#so it looked like i was trying to just get out of it and he gor mad

[lymtw]

On with Toji and his shy girl.

Toji is well aware of how badly you want to take things further with him. He catches you looking at his crotch at least twenty times a day, and when he points it out, your face goes crimson and you blubber out your repetitive denial about how you weren't even looking there. You always blame it on your horrible attention span and how you are prone to zoning out, but he knows better. Your eyes follow the outline in his pants instead of just staring at one spot. He finds it endearing, and he knows you'll get there, so he doesn't push it, but the look on his face tells you everything. He knows.

Sometimes, Toji gets impatient. He never tells you about it because it's not your fault you have his mind communicating with his dick. He has you— a pretty little thing to keep him company, but you're not like any woman he's ever been with before. You're subtle about your urges, and you don't outwardly beg for him to touch you.

When he's being touchy with you, you try to lean into it. It feels good to have his arms around you, but you can't help how he himself makes you feel. He never fails to make you nervous and you can't stop the thrashing of your heart when his hand goes up your shirt. He can feel you shaking as his hand glides up your torso, to your chest. He splays his hand over your heart, feeling the rhythmic crash of it against his palm. It's beating so fast.

"Holy shit," he laughs, feeling the quick rise and fall of your chest. "Baby, turn around and look at me." His hand slides down and out of your shirt. It rides across your stomach as you slowly turn to face him, resting on your waist once you settle. His green eyes take in the sight of your timid expression. There was a soft look in your eyes that was paired with your quivering lips as you attempted to smile for him. "My pretty girl," he starts, his hand coming up to tenderly cup your cheek, "you'll give yourself a heart attack if you don't relax." His eyes follow yours as they derail from his gaze. He can feel the heat that was linked to the pretty shade of red flourishing on your cheeks. "I'm not gonna hurt you." He searches your eyes for comprehension. "You get that?"

"I know," you mumble, shakily putting your hand on his. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just wanna hear you say 'yes, Toji. I understand'."

"Yes, Toji..." you sigh, pausing to giggle, nervously, due to the wave of embarrassment that courses through you.

"Go on," he says, a sly grin on his face. "Finish."

"I understand," you continue. "I do."

"Good girl," he praises, pinching your cheek. You're like a small bunny to Toji. He would do anything and everything to protect you because you're just so cute and innocent. You're a constant victim to his teasing because of how bashful you are about the little things. It's the exact reason for why Toji loves catching you off guard, sometimes hugging you from behind and leaning in to bite your shoulder. He loves that you always jolt, even when you know it's coming, and you gasp in shock every time. He can't get enough of it.

"Kiss me, yeah?" He says, eyeing your lips. He's leading you, as always, because he's not afraid to tell you he wants you. If he wants a kiss, he'll ask for it or he'll steal it from you. Most of the time, it's the latter.

"Okay," you say, leaning in to place a quick peck on his lips. It's short lived, but Toji got a taste of the sweet lipgloss you're wearing, and he needs more.

"That's just selfish, baby. Come on," he says, pulling you close, again. "Kiss me like you actually like me." He takes charge this time, locking his lips with yours. He starts out slow, but as your lipgloss is transferred onto his lips, and his tongue gets to taste more of its sweetness, he finds himself craving much more. He takes note of how you're struggling to keep up because of your lack of breath, so he resorts to kissing the corners of your lips to give you a chance to breathe. "You taste so sweet, mama." The second your breathing is regulated, he goes back to inhaling you, chuckling into a few kisses when he hears your little pants return. "Fuck, you're killing me." He wipes the remainder of your lipgloss off his lips with a thumb, and watches the flustered expression on your face as he sucks it off.

"Toji..." you whine, burying your face in his chest. You've never met someone like him. So confident that even when he's the one who craves your attention, you get shy about the way he asks for it.

"What? Flustered?" He asks, grinning at the grip you have on his shirt. You nod, silently. "That's too bad," he says with faux sympathy. "'Cause I'm not gonna stop. Not when you react so adorably to every little thing I do to you." He tests his theory and pokes your rib. You squeak in surprise, the exact reaction Toji expected. You sigh, red faced as you flip back onto your other side, facing away from Toji again. "You're really not helping your case, baby. Can't even look at me."

