracked skill greatly amusing your intoxicated mind. He shakes his head with amusement and squeezes your ass cheek. As soon as he reaches the door, his free hand fishes the keys out of his pocket and makes quick work of the lock.

He kicks the door shut behind the both of you and glides through the apartment to your bedroom. You go flying onto the mattress when he flings you from over his shoulder to the soft blankets. More little giggles pour from your lips, and he takes a moment to enjoy the sight of you, his usually focused and determined girlfriend squirming on the bed and laughing her ass off at nothing in particular.

Crawling onto the bed, he positions himself on top of you.

"What's so funny, baby? Think you should share the joke with me?" he says as he leans down to kiss you again.

Your lips kiss back as best they can. His shaggy black locks brush across your forehead as he deepens the exchange, picking up where you left off in the elevator. You're still simpering slightly against his lips, but it doesn't stop him from keeping your head in place and absorbing you through the kiss.

"What's got you so happy, hm?" he mocks.

"You," you grin against his lips.

"Me?" he asks between smooches, feigning ignorance, "I'm the reason you got that pretty smile on right now."

"Yeah," you laugh and boost your head up overzealously for more.

He pushes you back down and kisses you harder before pulling back completely and gazing down at you. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb rubbing over your skin. You return the look with glossy doe eyes, only somewhat aware of everything that's going on.

"Are you sure it's me? Or is it my kisses?" he asks teasingly, "I know how you love kissing."

"Those are the same thing," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh, are they? My mistake, princess," he says and ducks down to give you more.

He can feel your limbs wriggling underneath him, trying to slip out of your clothes. It's too big a task for you right now. Your movements weren't strong or coordinated enough. All you managed to do was get tangled up in your outfit and make it look as if you were wearing a straightjacket.

"Woah, woah," he chuckles, "Let me help with that, baby. That's too hard for you right now, isn't it? Your brain can't handle all that."

With his careful movements, he maneuvers your arms out of your top, and removes your bottoms as well, leaving you in a delicate pair of panties and your bra.

"So precious," he coos as his fingertips ghost over your now bare skin.

You squirm like a virgin and smile shyly like Dick isn't your boyfriend but rather a little crush. It's now his turn to laugh at your behavior.

"Yeah, you know you're precious, don't you? Even when you're all dumb like this," he says while his fingers work away at the clasp of your bra, pulling it from your chest.

You sigh as your tits are freed from their confines. His mouth trails down your jaw, over your neck, and to your chest. He kisses your cleavage first, just massaging the mounds of flesh with tender hands. It's not long before his lips move up one of them and latch onto a nipple. He swirls his tongue around the bud and feels it harden from his efforts.

You moan and arch your back, the drug erasing the part of you that suppresses your reaction to pleasure. Your thighs rub against one another until his hands slide between them and pull them apart. He grinds himself against your center, drawing more mewls from you.

"That feeling good? You're never gonna be too out of it to understand that," he breathes before licking a stripe over your one nipple and moving to the other.

He quickly removes his own shirt so his skin can press against yours while his mouth works on your breasts. Your hips roll against his as he continues to grind. His bulge grows harder and he can already tell that the fabric of your panties is clinging to your folds from how wet you were.

His hand slips down to confirm his theory. He chuckles against your tit when he feels how slick you are. Completely soaked. His digits slide through your arousal with ease.

"We're gonna have to do this more. Who knew all it took was a few drinks and a tiny pill to turn you into a total slut," he mocks.

"'m always a slut for you," you slur and reach up to pull his hair, wanting his lips back on your own.

He indulges you and moves up again to kiss you.

"That's true. Bet you were wet before you even took the pill. Your pussy was probably dripping just imagining it," he mutters.

His fingers hook around the hem of your panties and tug them down. He then works on shoving his own pants off and releasing his stiff cock from its restraints.

"My pussy drips whenever I look at you," you say. He knows it's supposed to be seductive, but it comes out sounding like a confession. That and you burst into another giggling fit after. Either way he finds it cute.

"That's cause I've got you so well trained," he tells you as his length springs free. He pumps it while guiding it to your entrance. "She knows to always be ready for me. Even when your head can't keep up."

He slides it in you with no resistance. Your heat welcomes him readily, squeezing around him with instinctive speed. You choke out a moan from how he sinks all the way in. There was no need to go slow or tease. You were ready, and you were in no state to be teased. Your pussy squelches around him as he rocks his hips, starting to thrust. You turn your head to his own to try and bury your face against him. The pleasure felt more distant in a way, but it was still present and building with every stroke.

"There you go, sweetheart. This is so natural for you. Head empty with your cunt stuffed full," he croons, "Taking it like a perfect little whore."

You whine and nod faintly, the words swirling around the air before sinking into your head. He ruts into you harder. Your juices gush from you and smear over both of your skin while your head bobs from the momentum he's putting into fucking you.

"Dickkkkk," you whine and grab at him aimlessly.

He presses you harder down into the bed and grunts against your neck. His fingers hold your hips tight enough to leave marks. Fine with him. He wouldn't mind a reminder for the next few days of tonight.

"Surprised you can even remember my name, babydoll," he taunts.

"I'd never forget that," you babble.

He chuckles breathily at your words. They were pretty sweet to come out of someone getting pounded into the mattress. Sounds of his skin smacking against yours emanate through the room. His shiny hair becomes damp with sweat.

"My baby, all mine, yeah?" he murmurs. 

No response comes from you this time. Instead, you yelp as he swivels his hips and drills into a special spot inside you. Every time he strikes it, it's like any remaining power you have to function seeps out of your brain.

"Oh, there she goes," he coos as he watches you slip away, "That's my girl."

"Dick, fuck ah-" you whimper weakly.

He nuzzles your cheek. "Don't try to talk. That's too hard for you right now. Pretty little thing like you just needs to stay quiet and let herself get fucked full."

"Mkay..." you mumble. Your expression is a mix of that stupid little smile from before and a pouty look you often took on when you got horny. He couldn't get enough of either.

"Fuck... 'm gonna cum soon, angel," he groans. You tighten up even more like you're trying to keep him inside forever.

He hisses at the sensation. Shoving his hand between your bodies, he slides his fingers over your clit, stoking the flames of your arousal to get you to explode for him.

You're not lucid enough to tell him you're close. You just let go. Your eyes flutter and your legs kick. Your heels dig into the mattress while you gasp and whine in his ear.

Once you've cum, it's like a switch flips in your brain, and it knocks you the fuck out. You're babbling nonsense for him, panting and clinging to his sweaty body as best you can while going limp. You vaguely feel him cum inside you, the familiar warm and comfy feeling of being full overtaking you.

He collapses on top of you after he releases. Waves of pleasure still course through him like aftershocks. Your bodies feel like one as your chests puff against one another's.

Eventually he climbs off of you, and looks down at you to see how gone you are. He chuckles softly as he watches you try to curl up and sleep right then and there. He goes into the bathroom and grabs a towel, returning to clean the both of you up.

You can sort of feel it. It's a gentle swiping feeling. He's so careful with you though, so gentle. He makes sure no touch startles you or hurts. When he's done, he slides a fresh pair of panties on you and pulls an old t-shirt over your head. You sway in place as he does it, and he finds your perpetual daze as cute as all the moans from minutes ago.

"Almost done, sweet girl," he murmurs as he finishes up. The words don't register exactly, but you understand them as a comfort. The low and soothing tone he used was familiar enough to you for your mind to understand it without specifics.

When he really is done with everything, he finally returns to you. You pull at him with grabby hands and curl right up to his chest, wanting to be held. He was never one to deny you normally, so there was no way he would while you were all sleepy and confused. He pecks your temple and rubs your back, prepared to baby you until the sedative has completely left your system.

[writtenbyan-aries]

Wet Dreams | Colby Brock

Prompt: Colby telling reader,  "Were you dreaming about me again, sweetheart?"

Summary: After a night of drinking with your best friend, you guys walk to her boyfriend, Sam's house to crash, and his friend, Colby, is there. You’ve had wet dreams about him, but you don’t know that he knows until he tells you.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, alcohol consumption, oral (f rec), biting, scratching, choking, rough/semi forceful actions, unprotected sex, creampie, [mostly cute] name calling, praising, literal filth

Word count: 3.6k | somewhat edited

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You were feeling tipsy by the second drink, and you were drunk by the fourth.

Those double shots will do it.

"Why don't you go talk to him?" Y/f/n says nudging you out of your stare on a random guy at the bar, "You've been staring long enough." She finishes her drink, "Or is it because he kinda looks like Colby?"

Your head snaps towards her and you shake your head, laughing slightly as you feel your cheeks getting warmer, "No, no. That's not wh-"

"How long have we been friends?" She tilts her head as she looks at you, causing you to sigh, "Forever."

"Exactly. So why don't you just tell Co-"

"He doesn't like me back." You say looking down. Y/f/n leans in slightly, "Did he tell you that himself?" You shake your head, "No, bu-"

"No. No buts. You're going to get drunk, then we're going to walk to Sam's house and you-"

"Whoa, wait. We're sleeping at Sam's?" You ask knowing there's a good chance Colby will be there too, "I didn't know this."

"I told you before we came here, stop trying to find excuses not to spill your feelings for Colby." She pushes your shoulder gently, "I'm telling you, y/n. Just talk to him. You never know what might happen."

She turns to get another drunk and you sigh, thinking about what she said. You've had a huge crush on Colby, ever since Sam introduced you guys to him.

You've hung out multiple times and yeah, maybe there something there, but you're scared it's just you feeling that way.

"Here. Drink up." Y/f/n shoves a glass into your hand and turns to grab hers, pulling her phone out of her pocket to check it, "Oh. Here." She holds her phone up, taking a selfie as you smile with your cheek pressed against hers.

"Saving that." She says with a smile, "We look so drunk, but still cute! Now let's dance a little before we leave."

A little turned into two more hours of drinking and dancing, your heels hurt your feet, you're aching to get out of them, but that's not the only thing you're aching for.

Colby's smile flashes in your mind, along with the thought of his ring covered fingers dragging up and down your skin and touching you where you needed him most.

"I told Sam we'll be on our way soon, so one more drink?" She bites her lip as she looks at you, waiting for you to agree.

You think about it for a moment before letting out a sigh, "One more couldn't hurt."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

"Shut up. No that picture is atrocious." You groan as you snatch y/f/n's phone from her. You both can't walk in a straight line so save your lives, so you're bumping into each other every other minute.

"No it's cute!" She bites her lip taking her phone back, "I also may have sent this to Colby." She turns her phone and it's a, not bad at all, picture of you standing at the bar. Your dress was riding up a little too high, almost revealing your ass.

"No." You mumble out, "Tell me you didn't!"

"I did. And I'm not sorry."

You pretended to hate her for it, but that quickly vanished as you actually love her for it.

"There they are." Sam says walking out of the door, "How was it?" You both start giggling and he raises his eyebrows, "Oh, wonderful. You're both still drunk." He laughs with a sigh, "Come on. I got pizza for you guys."

"Ooh, pizza." You and your friend look at each other and laugh because you said the same thing at the same time.

"Oh, y/n." Sam says getting your attention. You look up at him, still smiling. He looks over at y/f/n and back to you, "Colby is here."

Your smile drops and your anxiety starts to race, and it's worse because you're drunk, but you play it cool, "No surprise there." You laugh slightly and walk in with your friend.

"Colby! They're here." Sam announces as he shuts the door. You turn, eyes wide, "You didn't have to announce it." You mumble through gritted teeth. He smirks and walks over to y/f/n, hugging her from behind.

Your eyes stay on them as they smile and laugh, wishing that was you and Colby.

"Well hello, hello." Colby says as he walks down the steps, "On a scale from one to ten, how drunk are we tonight?"

Colby's presence makes you nervous, you don't want to make a fool of yourself. Y/f/n giggles, "I'm at an eight right now." She looks over at me and raises her eyebrows.

You sigh and set your purse on the counter, "I'm ready for bed." You walk towards Colby to go upstairs and you avoid eye contact as you walk by him.

But you can tell his eyes are on you the whole time.

You can hear y/f/n trying to whisper but you hear everything, "I tried to talk to her, I even told her about the picture I sent to you. I don't know why-"

Her voice fades out as you walk into where she keeps her clothes. You didn't bring anything, considering you forgot you were coming to Sam's.

As your rummaging through your friends drawer of the dresser, something lands on your head and you can hear Colby trying not to laugh. You pull the shirt from your head, turning to look at him.

"Thought you'd be more comfortable in that." He smirks slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the door way, "If you need anything else, let me know."

His eyes move up and down your low-coverage dress and he tilts his head before walking away. You stand there, slightly dumbfounded but you roll with it.

You make your way to the bathroom, switching the shower on before stepping in. You gasp at how good the water feels on your drunk body, but you sober up a little by the time you get out. You wrap a towel around your body, peaking out before you make your way to find y/f/n.

You know on their door and you can hear Sam talking on the other side but he tells a quick, "Come in." You open the door slightly peaking your head in, "Y/f/n?"

Sam reaches over from his desk and taps her ankle, "Babe, y/n wants you." She groans as she sits up but trudges over to you, "Talk to Colby yet?"

"N-no. That's not why I'm here. I need underwear." You say quietly. She giggles slightly, fighting back saying any kind of comment, "Mhm."

She walks over, grabbing a pair from her drawer, "These are new, but they won't be after tonight." She winks and you roll your eyes, "Sure."

You pull the door shut, turning to walk back down the hall to one of the spare bedrooms and freeze when Colby walks out of the other one.

"Hey." He smiles, and god do you love his smile. You smirk slightly, giving him a low, "Hey" as you walk by him.

"Wait." He says and you stop instantly, hesitating to spin towards him, but you do, "What's up?" He steps towards you, looking down at you as he gets closer. His chest is inches away from yours and he sighs, "The dress you wore tonight, made it so fucking hard for me to not come down there and take you out of that place."

Your breath hitches and you grip your towel tighter, actually wanting him to rip it off of you, but you couldn't muster up enough confidence so you just force a small smile, "Really? Why?"

He chuckles lowly, "I think you know why." He walks down the steps, looking back at you from over his shoulder before disappearing into another room.

Why couldn't I just fucking do it, you think as you mentally beat yourself up, get over yourself, Jesus Christ.

You make your way into the room you're staying in for the night and change into the shirt Colby threw at you. You pull it up, smelling it to see if it smells like him, and it does.

You fall back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling until you eventually pass out.

"Yeah, baby. Just like that." Colby moans into your ear as he has his cock buried deep into your aching cunt.

You whimper out as his hand slides up, squeezing the sides of your neck, slowly adding pressure.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart." His voice is low and deep, groans escape his lips with each slow thrusts into you, "C'mon baby. I need to hear it."

"Y-ou.. Colby." You whimper out, "I want you. All of you."  You reach back to grab his arm but he pins it to your lower back, "Say it again." He releases the grip on your throat and slides his hand up the back of your scalp and grips a handful of hair.

"Colby." You gasp out, "Fuck, yes. Please. Please. I need you. I need yo-"

You gasp awake, sitting straight up as you look around the semi dark room. You sit in silence, trying to hear if anyone is up, if anyone heard anything from you.

You hear Sam and Colby yelling back and forth, they must be playing their games, so they must have headsets on, so they probably didn't hear you.

Or so you thought.

You swallow, wincing at how dry your throat is. You get up, slowly and quietly making your way to the door and slowly opening it. You peak your head out, looking down the empty hall before stepping out and making your way down stairs as quickly and quietly as possible.

But what you didn't know, is that Colby's door was open, just enough to see you move past.

As you're standing in the kitchen, eating a slice of cold pizza, you feel a presence move into the room and you freeze.

Please don't be Colby, you think repeatedly, please don't be Colby.

"What are you doing up?" Colby's voice flows through the room, "I thought you'd be knocked out like y/f/n is."

You shrug, "I needed a drink and then I got hungry." You glance over at his shirtless figure and back down to your glass of water before taking a big gulp.

You set your pizza crust down and lay your hands on the counter, "Well, I'm going to get back to bed." You walk around the other side of the island, but you're stopped by an arm extended over your chest, "Now hang on."

You feel cornered, but you really aren't putting up any kind of fight.You stand there, slowly looking up at him, "I hung on, can I go to-"

His bluntness cuts you off, "Were you dreaming about me again, sweetheart?"

You stand there, staring at him in a shocked and embarrassed state, "I-i, no. Why.. why would you-"

He smirks, moving his body closer to yours, "I heard you. So no need to pretend you weren't."

"You heard, what exactly?" You ask trying to see if he really knows. His hand comes up, his thumb lightly drags against your bottom lip, "my name, a few times."

He slides his hand to cup your cheek, "and some other sounds I wish I couldn't heard better."

Your breath hitches as his hands slide down your sides, "I knew you would look good in this shirt." You look down at his shirt but his hand quickly lifts your chin and his lips are on yours and you give in fully to him.

"Colby." You whimper against his lips as he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you into him, "Please."

He smirks as he leans back, "Not until you tell me what you were dreaming about." He lifts you up into the counter, "I want to know what I was doing to you in that pretty little mind of yours."

You let out a low groan as he leans in to kiss your neck slowly, "come on, baby. Be a good girl and te-"

Being called a good girl seemed to be the key.