"Hold me," you say, immediately feeling like you're asking too much of him. "Please," you add, to diminish as much of that feeling as you can. Toji would do anything you ask of him because you barely ask him for anything. You're low maintenance, but even then, he understands that it's up to him to make sure you feel loved, cared for, and appreciated, regardless of whether you ask him to show you these affections or not.

"Alright, doll," he says, groaning as he positions himself so that he's spooning you. You can feel his body heat engulfing you as he molds his body into yours. His chest is warm against your back, and his thigh is slightly overlapping your thigh. "Don't know why you struggle to ask me for stuff like this. I won't turn you down."

"I don't wanna annoy you," you say, looking down at his arm that is wrapped around your waist. You can feel his blunt nails on your skin, a slightly ticklish sensation lingering as he draws little lines on you.

"You calling me annoying?" He asks, jokingly. You can hear the playfulness in his tone, a soft laugh released through his nose.

"No... No, I would never, Toji. You're not... I don't think-"

"Shh... I'm fucking with you, doll." He smiles as he places a quick kiss to the nape of your neck, the gesture eliciting soft goosebumps on your stomach, beneath his hand. "I'm only annoying around you... because of how cute, and pretty... and soft you are." You can feel his hands starting to travel further beneath your shirt again. Your heart pangs when his fingers just barely go beneath the cups of your bra, tracing the bottoms of your breasts. "So warm and delicate," he murmurs, continuing to roam further up your torso until he reaches your neck. He brings his index and middle fingers up to your pulse point, instantly locating the restless palpitations of your heart. "You're like a scared little bunny," he says, referring to the quick rhythm of your heart and how tense you've become. "I can put you at ease." His hand goes back down your torso, finding the knotted strings of your sweatpants. "You want that?" He purrs, against the nape of your neck.

"Okay," you respond, hazily, already dizzy on his attention. You can't deny how hot he gets you when he talks to you like this, despite the way your heart is constantly threatening to explode. He easily lures involuntary reactions from your body, like the messiness of your drooling arousal, or the goosebumps that rise when he so much as puts a hand on your back.

"Tell me you want it, mama," he says, untying the knot of your sweatpants. "Tell me how badly you want me to get between those pretty thighs," he says, lowly, right behind you.

"Please, touch me, Toji," you say, turning your head to face him for a brief second before bashfully turning back. You roll down your sweatpants and kick them off once they're down to your ankles. "They're off for you," you say, meekly.

"Oh, you're so fucking cute," he says, immediately feeling up your soft, exposed thighs. "Want me to make you cum?" His hand swipes over the front of your panties, lightly feeling up the soft texture of the garment.

"Please," you say, subtly begging for him to keep touching you. The simple word makes you feel every ounce of vulnerability in the moment, more intensely.

"Such a sweetheart. Don't even have to train you to be nice. It's just in you, huh?"

"Mhm..." you hum, your cunt throbbing at the feeling of his thick fingers rubbing you over your panties. You're already squirming in his hold. His lips against the back of your neck are adding so much to the overwhelming stimulation.

"Toji..." you whimper, wishing you could curl in on yourself while still feeling this pleasure. You grip your pillow as he keeps gliding his glossy fingertips up and down your clothed slit.

"So wet every time, baby. Your panties are a mess," he says lowly into your ear as he spreads the mess even more with each stroke of his fingers. You feel his hard on pressed against your ass, your little jolts of pleasure pushing back into him, offering little relief for him as he bears the sultry sounds of your quiet moans and whimpers. "I know this isn't not enough, so i'm gonna say this once, and once only my pretty girl." Toji's voice goes so low that you think you're being subtly disciplined by him. "Beg for more if you want more."

You gasp, uttering out a desperate, "T-Toji, please. Please, please, please."

"Please what, doll?" He says. Toji works to help you speak up in these situations. He can't help you if you don't say anything, and you'll learn this the hard way if you have to.

"Mmm... c-can you..." you squeak, putting your face in your pillow.

"Calm down and get it out," he murmurs, before kissing your shoulder.

"Please, put your hand inside," you blurt.