"Can we go upstairs? I don't want anyone else hearing this." You bite your lip as you lean back and he nods, "C'mon." He slides you off the counter and your hand is still in his as he takes you upstairs into the room you're staying in.

He shuts the door and your back is instantly pressed to it, his voice is low, "Start talking, princess." He presses his lips to yours, "I want to feel you sooner than later."

He lifts you up and your legs wrap around his waist, "I was.." you breathe out as you look down at him, "dreaming about you.. and me." You run a hand through his hard hair and bite your lip, "You buried yourself in me as you choked me."

His breath hitches and he clears his throat, "Is that all?"

You shake your head and lean in to kiss him. Your lips move in sync for a couple of moments before you pull away just enough to speak, "You were telling me to beg for you basically, telling me to tell you that I needed you."

He tilts his head back, licking his lips as he walks you over to the bed, "I've dreamed of having you beg for me." He lays you down, his body perfectly still between your thighs.

"Please, Colby." You lay a hand on his cheek and he smirks, "Please what, baby?"

"Fuck me." You whisper almost inaudible, "I need you."

His lips crash onto yours, making out with you until you drag your nails down his back. "Fuck." He groans lowly as he sits up. You whimper at the loss of his touch and go to sit up, but stops you, "Just lay back, princess. Let me take care of you."

You bite your lip, lying back as you await his touch. You feel his hands slide up your legs, "You're so beautiful." He whispers, "I should have just came and got you."

He dips his head in, licking up your pussy which causes you to moan and you slap a hand over your mouth, not wanting to disturb the others.

"Mm, move that hand. I wanna hear you." Colby looks up at you and you move your hand and look down to meet his gaze. You watch him as he grips your thighs, going back to enjoying how you taste on his tongue.

"Colby.." you whine out and tangle your fingers in his hair, "Fuck, so close." You whimper and tug his hair, earning a low groan.

He slides his hand over, his middle finger rubbing circles on your clit as he whispers a low, "Cum for me, baby."

You grind your hips against his hand and mouth, moaning as you arch your back off the bed, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He groans as you clench around his tongue, desperate for that first orgasm. You gasp loudly as it hits, slightly twisting your body as he keeps your hips pinned down.

"Shit." You say breathless as he stands up. Your eyes move to him and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him discard his sweats, leaving him naked.

He crawls back up, "How was I fucking you in that dream you had?" He brushes hair from your face and smirks down at you, "I just want to make it come true."

You smile and tilt your head, "You had me flipped over, ass in the air."

"Roll over." He leans up, watching as you comply with his demand, "Shit." His hands lay on your ass and he squeezes, "so fucking sexy."

You him lowly as you wiggle your hips, "Colby.. baby please.."  he smiles at you calling him baby, "What do you want?"

"You." You say instantly, "You, Colby. Please.. I need to have your cock inside me." You whimper and push your hips back, "Please."

He slides his hands up your back and lightly drags his nails against your skin on the way back towards your ass. His actions send chills up your spine and you moan, "Colby.."

He lifts himself up, positioning his cock at the entrance of your needy cunt, "Keep begging, baby." He rubs the head of his cock against you before pushing in, groaning out as you clench around him, "Fuck, y/n."

His hands grip your hips tight and his eyes roll shut as his hips meet your ass, "What do you want me to do?"

"Choke me.. please." You tilt your head up and he slides his hand up around your neck, squeezing slowly, "Never pictured you to be this much of a little slut baby."

There's no hesitation when you answer him, "Only for you."

And he loved it.

His hand squeezes around your throat, hard as he starts thrusting his cock in and out, "You feel so fucking good." He groans out, "Let me hear you, baby."

You let out a moan, gripping the blankets below you as his thrusts become punishing. You feel that build up again, moaning out as you much as his hand on your throat will allow.

"Tell me what you want." He says as he lets go of your throat, "Tell me what you need from me." His hand tangles in your hair and he tilts your head back, whispering in your ear, "Do you want me to fill that pretty pussy for you?"

"Y-yes." You gasp out and push your hips back, "Yes, yesyesyes." You squeeze his cock and he groans, "Fuck, not gunna last much longer, princess." He kisses the back of your shoulder, biting and sucky a hicky onto your skin, "You sure you want that?"

You moan, "Colby, yes. I need you to cum in my pussy."

He moans at your words, thrusting his cock in and out of you slowly, "Cum for me first, okay? Then you can have me."

You reach back to grab his arm but he pins it to your lower back and lets go of your hair. He leans back up, keeping a hold of your arm and your hip, "Fuck, fuck."

You rest your head down, moaning into the bed as you cum around his cock. He reaches down, grabbing your hair and tilting your head up, "Don't hide those pretty sounds from me, princess."

Your eyes roll back as another surprise orgasm comes back and slams into you. Colby raises his eyebrows, "Fuck, again?" He smirks and listens as you whine out for him.

Moaning his name over and over again.

You were completely his.

You are his.

"Sh-shit." He grips your hips with both hands and pulls you back as he pushes his cock all the way in, fucking his cum into you as deep as he can.

"Holy fuck." He sighs as he pulls out, laying beside you to make sure you're okay, "Y/n?" He whispers, "Look at me."

Your body rests flat on the bed and you turn your head to look at him. He brings his fingers up to gently grip your chin, "You alright?"

You nod against the bed, "Mhm." He smiles and leans over to kiss your forehead, "So was that better than your dreams?"

You nod and sit up slightly, "How did you know I had more than one?"

He smiles and licks his lips, "Remember last week when we were driving around looking for that one bridge?"

You nod and he continues, "Well you fell asleep right before Sam and Y/f/n went into the store, and you were whimpering my name."

"Oh." You blush slightly, "Sorry."

He shakes his head, "No, no. I felt honored that you were dreaming about me." He bites his lip as his eyes can over your face, "Took all I had not to wake you up and fuck you right there in the backseat."

Your lips twitch into a smirk, "Well I give you full permission to do it next time. And the time after that, and any time you want."

He pulls you in and kisses you, "Deal."

The next morning, you wake up, snuggled against Colby's side with his arm around you. Your back is to the door, with the hickey he gave you on your shoulder on full display to y/f/n who was nosey and looked in because Colby wasn't in his room.

You heard quiet whispering but shrugged it off until Sam yells, "It's about fucking time." You jump slightly and Colby sits up, making sure you're covered, "Dude!"

Sam laughs, "I thought that's why you got off last night. Good for you guys."

"Yeah, thanks. Thanks." You rub your eyes and run a hand through your hair, "Now beat it."

They hold their hands up and Sam points, "Have fun you two."

"Bye Sam." Colby says still holding the blanket over your body until the two leave and close the door. You look at Colby with a laugh, "I think they're more excited than us."

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Thank you for reading! If you would like to see anything specific, just message me!

You can find this on Wattpad here

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[dilf-docs]

Champagne Symphony, Caviar Dreams

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: you keep finding harry in these events. how long until someone gives in?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 1,815 words

side note: hi hello thank u for ur support my citizens!!!!!!! i hope you enjoy this random update even if the fandom is currently in shambles bc of tlou 2 and joel miller sexy old man with glasses atm,, just hi i'm the problem it's me late to the function as per usual. ps. if u want to be added to the taglist just lmk :) <3

part: prev | masterlist | next

The click of black shoes against wooden floors startles you.

"A White Russian, for the lady"

Before you get to ask, the waiter is gone. Rachel arches and eyebrow.

"If this was a bar, I'd be flattered. Right now, I'm just confused"

Your eyes search his in the bustling room, only to find him already staring.

You scoff. "That makes us two, then"

You raise your glass, wearing a daring smile. Drink for over ten seconds, holding his gaze across the room. If he wanted to play, so be it; didn't matter it was your father's birthday.

His eyes shine, amused. Harry Castillo likes to think he knows when a woman is looking for trouble. The faintest of a smile tugs at his lips when you lick yours. He's coming over. You're up to no good when you stare up, saying his name like a pebble on your shoe.

"I hope I guessed it right" it's what he says instead.

You finish what's left in one gulp. "Nothing too special about it"

He grimaces.

"Hello, Harry"

"Hello, Rachel" but he doesn't even bother to look her way, so unlike his manners.

"Dance with me"

As sudden as the shiver that runs down the spine. Rachel gives you a quizzical look when you turn her way for support.

"Alright"

The music is soft, an instrumental. Your dad hired an orquestra to play, the mellow sound of music filling the room he had rented, in the outskirts of the city. Annabelle wanted a DJ, said it was more modern. But your dad was always a classical man, and that was her way of calling him old, one of many. At least, she was older than you.

He guides you, hand on your back.

Somewhere along the sway, your steps get lost in the spaces between the chords of the violin.

"Why?"

You liked knowing. Answers.

"Because the music is nice" yet Harry preferred the unspoken of your relationship, if you could call it that. Strangers who knew too much about the other. Who revelled in the others' falter. Like a contest to win; you've yet decided the prize. "Don't you think?"

"My father likes nice"

Harry smirks.

"Cheers to David" he gives you a little spin, word reduced to a blur. It's just you and him, "and nice things"

You feel his body irradiate heat. Close proximity suffocating.

"We can't have nice things"

Harry shakes his head, something akin to disappointment circling in his brown eyes.

"Only if you allow yourself to"

Rage bubbles up your throat like champagne. This isn't like your father, who makes you feel small. Harry Castillo makes you feel seen, and that's worst.

He steps forward and you step back at the sound of the music.

"What do you want?"

His grip in your hands tightens, and then he drops you, but his hand on your back stays firm. It's like this with him: always on edge but never quite falling. Head centimeters above the floor, hair brushing the wooden floors; almost crushing.

You lose yourself in the white of his smile.

"To dance"

He pulls you up, face so close to yours. A faint smell of whiskey ghosts his breath.

"I think we're talking about different things"

He smiles, sadly so. He too pulls back, and you hate that small voice in your head that misses the proximity.

"You have yet to understand we aren't"

Anger rises again. You let go of his hands.

"Do you think it's funny to go around confusing people?" you spit.

He looks at you, stern gaze as the music stops.

"I've been clear since the first day"

People clap and the music resumes, but all you hear is the beat of your heart, ringing in your ears.

He leaves first.

Harry doesn't know when it started, but he knows the moment he knew.

You were late, sat next to him: with your long hair and tight black dress. Narrowed eyes as sharp as your fresh manicure. Judgmental. Appalled. Fresh out of law school, as David said.

It was during his fourth. Lasted less than a year; Harry can't remember her name.

He heard your venomous spit at his side: I hate weddings. Doesn't know if you were talking to him but listened.

How could he not? It was clear, in the way you reminded everyone what kind of lawyer you were. Jokes too rough, clipped laughs yet you didn't falter. Too obvious, refusal to be pictured in the family portrait when David married Annabelle the next winter.

But Harry too saw when you followed the bride with your gaze, something raw, not practiced nor learnt, imprisioned behind a neutral expression in your eyes.

It was summer when the wedding happened but Harry was drawn to your cold. The way you had mastered the common art to shove down any emotion, because to feel was to be human.

And to be human was to be weak. You loathed being weak.

Which is why, when you turned to him and mumbled a polite Excuse me to walk out during your father's vows, he understood.

There were dying stars in the dark scope of your eyes, begging to be pulled out of their slow death, pulsing with the same moribund sound of your heart. Hiding behind the sharp comfort of knowing no one would notice. A latent desire to be seen betraying the arm's length drive to keep people away.

Harry was one of those people. The type to notice the quiet breaths of the world that reminded of the painful experience it was to be alive.

And in that moment, he knew there was more to the carefully crafted you.

It was easy then, to figure you. To unravel the mystery of the one he had made to be impossible to decode.

You drank and mingled with the crowd, but each sip seemed labored, like you'd wish for it to be poison and kill you. You were focused, loved your career, but when the noise of the court died down, all that was left was mourning, even if he couldn't quite place your grief. You were all disdain and apathy, but hidden among your clipped conversations was the ravenous desire for attention.

Behind every fake smile and mascara layers, Harry saw the corners of your mouth twitch and the tired eyes.

It was there: the little girl he met, hiding behind mother's legs as if you took a step forward, the world would swallow you.

She was gone, and you had changed your approach: now you were to eat the world as revenge.

You could lie to everyone, yourself even, but Harry knew.

He wasn't a patient man, yet for you? He could wait.

Wait until you let him in. Until you take the hand he's been extending your way, hoping you'd take the leap and jump.

"Should I always chase for you?" Harry jokes after finding you. "Either you love running away or have a thing for balconies"

"Nobody obligues you" you turn to face him.

Harry couldn't voice out loud nor explain the pull he felt towards you. Like magnets. Moth to a flame; things meant to happen. Things that are unavoidable. Or just how easy it was to fall into your orbit. You were a black hole sun: burning and consuming.

"You dipped"

You dipped my head so close to the floor I thought I was falling. Dipped after making my skin feel like a burden and not the one I live in.

He's taken back by your barely concealed reproach.

"Would've you want me to stay?"

Life is a game, and you hate how he's the only one who makes you lose.

You scoff. "Bet that's what you would've wanted"

"You still haven't answered"

You rub your nose. "Is it so important for you that I do?"

For the first time, he doesn't know what to say.

"I'm not here to please you"

He smirks. "Do you ever aim to please anyone but yourself?"

"Are you calling me egotistical?"

"I'm not one to throw stones" he shrugs, then makes his way towards you.

"That's all I feel you do"

He let's his body rest against the marble of today's selected balcony.

"Are you accusing me of being disparaging?"

"I guess we're just throwing big words around" you laugh, dryly.

Harry exhales loudly. "Do you want me to go?"

Stay.

"It's fine" you shrug, nonchalant.

Some minutes fly by, the soft orchestral music from inside the only sound to be heard in the aphony.

"How long do you think this'll last?"

He turns to you, but before he asks for clarification, you're speaking again:

"Dad and Annabelle"

"You shouldn't be betting on your old man" he berates, but there's no bite in his words.

"It always ends"

He doesn't like the finality in your tone. Like you knew it all.

"At least you'll never run out of'a job"

"You're not going to correct me?" you snort at his attempt to humor you. "Tell me that love is real or some shit?"

Harry gives you a knowing smirk.

"Has it ever worked before?"

You don't quite smile, but your lips press together.

The music comes to a stop, people clapping and then a microphone turning on. It's your father's voice.

"Guess it's coming to an end"

Now it's his turn to speak. "Like everything else"

You're about to walk inside when he speaks.

"What about our dance?"

Your turn around. A soft breeze passes by.

"What?"

He gives you a half smile. "It hasn't finished"

Harry extends his hand towards you, waiting for you to take it.

"Shall we?"

You don't have the answer, but when the warmth of his hand covers your freezing smaller ones, you feel you've chosen the right one.

His steps are measured, each brush of your fingers and lingering touch deliberate. You lose yourself in the quiet of the night, the symphony of his heartbeat intertwined with yours, alike to that connection that holds your hands together.

"This is nice"

Outloud. You don't realize it's been you who has said it until he stops dancing, lips parted as he looks at you.

"Y/n-"

The brittle vulnerability is fleeting, like the laughs at your father's drunken speech. It comes and goes, the sound drowning each time you look at his eyes.

All words are futile devices. You're the one who knows such thing best.

"Don't"

Don't speak.

Don't ruin this.

Don't make me think of questions I'm too afraid to hear the answers.

"Okay" he coincides. "We won't"

We won't talk.

We won't ruin this.

We won't think about what this is and what it means.

But all the forbidden is lost when his touch and perfume stay in your skin even as you sink down on your lavender sheets and the feeling of knowing something you hadn't before remains.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell (comment if u wanna be tagged!)

[abbyshands]

Good nigth darling,you're okay?can we have more nerdy!abby pleaase i beg you 🙏🙏🙏(srry for my inglish)

teach me

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

a/n; hello, my love! i’m good, and i hope you are too! of course EEK i was going to write more for her anyway, i love a nerdy girl. also this is cut off asf I’M SORRY i’m tired, maybe i’ll do a part 2 if y’all ask <3

synopsis; you’ve never been good at science, let alone college biology. when your professor all but forced you to get a tutor, who should you end up with but your nerdy girlfriend, who has a very unique way of getting you to study?

pairing; dom!abby anderson x sub!fem!reader

warnings; abby uses baby/princess, use of a strap-on, cockwarming + edging (kinda), abby refers to the strap as her dick and it’s referred to as her dick/cock, choking, spanking, degradation (ish. abby’s tone is just mean), anddd i prob missed smt so lmk <3

wc; 2.2k

p.s.; ALSO this is was ib an ellie fic i saw bro idk where tf it is 😭 searching for it tho. i js remember it was nerdy ellie. it was so good BUT LIKE WHERE IS ITTT idk i’ll link it here if i find it

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

you’ve always sucked at science. biology, chemistry, whatever the hell it was, it had never been your cup of tea.

your professor had not so kindly recommended you get a tutor. otherwise, your grades would decline (more than they already were, that is). you didn't want a tutor, let alone for it to be someone you didn't know. you were already feeling awkward enough having to have someone tutor you at all—you couldn't imagine if it was by an unfamiliar.

that's where abby came in.

abby anderson was your girlfriend, and she was a nerd. like, cliche movie nerd. if you couldn't find her in her dorm, with you, or in class, she was at the library, doing homework until she couldn't anymore. she was a coffee addict with how late she was up each evening, study sessions, unnecessarily reviewing, and, again, homework.

let's just say, abby anderson would do crazy things for an a.

you didn't necessarily want to have abby as your tutor. for some reason, it was embarrassing to you. you had already felt that way when you told her you needed one at all. it would be 10x worse if she would be the one doing it.

not only that, the focus.

how the fuck were you going to focus when you have abby fucking anderson in front of you? when your mind races with memories of her fucking you from behind, or kissing down your neck, or making you the wettest you've ever been, just by being alive?

you weren't.

but abby was persistent. you had originally said no when she first asked to tutor you, but when the guy who was supposed to tutor you didn't even show for your first session, it was no longer a request.

it was a demand.

you were sitting beside abby in her dorm, working on an assignment for your biology class that was due the following day. you had taken up to ten breaks by now, and it had only been an hour and a half or so.

abby pushed her glasses up on her face as she looked over at you, eyebrow raised. you had been dozing off, elbow on the desk and chin on your palm as your eyes began to fall shut.