"Good girl," he praises. "You know, it's just you and me, right now. You're safe," he coos, sliding his hand into your panties. It's instantly met with warmth and stickiness as he glides his fingers through your slit.

"S-Sorry, i'm sorry.. S-So-," you whimper into your pillow, only able to focus on the pressurized motion of his middle finger rubbing up against your clit. His eyes go dark at the sound of your muffled little moans and whimpers. He can't help the deep chuckle that leaves him when you gasp and allow yourself to seek more pleasure by grinding against his hand.

"You're alright, baby," he murmurs with that softness you're so comfortable hearing from him. "Just let me hear those cute sounds you're making, yeah?" His cock was already twitching in his pants, but something about hearing you giggle while panting made it start throbbing even more. "Feels a lot better, huh?" He says, holding back a groan when your ass pushes against his crotch, again.

You nod, against the pillowcase, your shuddered moans homing into his ears. Toji nearly growls at the way you're consistently rubbing up against his crotch. It feels too good, it's starting to mess with his head. This isn't about him, yet he's so ready to let his selfish side come out and play.

"Fuck," he groans into your ear, a sound that makes your heart drop. "You gonna let me put it in, today?"

You don't answer, hoping your quiet moans make up for your lack of words. You want it so bad, though. At this point, you were having more frequent wet dreams of Toji and you want to believe the reason is because you've denied yourself the experience for so long, but those dreams are more than just a gentle introduction to sex with Toji. They're borderline perverted, featuring things you wouldn't even be able to utter to Toji. At least not now.

"Hm? Gonna let me slide into you, mama?" He asks, gliding his finger through your slit, teasing your entrance when he goes lower. You nearly choked on your own spit once he pushed the digit through, meanwhile Toji had the privilege of previewing the way your cunt spasms around something. His finger for now, but he's hoping maybe something else, later.

You're gripping the pillowcase in your hands so tightly as he feeds the length of his finger into your velvety walls. You're rendered speechless as you tremble in his hold, high pitched whimpers leaving you as you near your orgasm.

"Answer the question, pretty," he gently prompts.

"O-Okay," you say, breathily. "Yes, mhm..." you babble. You're no longer able to hold back your moans or the way your back arches off his front when you finish on his finger. The thick digit slows down inside you, warm coos of "good girl" being murmured to you as you go into your blissful state of serenity. Toji pulls his hand out, admiring the mess you left on his hand. He can't help the wicked grin that takes over his lips at the sight, your glossy remnants coating his middle finger and smearing across his palm.

"Perfect, baby," he praises. He kisses your shoulder and takes the measures necessary to calm your rapid breathing. A warm palm to your back, a secure embrace, words to ensure overall that he's got you.

He turns you over, so that you're flat on your back and takes in the relieved look on your face. He had exactly five seconds to watch you before you became fully conscious of the situation.

"Well, I know you sound pretty with my fingers inside you. Wonder what you sound like with something else in there?"

"Toji..." you whine, flustered by his vulgarity. You had nothing to cover your face with. The vulnerability you felt was immense. Toji's attention alone was like having the eyes of a thousand people focused on your every move.

"In all seriousness, we've been talking about this for a while, now, doll." He cups your jaw with one hand, allowing his thumb to run across your heated cheek. "I want you to feel comfortable when we're together, 'specially during stuff like this." He stares at your glossy lips for a second, thinking of the guaranteed sugary taste before flitting his eyes back to yours. "I don't want you to be scared of saying 'no' to me about anything."

"I'm not scared. I trust you," you say, resting your hand on his wrist. "I'm ready, if you want me." You smile softly, and your gaze nervously shifts from his to his neck, then his chest, before directing itself to his arm.

"If I want you?" Toji laughs in disbelief. "It's sad that you still don't get how much I do." He retracts his hand and figures out a way to loop himself around you so that you're under him. "I want you so fucking bad, baby," he says, leaning forward and into you. He notices the way you jolt when his tent pokes your crotch, and suppresses the devilish grin begging to come out. "I know you can feel it, right?"

You nod, unable to form words in the moment when he's looking at you like that, while shamelessly displaying his desire for you. "Good. Now, one more time, doll. Do you want me?"

"So bad, Toji," you utter. "Beyond bad," you add to accentuate your desperate need for him.

"Fuck... Yeah, mama?" He grins, leaning closer to pepper your face with kisses. You instinctively shut your eyes as he aims higher up on your cheeks and your temple.

"Please..." You sigh. Your cunt is pulsing around nothing due to the way his clothed length rubs against it, through your underwear. "I need you- w-want you," you falsely correct, a nervous giggle leaving you. You can feel the roses that died down on your cheeks begin to bloom again.

Toji perks up when the words leave your lips. He never thought you'd be the one outwardly saying that you need him, but here you both are, edging each other physically and verbally.

"I heard that," he teases, smirking at the sound of another giggle coming from you. "Gonna take real good care of you, baby. Don't worry." He massages your thighs, his face nose distance away from yours so he can catch the glint of lust in your eyes that you hide from him like your life depends on it. He won't kiss you until you either take it from him or ask for it. He can see you staring at his lips to avoid the suffocating eye contact that comes with being so close.

"Put it into words, ma," he says, lightly snapping the elastic band of your underwear on your skin, a couple times. "Tell me."

"Kiss me?" You ask, meekly. Your wish was his command, because he immediately removed the remaining distance between your lips and his. His hands are hot as they travel up your shirt, again. This time they reach behind you to unclip your bra. You're all too aware of the lack of pressure on your chest, as the cups loosen, only pushed against you by your shirt.

He pulls back, a sly grin on his face before his shirt is being tugged off. You have the cutest expression on your face, like you're lost on how things got to this point. Nonetheless, you follow his lead and sit up to take your shirt off. Your halfway off bra is fully removed and tossed aside, along with your shirt. All the alarms of anxiety are sounding off in your head, as you sit there, with only your hands as censors to the sight of your breasts.

"You're pretty," he says, putting his hands on yours. He doesn't pull them down, and instead waits for you to be comfortable enough to reveal yourself to him. It doesn't take long when you start ogling his body. You subconsciously drop your hands as you take in the occasional nicks and scars on his torso. You want to touch all of them, you want to touch all of him. He looks so handsome and soft, and those imperfections all but stunt his attractiveness. You reach out and touch a scar located beneath his ribs, watching his face to make sure it's okay for you to touch him this way, and he shows his approval by doing the same to you. The only difference is you squeak at the slightly ticklish sensation.

"Sorry." You smile, sheepishly, before retracting your hand.

He shakes his head. "You're cute." It was more meant to assure you than fluster you, yet there you were, throwing yourself back onto the pillow with your hands covering your face and your forearms blocking your breasts once again. You're so deep in thought that you don't pay any mind to all the shuffling going on as Toji rids himself of the rest of his clothes.

It's as if the air is knocked out of your lungs when you see the heavy thing Toji packs. It's red and swollen at the tip, and the sight of precum spilling makes your heart race. You feel some burst of pride as you imagine that you're the one making him react this way, but this doesn't sway you from your thoughts of how this could possibly work out for either of you.

"That- Um... How- Mmm..." you buffer, as you struggle to figure out how to bring up the matter without seeming like you're chickening out on him.

He laughs, wholeheartedly, at the expression on your face. You look unsettled, yet curious, and your loss for words only adds on to the picture of innocence he holds for you. "Oh, sweetheart," he says through short remnants of laughter. "You're gonna make my ego burst, if you keep that up." He massages your hips, taking note of the way you press your thighs together at the simple touch. "Ever had an actual dick in there, doll?" There's not an ounce of jest in the question. He just wants to know if you've experienced anything past fingering and oral.

You nod, and your heart thrashes in your chest. Would your response change his view on you? Would he treat you with more roughness because you've gone all the way with some of your past lovers? It was a scary thing to think about, despite the way his thumbs lovingly continued to apply pressure to your hips, like it was a step in your preparation for taking him.

Toji just nods in understanding. He doesn't blame any of the men who got to you before him. With all your amazing qualities and that pretty face of yours, who wouldn't want to stick you? Regardless, based on your reaction, he doubts you've been with a man as... well endowed as him.