"hey," abby snapped her large hand in front of your face, making your eyes open again just as quickly as it had happened. "are you listening to me?"

no.

"yeah. yeah, sorry, i just, um—dna and rna. that's what we're learning now, right?" you ask confusedly, doing your best to make it seem like you know what you’re talking about.

but the look on abby's face tells you all you need to know.

"mhm, like, ten minutes ago," abby hums a bit annoyedly, and you can't help but let out a sigh. it's bad enough you have to be here at all, but letting abby down, or worse, pissing her off, was the last thing you wanted to do. “you're never going to learn if you don't put any effort in," she sighs.

“c’mon, abs,” you whined as you set your pencil aside, putting your head down on the desk, eyes on abby. the blonde set her own pen down with a small shake of the head, expression unreadable. “i can’t do this anymore,” you said dramatically. abby rolled her eyes.

“what’s wrong now?” abby asked, but it’s not like she really wanted to know the answer. you knew how seriously abby took her own schoolwork, which may be the reason she was annoyed that you didn’t. but you just weren’t like that.

“none of this makes sense. i can’t remember a thing we go over. god, i hate biology,” you complained once more, looking away from abby.

abby sighed as she put a hand on your shoulder. as much as she wanted to be annoyed, she loved you, and she knew full well that even if you were smart, biology was your worst class.

“what can i do to help, baby? flashcards, d’you want me to quiz you? what do you need?” abby asked as she moved her hand to your back, rubbing it. you shrugged.

“i dunno. i don’t think any of that stuff is going to help me, abby. my memory’s—not that good,” you lamely huffed, but it was true. your memory was best when it came down to the things you cared for. college biology was not one of them.

“hm,” abby hummed. it took a beat, a small pause. but then, abby’s perked eyebrows told you that she had just gotten an idea, and so did the way her plump lips curled into a grin.

“i think i know what’ll do the trick.”

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

that’s how you ended up on abby’s lap, her cock buried deep inside of you as she gripped you by the bottom. abby’s way of bettering your sour memory came in the form of one of the most agonizing experiences you had ever had.

“how does dna differ from rna?” abby asks you casually, as if she isn’t filling you to the brim. you feel your face getting hot, bottom lip bitten down on as you look at her nervously.

“u- uhm. d- dna has a d- double helix model, fuck,” you whine. you must be at least a little correct, because abby bucks her hips up into you, causing the silicone dildo to move inside of you. “rna’s single, a- and involved in a different process than dna.”

“attagirl,” abby praised. it’s then that she grabbed you by the ass, hard, and forced you to ride up to the top of her dick, just before she’s slamming you back down. for only a few seconds, you gain some pleasure by moving your body like that, or abby doing it for you, that is.

but then, she’s robbing it away from you, just like that.

“a- abby, please, c’mon,” you whimper. this had been going on for a third of an hour or so. abby would ask you a question from the deck of index cards she had made for you, and you would answer. simple, right?

wrong.

because here's the thing: she wouldn’t move unless you answered her, and it had to be correct. and if not?

smack.

abby's large hand comes down on your ass as if to shut you up. really, it doesn't. you let out a moan as she then grabs your ass again, not giving a care to how sore you may be.

because she's already slapped you way too many times to count.

“don't act like this isn't for your own good," she says firmly, reprimanding you. "you got that one wrong last time. and we’re not going to stop until you’ve got that whole fucking deck memorized, you got that?” she asks, signaling to the forgotten pile of index cards on the desk behind you. you whine, body too achy for abby to deny her.

“f- fine," you whine, because who the hell would you be to say no?

“good girl," abby praises as she rubs her hands over your bottom, caressing you in a loving manner, a wide difference to the way she was addressing you mere seconds before. "now, can you tell me what a neuron is?”

doing your best to not focus on the feeling inside you, you nod, and easily answer. “a- a neuron—" you huff. "is a specialized cell.”

abby moves her hands to your hips and pushed you up, so that you're around halfway down on her cock. you let out a small shudder, but it must mean you're correct. “and what’s it do?” abby then asks.

to some degree.

but you know this one. after all, it was one of the last cards you looked at in the deck. so, you respond, “transmit.”

abby moves you up more, and this time, she brings one of her hands up to cup your tit. she plays with your nipple if only for a second, causing you to let out a low moan. but just when you think she's going to keep going, of course, she doesn't.

“transmit what?” she asks firmly as her fingers caress your rib cage, and it's all you can do not to roll your eyes.

“nerve impulses," you say a bit too fast, eager to have her hands back on you. your neediness helped you on that one. "i- it’s the basic unit of the nervous system," you add, for good measure.

"that's right, princess," abby smirked, course she did. she had always had way too much fun when she was driving you crazy during sex. this was no different.

but you're pleased to find yourself rewarded, because abby allows you to ride her again. you move up and down a little quickly, scared that your girlfriend will rob you of the feeling before it's even begun. abby begins to rub your clit as she gazes at you fucking yourself on her dick, way too needy for her touch.

"eager girl," abby cooed, rubbing her index on your clit in quick circles. "so needy for my cock, aren't you?"

"yes," you huff out fast, eyes closing shut at the feeling under you.

"too bad."

abby shoves you all the way back down her dick, so that you're all the way back down at the base. it pleasures you for only a second, before the feeling vanishes, just like that.

"abby, f- fuck," you groan annoyedly, body begging for a release you know abby won't give you unless you do what she tells you to do.

and she doesn't like your words.

abby grabs you by the neck, forcing you to look at her as you roll your eyes in the brattiest manner she's ever seen from you. "look at me. look at me when i'm talking to you," and she uses that tone you know she only uses when she's not playing games, barking your full name out at the end like the word pains her tongue.

once she's got your eyes on her, she speaks once more. "if you really want this dick, and i know you do, you're gonna take what i give you like the good girl you are. that clear?"

you keep your eyes on her, scared of what will happen if you don't, face hot as you answer. "y- yes, ma'am."

"primary use of the kidneys?" abby asks, not even giving you praise for obeying her. but you're not at all surprised by that: if there was one thing about abby, she did not like your bratty side.

this time, unlike what abby's asked you before, you can't remember the answer to this. like, at all. you fumble with it for a second, digging through your head for what it could be. but you don't get a response.

"i- i don't know," you dumbly stutter, genuinely unsure of what to say. abby isn't having it, obviously, because one mlre spank is coming down onto your ass before you know it.

"f- fuck!" you whine brokenly, head rocking back, and bottom sore from each hit abby's given you. she doesn't seem to care.

"yes, you do," she all but growls at you, and you think of your real class all too quickly, like she's your professor. "we went over this. so fucking tell me," she says, and it only makes your abdomen churn more.

and fill with butterflies.

“s- something to do with b- blood pressure, right? c- controlling it? please say yes," you were begging more to yourself than to abby, not even sure where that answer came from.

“mhm, and what else?" she coos, doing what she's done a million times before: moving you halfway up her cock.

"i- i don't know, abs. can't remember," you mutter, and really, how could you by now?

it looks like abby is feeling a little generous this time, because she helps you along. "what’s it do to your body, princess? begins with an 'r',” she asked.

even when your brain begins to fog up with all of the questions in your head, and what's happening besides that, it seems to click for you when abby says the letter 'r.' “r- regulates it? th- the fluid balance?”

“mhm," abby says with a small nod of approval, even kissing your chest this time as a reward.

"there’s my smart girl.”

and it goes on like that forever, question, answer, question, answer. sometimes, you got abby's cock easily. most times, you weren't so lucky.

your eyes are drooping, body aching and face hot as you stutter out the answer to the final card in the deck. once you do, you let out a deep, long exhale, which makes abby chuckle.

"see, pretty girl? wasn't that bad, was it?" abby coos, putting her hand up to cup your cheek. obviously, you want to say no. but after all of this, it was too risky to be bratty to abby. so you shake your head.

and you hadn’t even finished yet.

"n- no, it was—fine," you lie, and abby knows you are. but she doesn't ask about it, knowing full well how much she's done to you already.

"look on the good side.”

“you'll remember better now, won't you?"

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

reblogs are very much welcomed <3

———

[noceurous]

a guide to dating in twenty first century

you met a kind stranger at a bar, next day you ended up on his couch, on your first date…

warnings: implied age gap, hints of abusive relationships (not by joel or reader), hint of dom!joel, no outbreak, usage of pet name(baby), lots of alcohol consumption, can be considered as dubcon but consent is asked and given, mention of food, swearing, talking about marriage, smut (18+), fingering (f receiving), reader is afab and able bodied, she has some hair.

a/n: here it is folks, my first joel miller fic. please give comments/reblogs if you like it.

part i: the ‘first’ date

The song had just started when you entered the garden side of the bar. A rock classic filling the place, still laudable through all the chattering.

Your eyes scanned the area, trying to find your friends. Just before you took out your phone to text, you saw a familiar back of the head turning towards you. 

“Hey!” Maggie raised her hand, she looked gigglier than usual. You have already told them to start without you so her being tipsy was understandable. You started walking towards their table, “You’re late!” She protested as you got in the earshot.

You pulled the only empty chair they reserved for you and hung your bag at the back. You greeted the rest of the table with a smile and a simple nod before sitting down. All of the girls already ordered their drinks, and half way down finishing the snacks.

“And you don’t wear a tiara or a bride sash!” You half-protested as you turned towards her. Acting like you were just a few minutes late, not like it took you extra half an hour to get ready mentally.

“Not my thing.” You chuckled, raised your hand in the air for a waiter to see you. Thinking you were ready to start drinking and catch up with the girls.

—

The first half of the night was good. You fake-smiled and joined the conversations about when is the best time to have a baby, and best place to have a honeymoon. All thanks to your little helper in a glass. As you were about to finish your second one, you felt like you reached your quota about non ending monogamy speeches.   

A girl turned towards you. She was a colleague of Maggie and you only saw her before once at some New Years party. Jen something? Or was it Jess? You were sure it started with J.

She asked as she leant towards you. “So? Who is going to be your plus one?” 

There it was, the question you waited for all night long. You were the maid of honor, also the only single girl in the table. Of course people were going to ask why you had no plus one. 

“Noone.” You explained in one word, playing with the straw inside your glass.

“Oh, really? Are you sure? You can't just go alone! If you want I can set you up with-” Maggie intertwined the conversation, placing her elbows on the table and her chin inside her palms. As she did, all the girls stopped talking again and all turned their heads to you.

“She is not interested Alice. I’ve even told her the only other person who is coming alone is my grandma, and that’s just because she’s a widow.”

“Well you never know. Maybe she’ll find her next true love from the groom’s side.” Maggie rolled her eyes as the rest of the table chuckled at your joke, returning to talk about what they were talking about before. Before Alice, not Jess nor Jen, could ask you something you put your hands on the table.

“Okay, I need to hit the ladies room first. Then we can talk about why I need to find a guy ASAP.” You said as you raised yourself from your seat.

The ladies room was occupied so you had to wait in line with another girl who seemed too drunk to stand on her own. Playing with her fingers, rocking back and forth in her place. "Do you have weed, or something like that?"

You pressed your lips together and shook your head. "No, sorry." The girl huffed and crossed her arms on her chest.

The door opened and the girl in front of you threw herself inside, not even waiting for the other girl to step out properly. You two shared a look, “What is her problem?”

You sighed as you got all alone resting your head on the wall to take a breath. You hated when people became all invested in your love life, or the lack of your love life in better words. 

You spent almost a year to recover from your shitty break up by going on even shittier dates, then you simply gave up. Not like you had too many admirers, since your life was usually spent between work and home.

As you were looking down, somebody’s shoes came into your point of view. The tips of the dark leather boots were pointing on the tips of your high heeled sandals.

“Hi.” You raised your head when you realized he was talking to you.

He was clearly older than you. Salt and pepper hair and a patchy beard and mustache. He seemed cute, and somehow it felt like you could trust him. Like he was over with his bullshitting phase which every guy on your age was into.

He dressed nicely, an old pair of jeans and a dark colored shirt tight enough to hint he was built. Broad shoulders and thick biceps, large colloused hands…

“Hi?” You spoke sooner than you preferred. Sound just one octave higher than it usuallt was.

“Uhm, I don’t wanna seem weird but I noticed ya and heard ya were single so I—” You smiled at the southern accent, it fit him nicely. 

“I don’t want to step over a line, and sorry again if this seems too brave… May I have your phone number?” 

Here it is…

“Oh, well…” You spoke, eyes going between the still occupied ladies room door and the table of your friends.

He raised his hands in the air, taking a step back. Pressing his lips together as he slowly gave you a nod. “I understand completely.”

You felt like someone stabbed you on your chest when your eyes found him back. He looked like a small puppy who got kicked.

What is the worst thing that could happen? You probably gone over many shitty scenarios already.

“Wait-“ You said as you looked at the door again. The girl was taking forever and sure she would not come out anytime soon.

He stopped, raising his eyebrows. Eyes sparkling with a little piece of hope, and you could not find the strength to break his heart in yourself.

“I’d be happy to give my phone number.” He smiled, taking out his phone from his back pocket, opening his keypad before giving it to you.

You quickly tapped your number and called yourself. Your phone buzzed inside your back pocket. As you took it out, its screen was screen flashing with an unsaved number, “Done.”

“I’m Joel, by the way.”

“Hi Joel.” And you gave him your name, the first time it sounded so natural to hear it from someone else.

Like she took it as a que, the girl finally stepped out leaving the light switched on. Joel pointed to the door with his chin, before taking a step back again. “I’ll text you.” He said before leaving.

When you made it back to your table, your drink was gone and so were some of the girls including the girl whose name starts with J. And you just felt a relief that she would not ask you anymore questions about your dating life.

“I thought you left.” Maggie said, finishing her fourth glass. 

“The girl before me took forever.” You explained as you put on your purse, preparing to leave with the rest of the gang. You scanned the room, hoping maybe you would see Joel somewhere in the corner. But all you saw was a guy eyeing you up and down, courtesy of wearing a skirt in the 21st century. 

“Do you want me to call you a cab as well?” You turned to Maggie, shaking your head.

“No. I will take the subway. It’s cheaper. I spent a good amount back there, my credit card deserves a break.” She chuckled as she gave you a kiss goodbye.

On your way back you saved Joel’s number in your contacts. Joel.

Plain and simple, because he was the first Joel you knew.

He hadn’t texted you by the time you made it to your place. You tried your best to not overthink it. Calling it a lucky shot if he remembered to text you the next morning, and focus on anything but him.

You put your phone back on your nightstand after checking it for the 1000th time. Hating for yourself how you always ended up as the person who waits.

On next day at 13:42 your phone buzzed with a message.

After spending the night wondering when he would text you back and trying to distract yourself from wondering…

Hi, it’s Joel Miller from last night. I got your number as you were waiting on line at Ophelia’s ladies room.

You smiled at the formality of the text message. It was probably better than ‘wasssuppp’ the guys around your age sent you.

You quickly started typing a reply. He was still online, you felt that was your lucky shot. Hoping would not wait for 12 hours again for a reply.

Even if he did, you would just give up and throw your phone out the window.

hi joel

You felt a weight was over your chest when you saw typing… under his name. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you saw his message.

How are you? Any signs of hangover?

just tired from last night.

we left the place at 2:24 AM.

That’s bad. I assumed you would leave later than us, so I didn’t want to text you in the morning and disturb you.

The us seemed more important to you than focusing on the fact that he only texted late because he cared.

Because he thought you could be tired, and he just did not want to disturb you late at night—

us?

Yeah, throw your senses out the window… Ask it away…

I was with my brother last night.

You felt shame because of your doubts. What would he say, his wife?

I wanted to ask if you would like to have dinner with me tonight?

I’m a nice cook :)

sure :)

is 19:30 good?

Yes it is. I’m sending you my location.

I can also send an Uber to pick you up.

no it’s fine. you don’t live far.

At exactly 19:33 you rang the doorbell. You fixed your top as you waited for him. It was cute and see through enough for a first date. You’ve also taken your pants showing your ass like a masterpiece from dry cleaners.

Lucky guy…

You didn’t tell Maggie or someone else that you were going on a date because you didn’t want them spiral this into something bigger than it was.

You felt the inside of your palms getting wetter. Your heartbeat sped up as each second he did not open the door.

Should you go back? Maybe you co—

He opened the door before you could gather your thoughts. Smiling when his eyes found you, leaning his head towards the door. “Hi.” He did not look nervous like you, he looked like it was just a Saturday night for him.