"I'll be gentle with you, baby, like you're losing your precious flower all over again." He watches your shoulders gradually drop, your body somewhat relaxed due to his touch and his verbal reassurance. "Let's get these off, yeah?" He says, tugging at your underwear. You lift your hips for him and allow him to roll the garment down your legs. You're just as bare as him, yet you feel the vulnerability at a different volume.

His eyes are glued to the glossiness of your cunt, and all he can think about is what you'll sound like and what you'll look like when you'll filled with him.

"So pretty, mama," he says, thumbing at your slit. "A fucking work of art," he adds when you start squirming like you're sensitive to the combination of his words and touch.

"Toji, no-" your arms are just a bit short of the distance necessary to stop him from sticking his thumb in his mouth.

"Fuck," he growled when your taste coated the tip of his tongue. He had to go back in for more, this time eating straight from the honey pot. He couldn't stop. Not until there was enough of you on his tongue to be swallowed.

You thought this was it. That he would forget about wanting to be inside you when he was too distracted trying to make his palate memorize your taste. Then the muscle halted and you experienced a mini heart attack with the way he uttered "kiss me" with the urgency of a deadline that's past due.

He wasted no time raising himself and looming over you again, his cock making contact with your body for the first time. The kiss was filled with heavy breathing coming from both of you due to the way he slid his length through your slit, back and forth. You could taste yourself on his tongue, which was exactly what Toji was aiming for. A distraction for you with a taste he'll never be able to properly describe. A distraction as he glides his cock between your sticky folds, one last time, before he's directing the tip towards your entrance. You turn your face away to break the kiss, whimpering when he nudges his tip just a little further into you, enough so that you don't push him out and force him to start over.

"I know... I know, princess," he coos, taking in the quiver of your lips. "Put your hands on me. On my arms, my shoulders—whatever you can grip onto that isn't my dick." He grins at the soft laugh that accompanies your misty eyes, and soon enough your hands are on his biceps. They trail up to his shoulders when he dips down to kiss you again. "You can taste yourself, huh?" He mumbles into the corner of your lips, driving more of his length into you, as you respond with a hum and a nod.

"So sweet, doll..." he murmurs, locking lips with you again afterwards. He pushes another inch of his cock into you, swallowing your pained whimpers and squeaks. Rather than digging your nails into his skin, you found yourself losing the strength to even grab onto him. Your shaky fingers peeled off his shoulders and your heels dipped into the mattress. You let out shaky breaths through your nose, which Toji does not ignore. "Mm..." he hums, lips smacking as he releases your lips. "Fuck," he groans. "You got it, mama. Taking it so well. So fucking well, sweetheart." His brows subconsciously crease at the sight of tears spilling from the corners of your eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Sorry," you repeat, using your palm to wipe away the tears. You chuckle, the sound coming out congested. "It's stupid," you mumble, as more tears fill your waterline.

"Hard part's almost over, baby. Promise it'll feel better in a sec." He leans forward to kiss away your new wave of tears, wiping the trails of dampness with the rough pad of his thumb. "It's gonna be so good. Soooo good, baby." He grins when you giggle at the elongated word, and kisses your temple while working the remainder of his length into you. "That's it, that's it- fuck, doll," he mutters, releasing the animalistic groan that's been trapped in his chest for the duration of the time it took to sheathe himself into you. He couldn't bring himself to brag about how good he was feeling when your pretty face was warped by discomfort, but it didn't change the fact that he felt everything. He felt the tightness that was accompanied by borderline rejection from your lack of custom to his cock, he felt the clenching that came with the seemingly never ending intrusion, and he felt your clammy little fingers on his burning skin, until they slid off.

You felt a familiar ache between your thighs, one that replicated your first time, but Toji wasn't lying when he said he'd treat you like you were going through that experience. If he were anyone but your lover, he could've been less careful, yet there he was, wiping your tears and encouraging you to get through the initial struggle in order to get what he wanted to give you from the start.

"All good, ma? Too much?" He asks in search of your verification. He's surveying your now more relaxed features, waiting for your response.

"That's it, right?" you ask, blinking up at him.

"That's it," he confirms, warmth radiating in his gaze.

You let out the biggest sigh, the gesture lifting a good pound off your shoulders. You've been holding your breath the entire time, taking everything for the sake of being good for Toji.

"I can feel you in my guts," you say, jokingly to relieve some of the tension in the situation.

"Good or bad?"

"Anymore and you'll be able to wrap my intestines around it," you add, a lighthearted giggle leaving you.

He laughs through his nose, an unshakeable grin on his face. "Silly girl. Think you can handle some movement?"

You nod, absorbing the glint in his eyes at your agreement. With that, he drags himself out of you, before slowly feeding himself in again. You gasp, immediately flushing at the sound of your voice. You felt more embarrassed now that Toji was able to watch your face.

"M-More... please...?" You managed to squeak out.

"Okay, doll," he says, increasing the pace a little.

Toji's rhythm was tweaked until the noises you tried so hard to keep to a minimum, could no longer be contained. Your whimpers were released into the open air, moans flowing smoothly with every push and pull of his hips. Your breasts were covered in his spit and purpling marks.

"God- Don't look-" you pant, rapidly. "Please... stop staring..." You were flustered beyond repair, your palms coming up to cover your flushed face.

"Let me-" he starts, cut off by a grunt. "Fuck, let me see that pretty face," he tries again, the words coming out raspy. "You either take down those hands or i'll do it for you, doll."

"N-No, please," you beg, a visible shudder reverberating through your body. Having him watch you this close was driving you insane. You felt like he was gonna eat you alive.

"Take them down. Last time i'm gonna say it."

Toji was never mean to you. He liked teasing the hell out of you in good fun, but nothing could ever make him intentionally hurt you or make you feel lesser. Even this sternness came from the pit of his heart.

"Three..."

"Please, no."

"Two..."

"B-Baby," you call, in an attempt to distract him. It made a good reach but he had to shake it off.

"One... Now you've temporarily lost the use of your arms," he says, effortlessly pulling your hands away from your face, pinning them beside your head with his own enormous hands. He instantly captures the flourishing red on your cheeks. "You're so cute, ma. What are you hiding yourself from me for? Huh?"

You think you might die with the way he's gripping onto your soul through the way he holds eye contact. Unwavering, intense, just borderline debilitating.

"Please, Toji. Don't look at me like that."

"I want to. You're so pretty, it's getting me off, doll." He groans, the clench of your cunt around his cock squeezing him so well. "I know it's doing things to you, too. You like being watched by me, baby?"

You've never felt so good that your eyes rolled back into your head. To say that you were in heaven was an understatement for what you truly felt, because it happened then and there, for the first time. Those pretty eyes that normally freeze in shock or widen in surprise, were reduced to white cue balls, fluttering shut to prolong the inevitable acknowledgment of the sight by Toji. You inhale sharply, releasing the breath, shakily.

"Fuuuck, princess..." he practically growls. "That was enough of an answer. Holy fuck." He smirks at the way you avoid his gaze after the matter, your mouth still slightly ajar as you release those doubled little breaths. "So good- Such a good fucking girl," he speaks into your jaw, his ability to hear you enhancing when you start breathing and moaning beside his ear. "Fuck, gonna cum, doll. Where do you want it?"

"God... fuck it into me," you babble, so confidently, almost mindlessly.

"Yeah? Want me to fuck it into you?" He purrs, lips sucking on your sensitive skin.

"Mhm," you hum quietly, the high pitch confirming your pleasure ridden daze. Your nails have left enough indentations in your palms to need caring for after you both finish, so you uncurl your fingers and try to loosen Toji's grip on your wrist.

"Can't have you covering your pretty face again, baby. N-Not when i'm so close," he reproves, unlatching himself from your jaw to stare into your shiny eyes. You somehow managed to get what you wanted, anyway. His left hand dragged up your wrist, and over your palm before lacing his fingers between yours, effectively keeping it pinned to the bed while satisfying your need for more tenderness. "You sure, doll? I can't stop it once it happens," he says, desperate for your response as his orgasm gets closer.

"Please, Toji..." you confirm, squeezing his hand. Within a couple seconds he gives you everything he has. He sounds like someone who's been deprived of physical intimacy for too long, the gasps and hitched breaths he leaks bringing a tremble to your chest with how hard your heart is beating against your ribcage.