“Hi.” You said smiling back, and joined your hands in front of you. Feeling the muscles on your back relax as he opened the door wider for you and stepped inside.

“Welcome. Sorry it took me awhile to open the door, I was waiting for water to boil.” He explained as he closed the door and turned towards you.

You took a better look at the place once you were inside. It did not have much, seemed like he only purchased the necessary stuff. He did not have posters or painting decorating his walls like yours did, or a large bookshelf filled with books.

“You have a nice place.” You said as you followed his guide to kitchen.

He turned on his heels, looking at you. He was wearing a dark Pink Floyd tshirt and blue jeans. You could see his biceps peeking out from the sleeves. His hair was nicely done, beard was trimmed. He looked even better than you remembered.

“Oh thanks, I’ve just moved in here actually, wanted to be closer t’ city.” He said as he pulled your chair for you to sit. “Dinner will be around half an hour, do you want to have something to drink first?”

“Sure.” You said as you sat on the bar stool, watching him to come back with beers. When he closed the fridge door you noticed the only photo placed on it. The magnet was just some dark circle, and your fridge was decorated with cute and funny ones.

On the photo Joel was next to some guy and had his arm placed on his shoulder. The guy had a longer, combed back hair but shared Joel's love for mustaches.

They were both wearing black tux, and had a buttonhole. The guy’s was larger than Joel’s, so you thought it was probably from a wedding.

“Who is that?” You asked as you pointed on the photo. He looked over his shoulder.

“That’s Tommy, my little brother. It’s from his wedding day. 'was a few years ago.” He explained casually, taking a sip from his beer. “I was the bestman.”

“My friend is getting married in two weeks as well, I’m the maid of honor. We were having bacholerrette party the other night.” You felt a twist on your stomach as you spoke. A pressure on your shoulder getting heavier as you spoke. You tried your best not to frown, as you remembered what your ex told you.

You’re overwhelming, all your problems and your whines… All you do is talk talk talk—

“A few weeks later you may have one on your fridge with your friend as well.” You smiled at the thought. Not like there was a space left on your fridge for one more photo.

“Yeah I suppose. I hope we both look good in the photo as you guys do.”

“Hire a professional. That’s the secret. You cannot tell we were both hammered, thanks to the guy.” He admitted and you both laughed at that. You felt lighter as he joked and asked you questions. The knots in your stomach getting untwisted as he spoke. You weren't sure if it was because of beer or his interest even in the most mundane things you told him, but you felt lighter. “Are you excited for the wedding?”

“Not really, they’ve been dating for years. I was wondering when he would ask, rather than if he would ask.” He nodded, checking the food in the pot and he raised himself to stir it.

You gulped when you saw his flexing muscles underneath his tshirt. Your fingers played with the rim of bottle, watching him prepare the plates and his thick arms and long fingers move.

“Tommy was nervous as hell when he proposed. Maybe same thing happened with him as well.”

“Yeah maybe. The idea of marriage can be scary.”

“You think so?”

You are not the kind of girl suitable for marriage.

“Yes, but I also know you do not get scarred that much when you know you are married with the right person.” You were not sure if you were saying this to him or yourself.

“Well, you haven’t seen my brother at the end of the aisle but he is one of a kind guy. But Maria was relaxed, so you might be right.” He said as he came back with two plates of food.

“It looks delicious.”

“Told ya I was a nice cook. Let’s dig in.”

—

The most of the dinner was spent with questions about your jobs and family. Nothing too personal, nothing to make you nervous. Although you had beer for that. The screeching voice of your ex had stopped echoing in your head.

Now you were sitting on his couch, drinking and going over your funny stories to one another.

His knees were touching yours, his hands was close to your thigh, but he was not directly touching you. His left hand’s pinky were barely grazing your upper thigh.

“So the stripper you hired took wallets of three guys from the party and nobody blamed you?”

“Well, I got the number from a guy at work. If anybody were to be blamed, then it would be him. Plus, I’m not someone who loses all his senses when a girl in underwear sits on my lap.”

“You are not?”

“Nawh baby, I’m not a teenager anymore. I can focus when a pretty girl is on ma lap.” You raised your eyebrows, chuckling at his confession.

Baby.

You could definitely go with being called baby.

You wetted your lips as his pinky brushed your thigh, you had to restrain yourself from opening your legs.

“Really? That’s good for you then, we don’t want your wallet to be stolen as well.”

He shook his head, his fingers brushing over your thighs. When you turned your gaze at him your heart skipped a beat.

He looked amazing in the dimmed lights of the room. You got closer to him, wondering what would be his next move.

“Want me to show you?” He whispered and you nodded. A bit quicker than you’d prefer…

He gently pressed his lips on yours. Waiting for a response as his lips lingered on yours. You kissed him back, leaning your body closer to his.

The kiss was slow; he didn’t push his tongue into your mouth right away. Something you were glad he didn’t.

His hands stood on his sides, allowing you to set the pace. You bit down on his lower lip, slowly, signaling him to open his mouth. He grunted, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself from touching you. Opening his mouth to push his tongue inside yours, sucking your tongue.

You could taste the bitter taste of the beer, but didn’t mind. Sure same could apply for you as well. Your hands placed on his cheeks, his stubble digging inside your palms.

He slowly placed his hands on your waist, guiding you on his lap. When you were settled, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. A small whimper left your lips, when you felt him getting harder under you.

His other hand moved south, palm following the shape of your ass. Your one hand moved further down, feeling his muscles fletch inside his tshirt.

“You’re good.” You admitted as you broke the kiss for air. His hands still on your body, caressing you. He rested his head on the back of the couch.

“‘Want me to show ya things I’m better at?” His tone was smug. You nodded quickly, letting your body make decisions for you.

He pulled you back to his torso, kissing you rougher than before. His hand was now in front of your jeans, cupping you. You moaned when he pressed his fingers onto tight denim.

A few seconds later you were lying down on the couch with him between your legs and your jeans were already left your body.

His palms were rough as they moved across your legs, moving towards your upper thighs then your panties. “May I?” He said between kisses, waiting for your approval.

You nodded, but he only hooked his fingers on the hem of your panties. “Words baby, use your words.” You felt yourself getting wetter when he called you by that nickname again.

“Yes, please.”

“That’s my girl.” He said as he quickly pecked your lips, sliding off your underwear. His fingers traced your lips, gathering your slick. “Fuck, I didn’t expect you to be this wet baby.” He whispered on your lips.

You felt the heat rising through your cheeks but before you could hide your face Joel already pushed a finger inside you. “Oh!” You moaned loudly, he raised your leg and hooked it on his shoulder.

“I’d love to hear your voice baby. Let’s see if you can be louder.” He said as he started moving his finger rapidly. Hitting your sweet spot with the pad of his finger at each stroke.

Your toes curled and you felt your stomach got tighten with his movements. “Hmph J-Joel!” You held onto his upper arm for support. His lips on your neck, kissing and nibbling. Before giving you a chance to get used to first one, he pushed his second finger inside you. Your grasp on his arm got tighter, leaving crescent shaped marks.

You could feel yourself drip onto his palm, hearing the slick noises as his fingers moved inside you. “I-I’m cl-close.” You admitted, feeling your walls close around his fingers.

“Yeah baby?” He said as he slowed down to look at you, brushing off to hair strands on your face. You nodded, biting down on your lower lip. “Let go for me, okay? Come on.” He said as he got back to his old pace, scissoring his fingers.

When your orgasm hit you, you raised your head to kiss him. Wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you. He gladly surrendered to your kiss, his hand placed on your cheek as he deepened the kiss.

Slowly pulling his fingers as your breaths slowed down. His hand moved to the hem of your top. You felt your heart shrunk on your chest. You placed your hand on top of his, shaking your head.

He pulled his hand back like it just touched fire. Muttering an apology as you raised yourself. “I’m so sorry.” You said, reaching for your underwear and pants to quickly put them on.

“It’s getting late, I should get going.” You explained as you checked the time on your phone.

10:34 PM.

After ten is late right?

He nodded quickly. “Let me drop you off.” He said as he got up from the couch. You noticed his boner once he stood back on his feet. Pressing your lips together to stop your cunt from throbbing at the sight.

You were leaving the guy who gave you a body wrecking orgasm with a huge, thick boner…

“We both drank. I think it is better for me to call an Uber.”

“You are right.” He slurred his words, walking over to you. “Let me walk you out then. I can join you as you wait.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” You dropped your shoulders, seeing the guilt all over his face. You nodded, allowing him to walk with you.

You took out your phone to call for an Uber. Sighing with relief when you saw your driver was close to you.

“So that was… good?” You raised your head back to him. Putting your phone back inside your bag. Guilt and tension were all over his face.

“I really had a nice time. I have this thing in the morning and we drank and it’s—” He put his hands in the air. Stopping your mumbling.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” He said, smiling down at you. “I’ll call you then, for next time?”

“Yeah that’d be great.” You answered, eyes going back and forth between him and the road.

Shifting on your feet from one foot to other. His hands were in his pockets. Resting his body on the metal gate, casually checking you up and down.

When you saw your car coming you gave him a small goodbye hug, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I had a great time. Thanks for everything.” You explained again, trying your best to assure him he had done nothing wrong.

“Anytime. Text me once you get back, alright?”

“Sure.” You said as you walked over to your car, looking over your shoulder before you got in. He waved you slightly, you smiled back and he mouthed the words ‘Be safe.’

Once he was out of your sight, you relaxed on your seat. Let go of the breath you were holding since you put back on your jeans.

Your fingers were rubbing your temples. As you quickly recapped the night.

You ended up on a guy’s lap again on the first date. You even went to his place and let him finger you. At least you did not let him fuck you with his seemingly huge cock. That showed self-improvement…

And lastly, you turned down the guy who was the nicest guy you have met.

You knew you kissed your chance to a second date goodbye as the Uber turned around the corner to your street.

[part ii]

[h0efor2ho]

Tutoring Temptation

Wonwoo X Reader

WC - 6.1k ( I got carried away )

TW - Nerd!Wonwoo, there is plot here with the porn, fingering, oral (f), unprotected sex (wrap it kids) cream pie, Wonwoo is the sweetest ever.

You'v always been a pretty good student. Able to keep up a 3.6 gpa while still having a decent social life. That was till you entered advanced calculus in your second year of college. You just couldn't grasp it no matter how hard you tried to study. Your grades dropping down to a 3.2 gpa. Your parents threatening to pull you out of school if you don't get your shit together. "Stop partying and start studying" your mother said. So you did. Spending night after night reading your text book, looking over your notes. Turning down invitations to house parties. Even going as far as to record your class and watch it back later. That's when you noticed that the guy who sits in the front of the room seems to always raise his hand and always gets the answer right. The idea formed in your head right away. You'd ask him to tutor you. You desperately needed the help and you figured he knew what he was doing.

The next day you make your way to class early, waiting and looking as students file into the lecture hall. It doesn't take long before you see his head of dark hair enter the room and make a b-line for the front seat. You quickly make your was down the steps past people talking till your feet hit the bottom floor and turn to carry you right up to his chair. He's bent over, back angled toward you as he pulls things out of his bag. His shirt neatly tucked into his brown pants, with a blazer over it. He doesn't notice you at all. "Uhm hey..."

Shit, you dont even know his name. You try and think back to the videos from class, of your professor calling him by name when you raised his hand. You're drawing a blank. He spins in his chair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looks up at you. "Uhmm" you say again as you take in his features. He's not that bad looking for a nerd persay you think. "Wonwoo" he says snapping you out of your own thoughts. "huh" you ask.

"Wonwoo. My name. It's Wonwoo" he gives you a small smile. "Oh yea." you give him a small nervous laugh. "Sorry, I'm bad with names. I'm also really bad at calculus. Which is why I'm here bothering you. I was hoping maybe you could tutor me?" you finish rambling and give him what you hope is not a cringy smile. Wonwoo tilts his head slightly, considering your request. His dark eyes study you for a moment before he replies, "I see. And here I thought you might be asking me on a date," he quips, his voice low and unexpectedly smooth. You feel heat rise to your cheeks, caught off guard by his playful response. "Oh, uh, no... I mean, not that you're not... I just..." you stammer, mentally kicking yourself for suddenly losing your ability to form coherent sentences.

He chuckles softly, seemingly enjoying your flustered state. "Relax, I'm just teasing. I suppose I could help you out. When were you thinking?" Relief washes over you. "Really? That would be amazing. I'm free pretty much any evening. Whatever works best for you." He nods, pulling out a small planner from his bag. "How about tomorrow night at 7? We can meet at the library." "Perfect," you say, trying not to sound too eager. "Thank you so much, Wonwoo. I really appreciate it." He gives you another small smile. "No problem. Just make sure you bring your textbook and notes." You nod enthusiastically, about to respond when the professor walks in and calls the class to order. You quickly make your way back to your seat, heart beating a little faster than usual.

As you sit down, you can't help but glance down at Wonwoo. He's already focused on the professor, his pen poised over his notebook. You find yourself wondering what he's like outside of class. Is he always so composed? Does he ever let loose? The lecture begins, but your mind keeps drifting back to your upcoming tutoring session. You try to concentrate, scribbling down notes and formulas, but your thoughts are a jumble of calculus and curiosity about your new tutor. The rest of the day passes in a blur. You barely remember your other classes, your mind preoccupied with preparing for tomorrow night. That evening, you gather your calculus materials, making sure everything is organized and ready. You even jot down a list of specific questions and problem areas you want to address. That night, you toss and turn, your mind racing with thoughts of complex equations and Wonwoo's unexpected charm. When you finally drift off, your dreams are a bizarre mix of calculus symbols and dark, knowing eyes behind glasses.

The next day drags on endlessly. You constantly check the time, willing the hours to pass faster. When 6:30 finally rolls around, you grab your backpack and head to the library arriving early, claiming a quiet table in the back corner. As you spread out your materials, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and anxiety. The sound of approaching footsteps makes you look up, and there's Wonwoo, looking as put-together as always in a navy sweater and dark jeans. "Right on time," you say, trying to sound casual. He smiles, sliding into the chair next to you. "I'm nothing if not punctual. So, where should we start?" For the next hour, Wonwoo patiently guides you through problem after problem. His explanations are clear and concise, and you find yourself grasping concepts that had previously made you struggle. As you work through a particularly tricky equation, you can't help but notice how close he's leaning in, his shoulder nearly touching yours as he points out a crucial step. You catch a whiff of his cologne – a subtle, woodsy scent that's surprisingly appealing.

"See? It's all about breaking it down into smaller parts," he explains, his voice low and close to your ear. You nod, trying to focus on the numbers and not on the warmth radiating from his body. As the session progresses, you find yourself relaxing, even joking with Wonwoo about some of the more absurd word problems in your textbook. His dry sense of humor surprises and delights you, and you catch yourself laughing more than you have in weeks "You know," he says, leaning back in his chair, "you're not half bad at this when you actually focus." You feel a flutter of pride at his words. "Thanks," you say, smiling. "I guess I just needed the right teacher." Wonwoo's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you think you can see a spark of something behind his gaze. He clears his throat and glances at his watch. "We've been at this for almost two hours. Do you want to take a break?"

You nod, suddenly aware of how stiff your muscles feel from sitting hunched over your textbook. "Yeah, that sounds good.” Wonwoo smiles “Maybe we could grab a coffee? I know just the place," He says, standing up and stretching. You try not to stare as his sweater rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of skin above his waistband. You follow him out of the library and across campus to a small, cozy coffee shop tucked away in a corner you've never noticed before. As you step inside, the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans envelops you. The shop is dimly lit, with mismatched vintage furniture and local artwork adorning the walls. It's intimate and charming, nothing like the bustling campus coffee chains you usually frequent.

"This place is amazing," you say, taking it all in. "How have I never been here before?" Wonwoo smiles, a hint of pride in his eyes. "It's a bit of a hidden gem. I like to come here when I need to escape the chaos of campus life." You follow him to the counter, where a barista with long blonde hair greets Wonwoo by name. "The usual?" she asks, already reaching for a mug. "Please," he nods, then turns to you. "What would you like? Their lavender latte is excellent if you're feeling adventurous." "I'll try that then," you say, intrigued by his recommendation. As you reach for your wallet, Wonwoo waves you off. "My treat," he says. "Consider it payment for being such a good student today."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his gesture. "Thank you," you say, touched by his kindness. You follow Wonwoo to a cozy corner booth, sinking into the plush velvet seats. The soft glow of Edison bulbs hanging overhead casts a warm light across his features, softening the sharp angles of his face. You notice  things about him you hadn't before. Like a small scar just above his left eyebrow, and the fact that is hair is not black but a very dark shade of brown. "So," you say, breaking the comfortable silence, "What made you decide to major in math? I mean, you're clearly good at it, but there must be a story there." Wonwoo looks at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's always just made sense to me, you know? There's a beauty in the logic of it all. Plus," he adds with a wry smile, "it impresses people at parties."

You laugh, surprised by his humor. "I can imagine. Though I have to admit, I've never been to a party where calculus was the main topic of conversation." Wonwoo's eyes twinkle with amusement. "Then you're clearly going to the wrong parties. What about you? What's your major?" "Psychology," you reply. "Interesting," Wonwoo muses. "So you're studying the complexities of the human mind while I'm dealing with the complexities of mathematics." You're struck by his observation, realizing there's more depth to Wonwoo than you initially thought.

As you talk, you find yourself opening up about your struggles with calculus, your fears of disappointing your parents. Wonwoo listens intently, his dark eyes focused on you. When you finish, he leans forward slightly. "I understand that pressure," he says softly. "It's not easy living up to others' expectations." There's a vulnerability in his voice that surprises you. For a moment, you see past the composed exterior to someone who might be struggling with his own doubts and insecurities. "How do you do it?" you ask. "How do you make it all look so effortless?" Wonwoo's lips quirk into a half-smile. "Trust me, it's not effortless. I just... I've learned to channel my anxiety into my work. But sometimes, I wonder if I'm missing out on other aspects of college life."

You're about to respond when the barista approaches with your drinks. She sets down two steaming mugs, the rich, floral scent of lavender rising from your cup. You give Wonwoo a quick glance, and he nods in thanks, offering a soft smile. "Here you go," the barista says before retreating behind the counter. You wrap your hands around the warm mug, feeling the heat seep into your palms, a comforting contrast to the coolness of the evening. "Thanks for the coffee," you say again, the warmth in your chest spreading. "This place really is great. Perfect for getting away from everything." Wonwoo nods, taking a slow sip from his own drink. He seems more relaxed here, away from the chaos of the main campus. "Yeah, it's one of my favorite spots. Feels like a little slice of calm." His eyes flicker to you briefly, an unreadable look in them before he shifts slightly in his seat, settling back.

For a few moments, the two of you sit in comfortable silence, the ambient hum of the café filling the gaps between your conversation. You take a sip of your lavender latte, savoring the sweet, floral taste, feeling oddly at peace. "So," Wonwoo finally breaks the silence, his voice a little softer now. "You mentioned earlier that you're majoring in psychology. What made you choose that?" You think for a moment, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "I guess I’ve always been curious about what makes people tick," you say. "Why we do the things we do, how we make decisions, how we deal with emotions... There's just so much to learn, you know? It feels like there's always something new to discover." Wonwoo listens, his gaze thoughtful, and you can tell he's really taking in your words. "It’s interesting," he murmurs, "how you’re trying to understand people while I’m trying to make sense of... numbers. There’s something kind of poetic about it."

You smile, surprised at how well he understands. "I guess we're not so different after all, huh?" He chuckles lightly, leaning back into his chair. "Seems like it." His eyes meet yours for a brief second, a spark of something flickering in them. "You know, I didn’t take you for a psych major, no offense. It's just the only thing I knew about you before tonight was that you partied a lot. You chuckle, a little embarrassed. “Yea, I guess I gave off that vibe before I got serious about school,” you admit, feeling a bit sheepish. “I always had a good time, but I’ve definitely been focusing more lately. Trying to get things back on track. Your parents threatening to pull you from school does that to you" Wonwoo nods in understanding, his expression thoughtful. "It's good that you're figuring things out. College can be a balancing act. But you seem like the kind of person who doesn’t give up easily. I think you’ll get there."

His words, simple but encouraging, make you feel a little lighter, like the weight of everything isn't so heavy anymore. "I hope so," you say, taking another sip of your latte. "Honestly, it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it. I feel like I’ve been caught up in my own head lately, especially with everything going on at home." Wonwoo's eyes soften at your words. "You don’t have to carry it all on your own, you know. It’s okay to lean on people." He pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "And sometimes it’s okay to take a break too." You look at him, really look at him for the first time since you’ve sat down, and for the first time, you notice that there’s more to him than just the quiet, reserved guy who aces every class. There’s a quiet strength in him, a kind of stability that draws you in.

"Thanks, Wonwoo. I really appreciate everything," you say, your voice sincere. He smiles again, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, and for a second, you can’t help but feel a little spark of something more between the two of you. Something you can’t quite place but that feels strangely warm and comfortable. "Anytime," he replies, his voice low and steady. "And hey, don’t worry. You’ll figure out calculus. But if you ever need someone to talk to... about anything else, I’m here." You smile, feeling a little flutter of gratitude. "I think I just might take you up on that."

The two of you sit there for a while longer, enjoying your drinks and the quiet atmosphere of the café, talking about everything from school to silly memories to your favorite music. You realize how easy it is to talk to him, how comfortable you feel in his presence. And even though you’re still not sure what exactly is happening between you two, you can’t deny that something is starting to change.  As the night grows later, the cafe begins to empty out, and you both realize it's getting late. You stand up, gathering your things, and Wonwoo does the same. "Thanks for the coffee," you say again, a little reluctantly. "And for everything tonight. I feel like I actually get calculus now." You grin.

Wonwoo smirks, clearly pleased. "I’m glad I could help. Just don’t expect me to tutor you every night. I have my own assignments too." He says it with a teasing tone, but you can tell he’s enjoying this new dynamic between you. “I’ll take that as a challenge,” you reply, grinning back. "I hope you do." He replies as he opens the door for you. As you both step out into the cool night air, you feel a sense of warmth linger between you, something subtle but unmistakable. The evening was a nice break from the grind of school, but there’s also this growing sense that maybe, just maybe, you’ve stumbled upon something more than just a tutoring session.

As you walk together back to campus, the conversation flows easily, the chemistry between you two undeniable. Wonwoo’s witty remarks and insightful comments seem to draw you in further, and you can’t help but find yourself eagerly looking forward to the next time you’ll see him, even though you try to play it cool. “So, same time tomorrow?” you ask, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the excitement bubbling underneath. Wonwoo turns to you, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I think we can make that happen. But how about we meet at my dorm, I expect you to bring your A-game,” he teases, nudging you playfully with his shoulder “Deal,” you breath out.

The next day feels like it stretches on forever as you go through the motions of your classes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Wonwoo. The way he helped you the night before, the casual banter, and that lingering smile — it all replayed in your head in a loop. Something about him made everything seem easier, not just calculus, but the world in general. When evening finally rolls around, you find yourself feeling oddly nervous, though you try to brush it off as you gather your notes and make your way to his dorm. Your heart beats a little faster as you walk, the excitement of yesterday's conversation still fresh in your mind. 

As you approach the dorm, you see Wonwoo waiting outside, leaning casually against the brick wall, his arms crossed talking to Mingyu, the quarterback on the football team. He’s wearing a simple white tee shirt and gray sweatpants, his usual composed demeanor softer, somehow more approachable in this setting. When he sees you, he straightens up and gives you a smile that makes your stomach flutter, before dismissing himself from their conversation. You watch as Mingyu walks away as Wonwoo walks to you.

“Ready for round two?” he asks, a playful glint in his eye. You laugh, feeling the tension melt away. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.” You glance at his outfit. "Glad we chose casual attire today" you poke at him. He chuckles rubbing the back of his neck. "Yea I just got out of the shower, I was at the gym with Mingyu." You make your was up the flight of stairs. "I didn't realize you two were friends." You say as you follow him. "Yea we grew up together. He's the closest thing I have to a brother." As you step inside his dorm, it’s clear this isn’t your typical college living situation. The space is surprisingly neat and organized, with a few bookshelves lining the walls and a desk cluttered with notebooks and textbooks, but in a controlled way, as if it was a deliberate mess. There’s a sense of order to it, just like him. You hang up your sweater on the coat hook, take off your shoes, and take a seat on his bed. Wonwoo follows you into the room, his footsteps quiet on the carpeted floor. He grabs his textbook from his desk and then turns to face you. There’s a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he observes you settling in on his bed. 

“You sure look like you’re comfortable there?” he asks, his tone teasing but still warm. He walks over and climbs up on the bed with you, close to you. "Comfortable?" he teases, raising an eyebrow. You smirk, leaning back slightly on your hands. "Very. I figured if I’m going to suffer through calculus, I might as well do it in comfort." Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head before sitting down beside you, placing the textbook between you both. "Alright, let’s get started then. No distractions this time." You nod, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that you’re sitting this close to him, the warmth of his body radiating next to you. You force yourself to focus as he starts explaining derivatives, his voice calm and patient.

The study session goes smoothly at first, but as the minutes tick by, you find yourself more aware of the way Wonwoo’s fingers move as he writes out equations, the slight crease in his brow when he’s thinking, the way his lips curve ever so slightly when he glances at you to check if you’re following along. At one point, you get stuck on a problem, groaning in frustration. "I swear, calculus was invented just to torture people." Wonwoo laughs, leaning in slightly as he looks over your work. "You're overcomplicating it. Look—" His hand brushes against yours as he reaches for your pencil, his touch brief but enough to send a tiny spark through you. You glance at him, and for a second, neither of you says anything. The air between you shifts, something unspoken lingering in the silence. He leans in slightly, eyes tracking your face. "It's all about perspective," he murmurs, his voice low and unexpectedly close. He's still holding your pencil, his fingers brushing against yours, and the simple act feels charged with an energy you can't quite explain. You can smell his cologne again, that same subtle, woodsy scent from the coffee shop, and it’s intoxicatingly distracting.

He doesn't pull away, and neither do you. The textbook lies forgotten between you, the complex equations blurring into meaningless symbols. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and you can see a flicker of something in the depths of his dark pupils – something that mirrors the nervous excitement fluttering in your chest. "You know," he says, his voice barely a whisper, "I never would have guessed you were so… focused." The word hangs in the air, loaded with a double meaning. You know he's not just talking about calculus anymore. "Focused?" you echo, your voice equally soft. He nods, his eyes still locked on yours. "Yeah. You seem… different than I expected." "Different how?" you ask, your heart pounding against your ribs. He hesitates for a moment, as if considering his words carefully. "More… intense. More… interesting."

A blush creeps up your neck, but you don't look away. You're mesmerized by him, by the way the light catches his glasses, by the slight furrow in his brow that suggests he's just as nervous as you are. "I could say the same about you," you reply, finally finding your voice. "I thought you were just… a genius. Turns out you're also… interesting." He chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Is that so?" You nod, unable to articulate the thoughts swirling through your head. You're acutely aware of the proximity of your bodies, the way your thighs are almost touching, the warmth radiating from him. The air crackles with unspoken tension, and you have the distinct feeling that something is about to change between you two.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Maybe… maybe we should take a break from calculus," he whispers, his eyes searching yours. You swallow hard, your pulse quickening. "A break?" He nods, his gaze dropping to your lips again. "Yea. A break." He doesn't need to say anything else. You know exactly what he means. The calculus book slips off the bed and falls to the floor with a soft thud, unnoticed by either of you. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His touch is feather-light as it lingers in your hair, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs, his voice husky. You nod, your own voice lost somewhere in the sudden rush of adrenaline. "More than okay," you manage to say. That's all the confirmation he needs. His lips are soft when they meet yours, a tentative touch at first, as if he's testing the waters. But the kiss quickly deepens, becoming more urgent, more passionate. His hand moves from your hair to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you instinctively reach up, your fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss grows more urgent, more heated, and before you know it, you’re lying back against his mattress, Wonwoo hovering over you. His glasses are slightly askew, his breathing uneven, and the sight of him like this—disheveled and undone because of you— sends a thrill through you.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, voice low, gaze searching yours. You nod, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. “Yes. I want this. I... I want you” He kisses you again, a searing kiss that leaves no room for doubt. His hand finds its way under your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You arch into him, your own hands exploring the contours of his back, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against yours. His lips trail down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin, and you can't help the small moan that escapes your lips as he nuzzles your neck, his teeth gently grazing your skin, and you gasp, clutching him tighter.

Your hands slide up under his shirt, your hands flat against the muscles of his back. It's not long before his mouth reaches the collar of your shirt. He pulls back, sitting on his knees as he looks down at you. "Can I take this off?" he asks breathlessly pulling on the bottom of your shirt. You eagerly shake your head yes "Please" you say. His hands make quick work of pulling your shirt off over your head, his hand coming down and sliding under your back. His hand gripping the clasp of your bra. "This too?" he ask's as his lips ghost over yours. You kiss him in response. His hand move quickly, undoing your bra before he pulls back from the kiss. 

He gently removes your bra, his eyes darkening with desire as they rake over your exposed skin. The cool air brushes against you, making you shiver with anticipation. He leans in, his lips finding your skin again. His hands roam over yourbody, his touch setting you on fire. You gasp as his teeth graze your neck, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. He pulls back slightly, his gaze intense as he takes in your flushed skin. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice husky. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips as he presses himself against you, the evidence of his desire hard against your stomach. You moan softly, arching into him, wanting more.

Your hands gripping the hem of his shirt and tug. "Off" you say breathlessly. "As you wish" he says, pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his sculpted chest and abs. The evadence of those work outs with Mingyu. Your hands immediately explore the hard planes of his muscles, earning a low groan from him. He captures your lips again. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a hot, wet path to your collarbone. You arch your back, craving more contact. His hand slides down your stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You gasp at the intimate touch, your hips rising to meet him. His fingers find your core, already slick with desire. He groans your name, the sound sending a thrill through you.

He coats his fingers in your wetness before finding your clit. With deliberate strokes, his eyes locked on yours, watching your reactions. You writhe beneath him, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. "Please," you beg, your voice barely a whisper. He smirks, his touch becoming more insistent, pushing you closer to the edge. You grip the sheets, your body tensing as the pleasure builds. He leans down, his lips finding yours again, swallowing your moans as you shatter around him, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. He pulls back, his eyes dark with lust as he watches you come undone. He grips the top of your leggings, pulling down both them and your underwear in one swift motion till they are a heap on the floor.

 His hand moves lower, slipping two fingers inside you. You cry out at the sudden feeling, your walls clenching around him. He pumps his fingers slowly, curling them to hit that soft spot deep inside you. Your back arches off the bed, your hands gripping his sheets as he drives you wild. "More," you plead, your voice ragged. He slowly, adding a third finger and increasing the pace. The sound of your wetness fills the room, mingling with your moans and his groans. He leans down, capturing your nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting gently. The sensation of both pushes you over the edge again, your body convulsing as you come undone around his fingers.

He doesn't stop, continuing to thrust his fingers as you ride out your orgasm. Your vision blurs, pleasure coursing through you. He pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his lips and tasting you. The sight sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He moves down your body, spreading your legs wide. His tongue replaces his fingers, licking and sucking your clit. You scream his name, your hands fisting in his hair as he drives you higher. His tongue lapping at your wet entrance,  his fingers gripping your thighs as he devours you.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with desire as he continues his assault on your senses. His tongue circles your clit, teasing and tormenting you. You can't hold back any longer, your body tensing as another orgasm crashes over you. He doesn't let up, not even when the tears start to flow. 

He finally pulls away, his lips slick with your arousal. He moves back up your body, his hard length pressing against your thigh. "How are you doing?" he ask's, concern shining in his eyes. "I need you to take then off now" you say as you push the waist of his sweats down his hips. He gives you a small chuckle before standing up and pulling his pants down. Your eyes widen at the site of his huge cock. This long and thick and has a head the prettiest shade of pink that currently is driping pre cum. He climbs baack ontop of you, pepering kisses along your skin till he meets your mouth again. 

You reach down, wrapping your hand around him and stroking slowly. He groans, breaking the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to regain control. But you're not done with him yet. You guide him to your entrance, "Please Wonwoo" you moan. With one smooth thrust, his cock is deep inside you. You let out a moan from deep in your throat as your eyes slam shut. He still's. "Hey, hey. Open your eyes  for me baby" he coos down at you. His hands pushing your hair out of the way, cupping your face. You peel your eyes open, finding his right above you. "Are you okay?" He ask's sweetly. Your chest filling with warmth. "Yea" you whisper out. "Do you want me to stop?" He starts to raise up on his arms. "NO" you say gripping onto his arms to stop him. "I just needed a minute to adjust. Your big Wonwoo" you watch as a blush creeps across his face, joined by a smile. 

"You are going to be the death of me aren't you" he laughs "And you will be for me if you dont move" you push your hips forward to get your point across, instantly regretting it as you feel him nudge inside of you. A moan slipping from both of your mouths. In response he starts to move his hips. Slow and cautious at first, but your sounds quickly spur him on. He picks up the pace, growing more confidant as he watches you chant his name with each thrust. Your hands gripping the sheets to keep yourself grounded as the coil in your stomach tightens. Wonwoo leans down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. "You feel so good," he whispers, his voice rough. His fingers lace with yours, pinning them beside your head as he thrusts into you. The room filled with the wet sounds of his hips meeting yours, your small gasps and moans and his grunts every time you tighten around him. 

"Wonwoo," you whimper, your back arching as the pleasure coils tighter inside you. He presses his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours as he murmurs, "I’ve got you, baby." His thrusts grow deeper, more deliberate, hitting that perfect spot. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, desperate to feel every inch of him. "You’re amazing," he breathes against your lips, his voice trembling as he fights to make this last. But the way you feel around him, it's unraveling his control. His free hand trails down your body, tracing over the curve of your waist before slipping between you, finding your clit and making  your breath hitch. He starts with tight pressured circles. "Wonwoo, I—" Your voice breaks as you're vaulted over the edge. Your wall tightening around him as you release all over his cock. His movements turning erratic as he chases his own release behind you, burying hims cock deep inside you as he shudders with pleasure. Spilling deep inside you. 

His body collapses onto of you, staying buried deep in you. He presses gentle kisses along your jaw, his touch now featherlight, a stark contrast to the intensity from moments ago. "You okay?" he murmurs, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your hip. You nod, a blissful smile stretching across your face. "More than okay." He chuckles softly, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if afraid to let you go. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe, cherished. "I have something to tell you" he says as he kisses the top of your head. "okay" you say hesitantly, fear creeping into your mind at what it could be. 

"I have had a little crush on you for a long time now." He says voice just above a whisper. "But I'v been to scared to ever approach you. Afraid you wouldn't want to be with someone like me" Your breath catches at his confession, your heart squeezing in your chest. You pull back just enough to look up at him, your fingers tracing soft patterns over his chest. "Wonwoo," you whisper, his name a gentle reassurance on your lips.

His eyes flicker with vulnerability, a rare sight that makes your heart ache. "I didn't know how to approach you. You were always hanging out with the popular kids." he says "it felt like we were in two different worlds." You look up at him thinking back to just last week and you could see how that could be. "Well we're not anymore" you say kissing his chest. He laughs "Your right, so if I were to say ask you out on a date this weekend, your answer would be?"

You grin up at him, your fingers still tracing lazy circles against his skin. "I’d say yes," you murmur, watching as relief washes over his face, quickly replaced by the softest smile you've ever seen from him. "Yea?" he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it. You nod, tilting so your face is closer to his. "Yes, Wonwoo. A thousand times yes." you ghost your lips over his. His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against him. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before finally capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. It’s different from before. Less urgency, more depth. Like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way you fit against him. When he pulls back, his eyes shine with something deeper than just desire. "Guess I should start planning the perfect first date, then," he says with a soft chuckle.

You smile, nuzzling into his chest. "Yea I guess you should."

Dividers by @strangergraphics

[generalsmemories]

Unwanted reunion

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ prompts: “catching the other one crying shortly after an argument and immediately feeling an overwhelming wave of guilt crash onto you.” + "it's okay, we can fix this..." + “playing with their hair until they fall asleep”|| 1k event

✧ contents: hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, implied character death

✧ a/n: if u wonder how in the world i came up with the scenario below. i genuinely don't know either it's a mystery to even me. CREATIVE LIBERTY WINS AGAIN THE PROMPTS WERE LITERALLY INSPO AND NOT WRITTEN DIRECTLY INTO THE SCENARIO. also implied that this took place after the battle with phantylia so keep that in mind.

NOT BETA-READ AS USUAL FELLAS I WANTED TO HAND THIS OVER TO YA'LL ASAP AS AN APOLOGY FOR STARVING YOU ALL FOR SO LONG!! it's mild angst though, so sorry.

Jing Yuan's can feel a familiar heaviness weigh on his body as well as the feeling of someone wrapping a roll of gauze on his arm. However opening his eyes proved to be a challenge in itself and it's only with great struggle that he can manage to force them slightly open to the bright light.

The first thing he notices is the familiar ceiling of your shared home. A bit weird since whenever he did get injured he would immediately be rushed towards a private room by the Seat of Divine Foresight - which was the safest place for him to stay. Perhaps you had gotten your will again to take care of him - seeing as you're a high ranking healer yourself and quite a stubborn soul.

But his eyes still widen a tiny bit when he sees you sitting by the edge of the bed, one hand gripping his gauzed wound while your other hand is busy trying to find something to keep your hard work in place. You're humming a soft tune again, he never knows what sort of melody you're humming, only that it had become a habit for you after the amount of years you had spent by his side bandaging his battle wounds. Something about helping your mood and staying positive.

"Your recklessness knows no bounds, Jing Yuan." the sternness of your voice snaps him out of the daze he's in, immediately rising up from the bed only to groan in pain when the wounds that you had just wrapped up react to his body folding, "... And still don't know when to rest - even when I'm in the middle of treating you."

"...How much time has passed?" he asks, voice hoarse after having slept for who knows how long. You only hum, setting the bandages aside - the gesture causing Jing Yuan to follow your hand movements which makes him notice the bloodied bandages inside the trash by your legs.

"A couple of days, I was just finishing changing your bandages when you finally woke up. Here, some water." you inform, raising a glass towards his lips, patiently waiting for him to move closer.

You only start to speak again after he's taken several gulps, placing the cup of water back on the nightstand beside his bed. "Why are you so willing to throw your life away?" you ask after a moment of silence, helping Jing Yuan rest against the headboard, eyes never leaving his own that don't dare to even look into your own.

"It's my duty-"

"Your duty is to make sure as many of the Cloud Knights survive a battle. Not gamble your life on a piece that you weren't sure had the capabilities to help."

Jing Yuan bites his tongue at your immediate rebuttal, you were right after all. "The Master Diviner was right there by you. A troop was enough to guard the entrance, you didn't need to leave the master diviner with them to go on this-"

"... Can't you be happy for once whenever we meet like this?" he asks quietly, effectively stopped you from saying anything more. His gaze is cast downwards whenever he mutters the same question to you whilst shrinking a bit after asking. There's no sign of the proud general in your presence - in front of you is just Jing Yuan asking a supposedly harmless question.

Perhaps that's the reason why you can never shove him away immediately.

"... You know what my answer is."

Jing Yuan was no crier. In fact, you think he stopped crying or showing any visible sign of discomfort or uneasiness the day he got the title as General. You're pretty sure you can count the amount of times you've seen Jing Yuan cry on one hand.

Perhaps his ability to hide his own needs and wants so often day by day for the past centuries makes your dismissal of his simple wishes that more gut-wrenching for you. You try to ignore the overwhelming guilt that washes over you every time you have to say the same thing to him.

"... You have a lot of things that you want to get done on the Luofu, Jing Yuan." you murmur softly, extending a hand to run your fingers through his locks, breaking apart any knots that may have formed in his sleep.

"You know we can meet again, but now is not the time - especially now," you gently remind with a sombre smile, your hand moving from his hair to rest against his chin to make him face you.

"It's gonna be alright, okay?" he scoffs at your reassurance, finally coming to terms with your conditions once again like always, wrapping his arms around your waist to fall down back on the bed with you on top.

"Remember the last time you said those words to me?" he says, almost sounding offended at your choice of words to which you only smile against his skin in guilt.

"It was the first time I saw you cry so hard," you try to joke, pressing your hands against the mattress to push yourself off of Jing Yuan, choosing to hover above him instead.

"... I'm sorry," you decide to say in the end after a moment of silence, once again threading your fingers through his hair - an act you knew used to calm him before. At this moment though, you're not so sure.

"Why? Shouldn't I be sorry?" he asks in return, a small yawn leaving his lips as his eyes struggle to stay open. You smile bitterly as you shake your head, still threading your fingers through his hair.

"No, none of it was your fault - what happened back then was out of your control. But this time it isn't. I can wait for a long time, Jing Yuan. I know you're aware of that so don't try to rush anything to meet me again." you tell him, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead.

"So it's time to wake up, dear. Luofu is waiting for you."

[hurtspideyparker]

Avengers' Galentine's Day 💕

"You may be wondering why I've convened you here today."

Natasha looks around the table at the men, hands clasped and back straight. Bruce, Peter, Sam, and Bucky sit around her.

Peter perks up. "I'm just happy to be here, thank you for inviting me Ms. Romanoff!"

"You can call me Natasha. And don't make me regret it," she says pointedly.

Peter nods furiously, leaning in intently as she speaks again.

"Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and to my knowledge all of you are single. And my knowledge is always correct. So, I propose a Galentine's Day."

The men all share awkward looks.

"We're all...dudes."

"Yes, thank you Sam. I wasn't aware." She says sharply before continuing.

"Listen, contrary to popular belief around here, I am a woman. I want to do woman things. But Wanda has a boyfriend, Pepper is working, and Maria is out of the country. So, I'm left with you doofuses."

"Hold on, hold on," Sam puts a hand up, "why wouldn't we think you were a woman? I mean we treat you like a friend and not a sex object. That's not treating you like a man."

Natasha holds up a hand and starts counting on her fingers.

"You two were making fart noises and giggling during breakfast with me sitting right there, and only stopped when Pepper walked in for a bagel," she looks between Sam and Peter.

"You offered me your 3-in-1 when I forgot my toiletries bag on mission," she nods to Bruce.

"And you—" she raises her eyebrows at Bucky, "handed me a cup when I said I needed to pee during that road trip out West."

The men all turn to Bucky.

"Jus' instinct. My bad." he hunches under their scrutiny.

"What kinda road trips you going on man," Sam asks.

"Clearly not the same ones as you."

"CleArLy—"

"Anyways!" Natasha interrupts, "You owe me. And if you say no you're probably sexist. Who's in?"

Peter's hand shoots up enthusiastically, and the others reluctantly follow.

"Great! We need someone on decorations, someone to plan an activity, someone on dinner, I'll prepare the snacks, and then someone on drinks. Alcoholic and non. And yes this all has to be Valentine's theme. So...who knows a good balloon place?"

Sam gets dinner, Bucky drinks, Bruce on the activity, and Peter decorations.

"You're all capable people so do not call me every second asking stupid questions. Figure it out, it better be amazing. Steve and Tony are leaving at 6pm for their date and won't be back till late, so we have the place to ourselves. The dress code is red white and pink, be there or be square."

With that Natasha is up and breezing down the hall.

"Why do I feel guilty and manipulated at the same time. What just happened." Bruce contemplates.

"Spies man," Sam shakes his head.

Peter rolls his eyes, "you guys are so lame. Do you know what this means? Chocolate covered strawberries. Heart shaped balloons. Fun games. Frosting—I basically lived off of Red 40 when I was 13. And I like hanging out with you all, what's the difference now that it's Valentine's?"

"The difference is I have to party plan, and I can't go to the bar and flirt with lonely singles." Sam complains.

Peter shrugs and gets up from the table. "That's weird, and you're no fun. Later losers!"

Bucky crosses his arms and sinks into the chair. "Why is it Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Stark, but we're losers?"

"Probably because you two are morons and he beat your asses before his balls dropped." Bruce says nonchalantly, picking up his tablet and pulling out his reading glasses.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Peter gets to work first, calling May because he has zero experience decorating anything, let alone a holiday themed girls' (?) night.

"Dollar store helium balloons. Honestly, dollar store for most of it; look in the Valentine's section. Also maybe ribbon, place settings, and of course flowers. And don't you dare leave the flowers in the plastic Peter Benjamin Parker—"

Peter finds most of what he needs at the dollar store, and then finds a red and white checkered tablecloth at the thrift store.

The day of he sets the table with heart doilies, pink dishware that Pepper found for him, and some random candles. The odd assortment makes it look rustic, and not like he stole them from people's rooms in the tower. (Wanda had a candle that smells like lavender! Score!)

He sets the balloons loose onto the ceiling and shrugs a good enough when they seem evenly spaced. He uses Mr. Stark's credit card to buy the flowers, because holy bejesus, 60 dollars for plants that aren't even going to make it to next month?! He fixes them up nice, an assortment in varying shades of pink with small white flowers in-between, and puts them in a vase he found when dumpster diving. He hangs streamers and heart garlands on the walls, and uses some Valentine's confetti to just... throw around. It looks like the dragon of capitalism threw up on all the flat surfaces, and Peter dusts his hands off with a job well done.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Sam knows how to be romantic. He does not, however, know how to be "cutesy".

All his normal romantic dinner ideas go flying out the window—he is not ordering steak and salmon for a bunch of dudes and a minor, thank you very much.

The only thing he could find that would fit the theme without being romantic was heart-shaped pizzas. It sounds like the perfect party food and just might avoid disappointing a woman who carries a dozen weapons on her at all time (half of which are just the ways she can use her body with lethal force).

He calls five pizza shops trying to place a catering order for the 14th, receives a cacophony of "fuck you"s, "do you know what day that is? Do you know what day today is?", and some immediate hang ups before deciding that homemade pizzas are way more fun and creative anyways, and does a quick grocery shop.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bruce looks through blogs with pictures of millennial blonde women telling him about "great ideas for girls' night!" and finds his task far more difficult than anticipated.

Friendship bracelets? Clashing aesthetics aside, they'd probably rain down in a mess of beads mid-fight. He does not want to Home Alone his friends (don't even get him started on Hulking out).

Decorate your own hair accessories? He's not sure how the physics of trying to clip a hair bow onto Sam's head would work. Bucky and Natasha might appreciate a good claw clip though.

What he does land on is making clay fridge magnets. They have... a fridge. How hard can painting be?

He also pulls out Uno and Avengers Edition Guess Who—they get sent a lot of promotional items. Collectively their favourite was the Ben & Jerry's Super ice cream line, they bought a whole other freezer for it.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bucky buys 3 bottles of rosé, 2 tequila, 1 vodka, red jello packets, pink lemonade, edible glitter, and strawberry milk.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Natasha placed an order for a beautiful array of cupcakes, chocolate covered strawberries, and a charcuterie board back in December.

She only waited so long to invite her guests because she wasn't sure how they'd react to her wanting a nice girly party. Her options were already slim to begin with, and it felt weird inviting a bunch of dudes to something she's been planning for months with the ridiculous expectation she'd magically have more women in her life.

Either way, she's determined to have a great night. These are some of her closest friends, why would it matter if they're men?

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Maybe I should have been clearer about the dress code."

Natasha is wearing a beautiful red dress; mid-length, thin straps, and a plunging neckline. It fits her curves beautifully, emphasizing her hips in a silky fabric.

The men took the dress code in a...different direction.

Bruce is wearing jeans and a maroon cardigan.

Sam has a white button-up and a red tie, cuffs rolled up to the elbow, and nice black slacks.

Peter is wearing pink hello kitty pajama pants and a white t-shirt with an anatomical heart diagram.

Bucky is adorned in his usual black cargo pants and a baby pink hoodie.

The men all assess each other's outfits, eyes reflecting uncertainty. Sam in particular seems at odds with Bucky's pastel fashion choice.

"Where'd you get that sweater? I thought your favourite colour was "dark" and your closet consistent exclusively of black, noir, midnight, and charcoal."

Bucky seems content despite the fashion being out of his comfort zone. The soft warm colouring makes him seem sweet and approachable despite his perpetual glower.

"I don't know, it just turned like this one day. It used to be white."

Sam narrows his eyes, "I think you messed up your laundry dude."

"I thought this was just something that happened with your fancy machines. I like dark colours, so. I wouldn't know if this was normal."

"Did you wash it with something red? Used hot water?"

"I don't own any red."

Sam exchanges skeptical looks with the other confused Avengers, except Peter, who's completely turned away from them all and observing the wall.

"Peter." Natasha asks.

"Mhm?" he says, back still turned.

"You wouldn't happen to know something about this would you?"

Peter rocks back and forth on his feet, arms swinging like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Not a clue Ms. Ro—Natasha. I haven't the faintest idea."

"The kid did something to your laundry."

"Hey!" Peter spins around. "That is a wild accusation."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't do it."

Peter matches her unwavering stare, "I! ...Maybe put some of Spider-Man's things in the machine. It was already going and it was just socks—why would I start a new load for socks!"

"When the load that's already going is whites. Honestly, as a society shouldn't we have moved past separating colours? Cold water people, cold water." Bruce trails off.

Sam claps him on the shoulder with a "preach it brother!" while pumping his other fist in the air.

Natasha slices her hands through the air in an 'enough' motion.

"It's fine, it's fine. We're here, we're dressed, Peter managed to do a nice job decorating," Peter grins and shoots her two thumbs up, "so let's get the party started."

Natasha turns on some music while Sam grabs everything out of the fridge.

"We're gonna make heart pizzas! Thought I'd add a little fun and personality to the whole dinner affair."

Natasha looks him up and down.

"All of the pizza places told you to fuck off didn't they?"

"Loudly and immediately."

Her lips quirk subtly and then she helps him set the table up and pass out dough. Sam sighs in relief at the micro expression of joy.

The table is full of chatter and warmth, toppings being passes around. Peter sings along to Blank Space by Taylor Swift with an alarming passion, and Sam absolutely kills everyone with his rendition of Single Ladies by Beyoncé, even getting a chuckle from Bucky. There is a short stint between Natasha and Bruce in which she sees how many green peppers she can place on his pizza without him noticing after he said he didn't like the fruit.

"But you like red?"

"Red has flavour, green things all taste like water or small talk."

The answer was 6 before he noticed.

They take turns playing Avengers Guess Who while they wait for all of their food to cook. Peter and Sam are against each other as Natasha eats her fresh pizza.

"Is your character a man?"

Sam's eyebrows furrow. They just started the game, and already he's stumped.

"I don't know dude, I don't even know if he's got any junk in his trunk."

"Oh, so Vision?"

"Dammit!"

Bucky and Natasha go next.

"Would your character wear his own branded underwear?"

"Yes." Natasha replies immediately. "Would your character be picked for a stealth mission?"

"Nope," Bucky answers as he finishes flipping down his characters. He only has 3 left.

"Has your character had a press scandal in the last 6 months?"

Natasha thinks for a moment, "yes. Is your character Bruce?"

Bucky groans and slams down the last character he had up.

"Yeah. And yours was Tony."

"Indeed it was. Should have guessed when you had 3, better to gamble than play it safe." Bucky rolls his eyes but nods in agreement.

Bucky gets all of his drinks out while they eat, pouring lemonade and tequila haphazardly into their cups, stirring in glitter with an unenthusiastic flare.

"Voila."

Peter looks on.

"What about me?"

Bucky reaches back into the fridge and pulls out a litre of pink strawberry milk.

"Ta-da."

Peter looks at it with befuddlement.

"What, you want the glitter too?"

"Not a fan of micro plastics, thanks."

Bucky shrugs and pushes the jug of milk towards him.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Fridge magnets!"

They all stare at Bruce.

"Magnets! For our fridge!"

"And this made you think of us?" Sam asks.

Bruce throws his hands up. "I don't know man! Would you have preferred wine glass painting?"

Sam holds his palms towards Bruce in a soothing manner. "Struck a nerve there..." he whispers to Bucky.

Despite their apprehension they fall into a nice rhythm of sipping and shaping. The clay starts coming together under their palms; Bruce a pair of glasses, Peter an Iron Man mask, Natasha a pair of ballet slippers, Sam a set of sprawling wings and Bucky a kitten.

"You a cat guy?" Sam asks him.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Sam's eyes flit between the small cat ears being shaped by gruff hands and the shadowed face of the taciturn super soldier.

"Naw, just didn't peg you as a cat guy. Or an animal guy. Or a loving guy."

Bucky stares at him for a moment before stretching a fist out and smashing Sam's wings-in-progress.

"Hey! Foul, foul! Natasha are you going to just let this happen?"

"It's Bruce's activity."

"Hulk smash."

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

As the night progresses the adults become more and more tipsy, grazing the charcuterie board and sweets on the table.

"AH oh GOD what did you make these with, battery acid?!"

Everyone turns to Peter who's standing in the refrigerator door, holding a cup of half eaten red Jello.

"Oh, I forgot about those. They're Jello shots."

Peter balks at Bucky, "as in alcohol?!"

He rushes to the sink and tilts his head sideways under the faucet, water blasting onto his tongue.

"Well, that's dramatic."

"That is the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. Why on Earth would you ruin perfectly good Jello like that?"

Bucky grabs the tray of Jello shots from the opened fridge, placing them on the table and handing them out to the adults.

"Cheers," they tap the plastic cups before shooting the gelatin down their throats to the sound of Peter spluttering in the sink. Bucky and Natasha's go down smoothly, Sam chokes a bit at the awkward chunk of food heating his throat, and Bruce spends 30 seconds trying to scoop the Jello out of the cup with an uncomfortable combination of finger and tongue action.

"How do you even know about Jello shots, you're like...old." Peter remarks once he's taken a few gulps of pink lemonade to wash down the aftertaste.

"How do you know about Jello shots, you're like...uncool." Bucky retorts. Natasha snorts and Sam bursts out laughing. Even Bruce chuckles.

"Dr. Banner," Peter whines at him.

"Sorry kid, but he's got a point. What kind of kid spits out a Jello shot. It's free, sugary, no-repercussions alcohol."

Peter just sits down with a pout and continues to sip on his lemonade.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The night gets later, the adults more inebriated as they finish painting their magnets.

Sam has eaten all the salami off the board and Peter has taken to throwing the disproportionate amount of cheese leftover at people. Bucky is on his third cupcake, and Natasha keeps giggling into her cup of tequila.

"What if he was blue—" Sam starts cracking himself up, hovering a paintbrush near Peter's Iron Man face.

"I don't understand what's so funny about that. Stop, Sam stop!"

As the boys fight over the paint, Natasha and Bruce go with a quick all-over glaze of colour and then add the sealant and magnet before the others even make it to a second shade. Bucky paints his cat with an air of intense concentration, one even Sam doesn't want to go near.

Their finished magnets get placed onto fridge.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The whole group seem to be moving around and restless, chaotic and boisterous. Sam complains loudly about the romcom they put on in the background, Peter, Bruce, and Bucky play a rapid round of Uno, and Natasha keeps popping in and out of rooms with a different cookie and drink in her hand each time.

Bruce starts to get weepy when he pronounces uno, mumbling something about being "uno" forever through a drunken tongue and snot as Peter rubs his back.

The next time they turn around Natasha and Bucky are on the other couch making out.

"Gross! No! No romance on Galentine's Day!" Peter shouts, throwing pillows and pink m&ms at them until they pull away. Peter couldn't see much other than the back of Bucky's head, but he shivers in disgust at the sight of reddened lips.

He starts counting down the time on the clock until Tony and Steve are said to come home. While the snacks, games, and company have been fantastic, the adults are becoming far too...exuberant for his taste.

Bruce is a weepy drunk, Sam simply annoying, Natasha is sneaky and suspiciously absent for odd lengths of time, and Bucky...

"Hey! What did I say!" Peter dumps his glass of water onto the brunet, watching him jerk his lips off of Sam's in dissatisfaction.

"I swear I'll get a spray bottle. Bad Bucky." he says before continuing to the bathroom.

He finds the door open and Natasha standing at the mirror, curling her hair.

"Why?"

Natasha just shrugs.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The elevator finally dings a quarter to midnight.

"Oh thank goodness."

Steve and Tony exit with linked arms, broad smiles and sides pressed together in a matching gate.

Peter rushes up to them, backpack in hand as he starts shedding his t-shirt and socks.

"Woah there cowboy, I did not sign up for that kind of rodeo" Tony alarms.

Peter just pulls out his spider suit and starts slipping it on over his state of undress.

"Tell Natasha I had a great time, but I'm expeditiously out of here. Bruce is still hung up on his ex, Natasha feels distanced from her femininity and is trying to regain her girlhood, Bucky's a slut, and Sam is so totally tapping that tonight. I'd like to be far, far away when that happens."

Peter pulls on the final piece of the suit, masking up and sending enthusiastic waves to the couple.

"Hope your date was nice! This is not my problem anymore."

And then he scampers to the balcony and swings off into the night.

The couple share wide eyes, listening to the odd sound of their friends and the booming TV playing a romantic 90s soundtrack.

Is someone crying?

Steve turns away from Tony and steps towards the living area, but Tony doesn't loosen his hold on the other's arm, making his steps stutter to a stop immediately.

"Shouldn't we go check on them? Sounds like the party was too much of a hit."

Steve looks over at the empty bottles of wine and tequila tipped on the kitchen counter. There's food, half fallen streamers, and Uno cards everywhere.

"Right now? That is not our problem."

"But—"

Tony slinks forward, pressing their chests together and wrapping his arms around the Captain's neck, wide-eyed browns meeting baby blues.

"It's still Valentine's, and I have a far more pressing problem for you."

Steve stares mesmerized under Tony's touch, the man sly and hot against his front. They're close, close enough to feel...

"Oh! That's—"

"Mhm."

"Okay. Yeah, they'll be fine till morning."

Tony smirks and Steve matches his smile, moving his hands to his lover's waist before walking him backwards.

Tony allows himself to be guided to their bedroom without breaking eye contact, blocking all thoughts of the other Avengers with a slam of the door and giggling open mouthed kisses.

[new-fandom-scene]

Speechless

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Tim's lights are on, but nobody seems to be home.

Word Count: 1,572

By the time Tim and Angela made it out and into the bar, the usual nine to five crowd was already deep in "weekend mode". Groups of girlfriends were giggling while taking shots of cheap tequila. Packs of guys were working their way through pitcher after pitcher of beer. Weaving through the loud and lively crowd, Wesley already had their usuals sitting at their table for them. Lopez hums in content as she greets Wesley with a kiss and a grateful smile. "This is how it should be at the end of every week", Lopez declares before raising her bottle and clinking hers against Wesley and Tim's glasses.

"So now you're expecting me to be sitting pretty nursing the first round, just waiting for you guys to get here every Friday?" Wesley looks to his wife incredulously and rolls his eyes. "I think I'll pass". Angela shrugs dismissively, taking a sip.

"Obviously not every week, Babe. You and Tim's next lady can alternate every other week". Now it's Tim's turn to roll his eyes.

"Right, because a beer wench is all I'm looking for in a partner. No offense, Wes". Wesley shrugs.

"Since I have no choice but to accept this fate, maybe I can help find my new coworker? There's gotta be a single girl somewhere in my department. I can ask around on Monday". Angela takes her turn to roll her eyes.

"I so need my husband to ask around about the single women at his office", sarcasm dripping with every word. Lopez tips her bottle all the way up, getting the last drop, before setting it back down on the table. "Timothy will get a pretty lady soon enough. But right now, he's gotta get the next round."

Stiffly, Tim stretches his arms out wide and lets out a sigh before pushing himself up from the table. "Next round comin' up". Turning swiftly, Tim makes his way to the center of the bar, but not before bumping right into someone walking the opposite direction and back towards their table. Instinctively, Tim catches the victim of his unwareness by the waist, steadying her before fumbling any further.

"I am so sorry!" You say, rubbing your hands together anxiously. "I definitely thought I was paying attention, but there are so many people, I- I'm so sorry!" You try to search for any signs of anger or frustration on Tim's face, but you don't find any. In fact, you don't even think there's anyone home upstairs, from the looks of it.

Tim's mouth hangs open slightly as he stares at the woman in front of him. A million thoughts running through his head as none of those thoughts are actually making it to his mouth as tangible words. He doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as breathtaking as you, or stunning, as he is literally stunned in front of you. "Ar-are you okay?" You ask again, bringing him a little back to reality. Tim nods, still frozen in place from the shoulders down. "Umm, okay then. Since we don't need to exchange insurances or anything, I should be heading back". The last thing Tim wants is for you to leave his space, but those words are still taking their sweet time getting to his mouth. "Sorry again, have a good night!" You say as you awkwardly shuffle around him and head back to your table of friends. Tim still stands there, analyzing everything, until Angela begins to laugh and Tim's defense mode starts to kick in.

"Someone better be home up there before the squatters try to break in!" Angela jabs while Tim slowly brings himself down to sit at the table.

"Was it- was it that bad?" Tim looks to Wesley, who grimaces. Tim clenches his jaw.

"She might as well have been Medusa with how stonely you stood, man" Wesley shakes his head. "But you know, there's always room for bouncing back". Angela throws her head back with laughter.

"Next round says you can't come back from that", she challenges. Tim swallows hard. It couldn't have been bad beyond recovery, right? He shakes himself out of it and the adrenaline starts to course through his body. Looking out beyond their booth, Tim spots your head bobbing as you weave your way back to the bar. Time to man up, Bradford, he thinks to himself.

"Get your card ready, Lopez", Tim smirks as he pushes himself back up and towards the bar. Angela smiles to herself.

"It'd be Wesley's card anyways!" She calls back, but her voice gets lost amongst the sea of people Tim wades through to get to where you're standing and waiting to be served. You can do this, Bradford. You're a very handsome boy." Shaking any anxieties out of his body, he taps you on your shoulder. You turn around to investigate, blushing nervously with a shy smile. Tim can feel himself begin to seize in front you, and, for not knowing him pretty much at all, you're starting to feel that he is too.

"Let me guess, you have an injury and we actually do need to exchange insurances?" You chuckle. Tim opens his mouth to speak, but is met with, yet again, an empty house. You're usually never this forward, but you've got a couple of drinks under your belt. Guess you gotta taken the reins on this one, you think to yourself. "You know, what? I've actually got the shittiest insurance, maybe we should just exchange numbers instead so I can make it up to you? Think grabbing dinner could compensate for the value of your injuries?" You suggest, rocking back and forth on your heels. "I-I'm (y/n) by the way", you add and stick your hand out for him to shake. "Guess I should have said that earlier". You pray that your hand isn't sweaty as you hold it out for him, simultaneously searching his face for any signs of life.

Her hand! Shake her damn hand! Tim yells at himself internally and pushes himself to stick his hand out to meet yours. Tim notices how perfectly your hand fits with his, memorizing the softness of your skin. "T-Tim", he says to you, which comes out more as cough or gasp for air. Your shoulders visibly lower in relief that you hadn't stuck yourself out there for nothing.

"Nice to meet you, Tim", you smile and continue to shake his hand. Tim can't keep his eyes off you, taking in every sparkle in your eyes and how your smile could honestly fix any hard day's work that he's ever had. He notices how there seems to be one piece of your hair that's about to fall in front of your gorgeous face and he resists the urge to reach out and stop it from happening. What else can I say? Think, handsome boy, think. Shit, we're still shaking her hand! He drops your hand more abruptly than he liked to, a rigid smile and nervous chuckle following.

"I like burgers!" Tim says loudly, also more abruptly than he liked to. Your smile widens as you let a hearty laugh escape.

"I like burgers too!" You say with just as much energy. Now it's your turn to make him chuckle. You watch as his body relaxes into a more comfortable stance. "Easing up a little bit, I see?" You tease, stepping slightly closer to him. Tim shakes his head and smiles, his gaze returning to yours with an amazed smile on his face.

"I don't believe I've ever met anyone that has actually left me speechless", he admits to you. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable in any way". You smile and swat your hand playfully dismissive.

"Don't worry about it," you smile. "I just hope burgers are enough to compensate for taking away your personal space and your breath away". Tim rolls his eyes playfully.

"Hey, I was still breathing" he lazily defends. "But a burger and some more of your time would certainly be a good start towards my compensation". You nod, impressed, and motion with your hand for Tim's phone. He opens it and places it into your hands for you to enter your phone number.

"How about your people talk to my people, and we can discuss proper reimbursement?" You hand the phone back to him with a smile. Tim reaches out and gets a hold of the phone, his fingers lingering over yours for just a moment before putting it back in his pocket.

"Sounds like a good start to me," Tim agrees, reluctant to leave your area of space. "I'll call you, (y/n). And I'll actually have more words this time", he promises and watches your smile get brighter and cheeks get rosier. He swears he'll do whatever he can to always make you look at him like that.

"I can't wait to hear them," you say. "It was nice to meet you, Tim". He smiles and nods before waving a small goodbye and heading back to an expectant Angela and Wesley.

"Where's my drink at?" Angela asks. Tim shakes his head slowly while pulling out his phone to show them your number. The husband and wife clap slowly, very impressed and surprised by the turnaround.

"So, where's my drink at, Lopez?" Tim shoots back, teasing. Angela looks to Wesley, eyebrows raised. Wesley sighs before pushing himself up from the table.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it".

[rogueddie]

Runner / End Of Beginning

Steve has never seen his father as upset, as furious, as he was when he got home with his final exam results. He'd known- suspected- that his father would flip when his results came in...

His father got angry at small things. Hearing that he'd had a party while they were away, that a girl went missing at that party, had been the closest Steve thought he'd ever get to recieving a beating.

But when he came home with his grades... when his father realized that his son, his supposed prodigy, barely passed...

Steve has never ran as fast as he currently is.

As soon as he'd seen an openning, a clear line to the door, he'd stumbled to his feet and bolted. He'd picked a random direction and ran. He isn't going to stop running until he physically has to stop, knowing that his father is most likely in his car, trying to find him.

He can't stop. He has to keep running.

Eventually, he has to pause. He has to catch his breath.

He leans against a trailer, panting. He prays that no one thinks to look outside and spot him. He prays that no one will-

"Harrington?"

"Fuck." He hisses, squinting up at- "Munson?"

"What the fuck happened to you?" He says, eyes widenning when he finally gets a look at his face. "Second round with Hargrove, or what?"

"Nothing happened, I'm fine."

Munson eyes him for a moment, frowning. "Is someone after you?"

"What do you care?" Steve heaves a deep breath, forcing himself to stand up straight. He brings his knees up in a few knee highs, gearing up for another sprint.

"Ugh. Just- you can come into my trailer," Munson says, sounding as though Steve is forcing him to make the suggestion. "No one would think to look for you there. You can, like... I don't know. Drink some water? You jocks do that, right?"

"Wh- I don't need your help!"

"I'm not waiting for you all day, come on, let's go!" He makes a wide, exaggerated gesture for Steve to follow.

"You just assume I'm gonna follow?"

"Yeah."

He sounds so confident, so sure, that Steve can't think to do anything other thank blink and say, "fuck it, yeah, alright."

Steve is a little surprised at how much space Eddies trailer has. It's cramped, but in a nice way- the way a home gets when people actually live in it. When the people inside are actually happy and chase those joys.

Munson does get him a glass of water, mumbling at him to "sit anywhere", before flopping onto the sofa himself. He turns the TV on, focusing on that.

"Thanks," Steve eventually mutters, awkwardly sitting down.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about."

"Sure."

"There isn't," he insists, despite how casual and accepting Munson is acting. "It's my fault, anyway. I deserved it."

"Did you?" Munson turns to him, eyebrow raised. "All us freaks and losers can talk about these days is your change of heart. King of Hawkins High turned lame boytoy."

"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better," Steve sneers.

"Even Jeff thinks you're alright now," he barrels on. "Said he bumped into you, pretty hard, knocked all your shit down, and you apologized. Said his coffee ended up on an essay, or something. Thought he was about to get his ass kicked and you just..."

He waves his hand at him, as though that's explination enough.

Steve doesn't know a Jeff, but he's pretty sure he knows who Munson is talking about, and; "I wasn't looking where I was going. If anything, we were both at fault."

"See?" Munson waves his hand at him again, a little more pointed. "Don't doubt you've got a long way to go, but you're not half-bad. You didn't deserve whatever the fuck happened to your face."

"Whatever."

They fall quiet, both pretending to watch whatever is on the TV. Steve is so zoned out that, when someone clears their throat, he flinchs.

"Sorry to startle you boys," the man chuckles. But the humor quickly teeters out, once he gets a good look at Steve. "You alright, kid?"

"I'm fine."

"He's not," Munson grins wide when Steve glares at him.

"Staying the night?" The man continues, only looking at Eddie now.

"If I can convince him," Munson shrugs.

"I can't stay the night," Steve tries.

"Good," the man nods, as though Steve hadn't said anything. "I'll start making us all some dinner." He finally looks to Steve. "You got any allergies?"

"I can't stay," Steve tries again, insisting.

"No," Munson answers for him. "No problems with meat either."

The man gives Munson a thumbs up, heading through to the kitchen.

"I can't stay," Steve repeats, turning to Munson. "Really. I have to go back or... I have to go back."

"What will happen if you don't go back?"

Steve grimaces. "Nothing. Just- I can't stay here."

"Why not? They gonna hit me too?"

"You know what, Munson? Yeah, probably. And your- your dad?"

"Uncle," Munson snorts, standing, stretching. "No one messes with us though. We're too scary." He wiggles his fingers in Steves face as he passes by. "And call me Eddie."

"Why?"

"It's my name."

Steve awkwardly follows him to the kitchen, hovering a good distance from the two of them, watch how they move around each other with so much comfort and ease. It makes something in Steves chest ache.

"Oh, hey, you like football right?" Eddie asks, pointing to him.

"Uh, yeah, kinda. Not enough to have, like, a team." Steve shrugs.

Wayne turns around slowly, eyebrows raised. "You don't got a team?"

Talking football with Wayne is so easy that, until he's halfway through the dinner he cooked, Steve doesn't notice how fast the time is going. He can't bring himself to be bothered though. It's too nice.

Plus, Eddie is almost bouncing with joy at how well Steve and Wayne are getting along.

Someone starts banging on the door, loud and aggressive, as they make their way to the kitchen.

"Alright!" Wayne calls, rolling his eyes. "Hold your horses."

Steves stomach drops when the door opens and his father is on the other side. He smiles at Steve, sickly sweet and dangerously calm.

"Oh, thank God," he sighs. "Steve, your mother and I have been looking all over for you. When you didn't get home-"

Wayne blocks his way when he tries to step inside. "Who are you?"

"Robert Harrington," Steves dad sniffs, leaning back so he can physically look down at Wayne. "I'm here for my son."

"He ain't here."

Robert Harrington splutters, face tinting red with anger and frustration. He points to Steve, voice raising as he says, "he's right there! And he's coming with me."

Wayne turns, slow and casual. "Huh. That's odd. Don't see him."

"Steve," he snaps his fingers at Steve, like he's a dog. "Come on. We're going home."

Eddie shifts so he's standing slightly in front of him.

It's enough reassurance for him to finally snap back; "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Steven-"

"Get off my property," Wayne snaps.

His father glares at them, waiting, as though he expects them to back down. When he doesn't, he snarls; "this is kidnapping."

"He's 18," Eddie drawls.

Grumbling, he stomps off.

"Asshole," Wayne mutters. He shuts and locks the door, sliding on the chain too.

Steve has to sit down, with how much his legs are shaking.

"You alright?" Eddie asks, hesitantly sitting beside him.

"Yeah," Steve says. He's surprised to find he means it. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You can stay here, long as you need," Wayne offers. "You'll have to bunk with Eds though. Not a lot of room."

"Why can't he use the sofa when you're-"

"Nope," Wayne cuts him off. There's a glint of mischief in his eyes that has Steve squinting in suspicion. "And you'll need those cuts looking at. Eddie, why don't you go with him. Medkits in the bathroom."

Steve goes ahead when Eddie points the way to the bathroom.

Eddie tries to give Wayne a warning look but he's unbothered and, with Steves back turned, he gives Eddie an encouraging wink.

[brattyspence]

white noise | s.r

a/n: don't look at me i'm nervous for this

summary: spencer x reader -- a situationship defined by white noise; a metaphor for how we pacify ourselves and make stupid decisions to experience comfort, even when it hurts

word count: 1.2k (shut up okay)

masterlist

As you roll over in his bed, the soft white noise of feathers settling in down pillows and sheets crumpling up under your body echoes through your head. This white noise, his white noise, the sound of jersey sheets and an old ceiling fan and his heartbeat under your ear and him, which you've learned to fall asleep to more often than not.

It's cold in his room, but the still bed radiates warmth. There's a domestic quality to the way his fingertips trail up and down your arm, tracing lines over your shoulder absentmindedly. It's possessive somehow, in a way that says I’ve been here before, I’ll be here again. 

There's a trait to Spencer that you can't quite put your finger on. It's familiar. It's falling asleep with your back against his stomach, his breathing pattern long engraved in your physiology. Its the thrum of the engine in his shitty old Volvo when he picks you up from work when you're too tired to walk. It's forehead kisses and whispered things that replay in your mind when you're struggling to put together all of the pieces.

Spencer is white noise. 

You could be upset about it. You should, in fact. Spencer’s commitment to non-commitment haunts you more often than not. The domesticity of your situation sneaks up on you sometimes, in the form of remembered coffee orders, the lingering touch of his hand on your hip when you go out together. He’s perfected all the things to make you feel like you belong to him, but he just can’t find the words to make it true. Still, you’ve become so used to him that you’re not sure you can quit despite your feelings.

Sunlight just barely makes its way through his blinds by the time he’s awake. It's morning, earlier than you'd like it to be, but you always wake up with him when you're here. 

Your eyes flutter open and closed a few times before they focus, the room filled with the warm light emanating from the sconces. Light that hardens edges and raises new questions and drives a wedge between you, literally. This time of day has long become the bane of your existence. 

“Morning,” he murmurs. He brushes the hair out of your eyes with the softest touch you've ever felt. You instinctively scrunch your face, too close to sleep to process, and you don't realize what he's doing until he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Your only response is an inaudible mumble. He doesn't need words to know what you're saying. It's come back to bed, it's I'm so tired, and it's too early,

“Coffee’s on,” he says. 

“Hm,” you hum. 

And so it goes as it does every day. A mug–your mug–, filled with coffee made to your liking left on the kitchen counter for you. A toothbrush left in the holder in your favorite color. You both get ready in silence, a practiced ritual, making space for each other with lingering touches where needed. 

“Lock the door when you leave?” He asks. You can hear the sound of his bag being shucked over his shoulder, and in an instant he’s behind you, warm hands on your hips and a soft kiss to your shoulder. 

You spend the day waiting, as you always do, for him to invite you back in. You know its pathetic, that you should be better than this. You think of all the advice you’ve ever received about love and relationships and what not to do. How not to be desperate. The second his message crosses your screen, any semblance of logic fades. it doesn’t matter. 

When you finally stumble through the entryway to his apartment, the day drops to your feet like shattered glass, shoes and bags and jackets left on the floor, discarded, forgotten, because you’re here. You can go back to pretending for just a little bit longer. 

Its 11pm when you find yourself right back where you started. In his bed, wearing clothes that live in his drawers, the ceiling fan set to your preferred speed. You’re half asleep on the side of the bed that you’ve claimed as your own, at least for 5 nights a week, your cheek pressed into his chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart continuing to etch itself into your memory. 

The day weighs heavy on you as it always does. Almost as heavy as the weight of all the things left unspoken, which you’ve been carrying around as long as you’ve known him.

“Spencer?” You murmur, fingertips idlying toying at the fabric of his shirt. 

“Hm?”

You pause to listen to the sound of your fingers running over the fabric of his shirt. Theres the gentle hum of the heater, the flickering of a TV left on somewhere. There’s comfort to how things are. Asking the question in your mind could disrupt that. 

“Do you think,” you swallow, adjusting your head against him to look up at him. “That you’ll change your mind?”

“About us?”

“Yeah.”

He sighs, and your head bobs with the rise and fall of his chest. “I don’t know. Maybe one day.”

Silence lingers between you for a moment. It swells within every corner of your being.

“One day.”

“Maybe,” he corrects. It’s not biting or mean, but it's a deflection. “I don’t know, baby.”

It takes a lot to avoid the temptation to press him. He’s a hypocrite, at minimum. You could tell him all sorts of things about how he’s wrong, and how he doesn’t get it. That it’s not fair that he gets you in every form; asleep, awake, happy, sad, in bed, at work, and you get nothing to show for it. You could give him shit for being exactly how he is, but you don’t. Instead you choose to hold on to maybe. Maybe – an empty promise, but one you’ll accept in exchange for whatever time he will give you.

Instead you sigh, scooting closer. He tucks your head right into position, the same way you sleep every night, with practiced ease. His hands find their home against your skin, leaving warm spots on your back that lull you halfway to sleep before you try again. 

“I’m waiting for you,” you mumble. The words slip out before you can think about the weight of them. It’s an admission, a request, a plea. It’s stupid. It makes you feel sick in more ways than one, but it’s the truth.

“Go to sleep,” he replies.

It’s an open ended question. Its a chance to pick a fight, to force him to make up his mind. Its an opportunity to tell him off. Tonight, though, you don’t bother thinking about how his words lack substance. How he dances around every question. You don’t have time to notice just how upset you really are before he presses another kiss to your forehead. 

Tonight, you choose this. White noise; the illusion of belonging, his heartbeat under your cheek, hands running across bare skin, the quiet comfort of him –  his home, his space. Him. 

You choose white noise, static, empty promises, the comfort of being here as compared to anywhere else. Maybe tomorrow it will all matter. But not tonight.

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

TW: yandere, kidnapping

fem reader

Just had another thought about bully!Bakugou and quirkless childhood friend!darling...

You fall off the grid after high school only to reveal yourself several years later, right in the thick of his career.

He’s been recruited to go on an undercover mission to uncover a major drug scheme. He and a female operative are to play newlyweds, living together in a pretty suburban picket fence house where you'll be conducting surveillance on the neighboring family.

When you walk into the brief, you don’t give any sign of having recognized him. Nor him you, even though his chest and throat tightened to the point he had to stifle a cough.

When you sit down, you’re calm and collected while letting slip a smooth, breathless scoff – giving a slight smirk, saying calmly, “You jokers chose this landmine for a covert mission?”

“You two know each other?”

Your eyes slide off to look at Bakugou, eyeing him up and down where he sits – trying his best to hide it, but your trained eyes see it clear as day – rigid, short-breathed, a little sweaty. He’s shocked, he’s nervous, he’s even a little embarrassed.

You smile. And despite the history, all you offer in answer is a curt, “We used to.”

Bakugou feels like you have him by the balls. His jaw doesn’t unlock during the entirety of the meeting, reading the list of your responsibilities while they’re explained. How the entire neighborhood might be both bugged and surveyed by the target, so you’ll have to perform as a real married couple every waking hour – including eating together, sleeping together, kissing each other, fucking each other so as not to raise any suspicion.

You don’t budge or show any tells. You’ve been trained for this, and you’ve done this type of work plenty of times before already. Bakugou had read your file, so he knew – but shit, how weren’t you uncomfortable?

The mission lasts three long months and seventeen days. And when it’s done, you fall right off the grid again as though none of it had meant a thing.

And he knows that that’s how it’s supposed to be. He knows none of it is supposed to be real, but how can it not have been? It can't have all been a performance. He rejects that. He refuses it. He knows for certain you couldn’t have been acting all that time. You couldn’t because he hadn’t.

He’s breaking so many rules, tracking you down. And your disgust of his unprofessionalism is written all over your face when you open the door to find him having been the one to ring your doorbell. Still, you save saying anything but gesture for him to come inside.

“You weren’t easy to find-”

“This is gross misconduct, Bakugou. I can have you reported.” You cut him off. He’s not heard that voice come out of you. When you were his wife, you’d only speak sweetly – lovingly and dotingly, often with your arms slung around him, your hands in the short stubble at the back of his neck, smiling up at him so prettily.

You were scowling now.

“Are you?” He asks.

You stare at him for a moment, but then you give in with a sigh – trodding off to what he guesses is the kitchen without an answer to his question. But the silence is an answer in and of itself.

You dress differently than you did. No frilly little dress. But sweatpants and a tank – no jewelry, no makeup, hair undone.

You open the fridge and hand him a beer, then you crack one open yourself. “I have something stronger if you need it.” You say then, but he waves a no. So you lean against the counter and bring your can up to your lips. “Why are you here?”

He watches you drink for a moment. When you were his wife, you didn’t like beer, you only drank white wine, and it always made you tipsy after a couple of sips. You would never even finish a glass before becoming slow and dull-eyed. Suppose he’d never actually seen you drunk at all…

He doesn’t open his beer, feeling the cold dew drip over his knuckles. “Do you miss it?” He asks.

You look him in the eyes with slanted ones of your own. “I’m not humoring that question. If you’re having issues, you should file for a shrink. The bureau offers the best, they’ll suck out all the shit from your mind, and you’ll go back to normal within a week or two.”

“I don’t wanna go back to normal.”

You look annoyed, but then your face softens. “It’s like that the first time. It’ll pass.”

He doesn’t believe you. In your file, it said that you’d done this seven times before. Sometimes much longer than the months you’d spent together.

“It was a job, now it’s over. You need to shut the door on it and move on with your life.”

You say that, but looking around your space, it seems your job doesn’t allow much of life to take place. You have a couch and a TV, but otherwise, everything is barren. No pictures on the walls, no decorations. Where a dining table should stand, you have workout equipment instead, sprawled out over the entire floor. And if he saw your fridge correctly, you only have beer and TV dinners.

“You always on the job?” He asks.

You place your finished beer upside down in the sink, letting the last drops dry off while muttering out a retort, “Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t hear it, though. Too busy looking at you, standing there against the sink – looking the way you did when you’d wash dishes after dinner. You’re not wearing a summer dress or an apron – but you stand the same way. Slightly bent over, hips pushed into the countertop, ass pushed out like a welcome. 

He sets his beer off on the counter and takes his spot behind you, sliding his bigger hands around your small waist, slotting himself against you with his crotch nudged nicely against your butt. It feels right.

You make a small sound, going a little rigid at the unsuspected attack – but weren’t brash enough to push him away. You were rational enough to accept you wouldn’t be able to if you tried. 

“You sure you don’t miss it?” He asks again in a murmur, brushing his lips up your artery – nuzzling against you – his heavy chest resting against your shoulder blades – and you could feel the equally heavy pounding of his heart.

“Listen, Bakugou… whatever you think you miss, it doesn’t exist.” You state flatly. “Dominic and Suzie aren’t real.”

Those had been your names. Dominic and Suzie, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. Your identities for three months. But now, no more.

“But they can be…” Bakugou whispered back, tugging you a little closer – then released a small breathless laugh. “We always used to say we’d get married one day, remember? When we were brats…”

A small smile creased a dimple on your cheek at the memory, but only for a small second before you remembered everything he’d put you through after. “We’re not brats anymore. And honestly-” You catch your tongue and never finish the thought. It’s so long ago it doesn’t matter.

You sigh, knowing you’re lying to yourself. 

You relax again and drop your head back to rest on his shoulder, overlapping his hands with yours. “In retrospect, we should have filed for replacement from the start.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You pause a little bit, weighing whether you want to tell him or not. “I felt I had something to prove.” You confess. “You’ve always made me feel worthless, so when I was presented with the opportunity to rub it in your face, the child in me couldn’t resist.” 

You thought it would feel like a victory, a sweet revenge, but in the end, it just made you disappointed in yourself. How could you think playing house with a person you hate would do you any justice?

“It was stupid, and I regret it. I’m better than that.” You add resolutely. “Nevertheless, mission complete. It’s behind us now.”

Bakugou didn’t agree, still holding you the same way he’d done. 

 “You should let go of me.” You sigh again. “I’m not gonna act like Suzie for you, so-”

“I don’t want you to act like Suzie.” He interjected, nuzzling against your neck with a whisper. “I want you... the real you.”

You scoff. “Fuck- Katsuki, look around you. There’s nothing here to want.”

“Let’s make something then.” He argues, pressing a soft kiss below your ear. “It was always supposed to be us two. From the start.”

“What are you talking about?” You won't deny the contact feels good. Good enough to make your voice come out in a moan.

“I’m talking about me and you, anywhere we choose.” He continues with his kisses, and you close your eyes to the feeling but still scoff at the offer. 

“You’re talking about a dream. I’m not leaving my job to chase some fantasy with you.”

There's a silence, and Bakugou’s voice comes out more serious after. “I’m not giving you a choice.”

Your brows furrow, and you open your eyes again.

He still kisses your neck, now with his hands rubbing firm circles in your sides.  

“You were very hard to find…” He mutters. “I doubt anyone would notice if you went missing…”

“Katsuki-” You protest, still calm as you try and push yourself from the counter, but it’s an aimless effort. His touches only grow stronger to keep you in place.

“The bureau would think you’d decided to go private or retire. And given your record, I don’t think they’d spend too many resources trying to find you.”

“Katsuki, let go-” It’s scary, but you’ve been in scarier situations, so you’re able to keep your cool still – despite the chills that run up your spine from his speech. “You’re talking crazy-”

“Living like this is what’s crazy.” He answers.

His apartment looks the same. Nothing personal anywhere except a vain mantle lined with diplomas and trophies he’d received for civic duties when he’d laid his life on the line. Otherwise, it was as stale as a cheap hotel room – no art, no pictures, no carpets, not even a lamp. Just the necessities. Kitchen articles and a bed.

“I need you. And by the looks of things, you need me too.”