"Oh fuck, baby... baby." He lets out a short, deep laugh, ragged breaths expelled from his mouth as he thrusts significantly more slowly into you, pushing his warm seed further with every roll of his hips. He leans down to connect his lips with you, releasing your left wrist to drag his right hand down between where you both connect. He rubs your clit rapidly, swallowing the little whimpers you hum into his mouth as he rapidly works to bring you another orgasm. "Cum," he whispers, only pausing the languid entanglement of your lips for the purpose of getting the single word out. As if you were compelled by him, your walls violently spasmed around his length and you released all over him.

Toji responded to all your unfinished thoughts and unabashed moans, with nodding and humming to assure you that your rambling was being heard. He lured out all your pleasure, only stopping when you cried out little pleas for mercy, your stomach quivering and your legs twitching.

Toji returned his index and middle fingers to the pulse point on your neck, staring at you as he felt your heartbeat tap rapidly against his fingertips. He wordlessly watched with a smirk on his face, until your little huffs subsided and your heartbeat somewhat regulated.

"My little bunny," he teases, that sly, fox-like grin undying.

Your cheeks burned with every second that his gaze lingered on your face. All you could do was let out a small whine at the nickname before pushing his hand away from your neck.

He pulls out of you, taking in the tremble of your thighs that accompanies the new vacancy of your cunt. You let out a final sigh, before completely stilling on the bed. He ran two fingers between your slit, smearing your combined mixture of fluids on your inner thighs and stomach. You couldn't argue about the messiness when your pussy fluttered at the gesture.

Toji lets himself fall into place beside you, immediately bringing you close to him again. He blinks, not knowing how to phrase what he feels in the moment. He feels good, happy, satisfied, and everything in between. You're glowing right before him. He can see himself in your eyes from how much they shine.

"Doll, stay." He lets out the breath caught in his chest, bringing a warm hand to the dulcet features on your face.

"Hm?" You heard him, but you want him to be sure. You like to believe you know Toji's mannerisms well enough, and this is a test for one of them. You know that if he's not sure about something or if he's second guessing himself, he won't repeat what he said.

"I want you to stay," he repeats, shutting down your doubts. His thumb tenderly grazes your cheek. "Stay and freshen up with me before bed. I've always wanted to hear your morning voice."

You furrow your brows in confusion, a soft smile still gracing your face. "You've heard my morning voice. I've stayed over before."

He smirks. "That's not how I mean it, baby. You'll find out tomorrow if you stay."

"Oh. Oh... Jeez, Toji." You can't even look at him. There's a familiar look of innocence on your face, one that Toji loves more than you'll ever know. Your eyes get all glassy and your cheeks start glowing red. You start giggling at every little thing, not able to move past such an indirectly vulgar thing so quickly.

He pulls you even closer, a grin on his face as your noses touch. "Stay," he repeats, again. "You know you want to." He lures a giggle out of you with this. "And I want you here."

You break. You were never gonna say no, but it was becoming increasingly harder to withhold your response. "Okay, okay."

"Yeah?" He pecks your lips. "You're gonna stay?" He places another quick kiss.

"Ye- To-" He keeps interrupting you with rapid, chaste kisses. "Toji." You giggle. "I'm staying!"

"I knew that."

[vivwritesfics]

Little Terrors

Lando Norris wants to jump his wife's bones. She has to remind him of the consequences of unprotected sex

Dad!Lando

God, his wife looked so sexy. After three kids, she still had it. But that wasn't a surprise to him, he knew she was damn sexy, and she always would be.

Even when she wasn't trying.

No, she was just sitting on the bed, reading her book. (Faerie smut, she'd read chapter fifty-five to him and he'd been horrified. That was what his wife was into?)

Her old pyjamas, stretched out and slipping down her body, not hiding much at all, looked so damn sexy on her. It had him crawling across the bed towards her.

He pushed her book away and pressed tender kisses to her lips. "Can I?" He whispered, pawing at her pyjamas like a horny teenager.

She giggled at him and let him pull her pyjama top over her head. Immediately, he kissed down her chest, hips desperately grinding against the bed sheets. "Lan," she laughed, hands moving through his curls. "Go and get a condom."

He pulled away from her to search through his bedside table for the packet of condoms. The empty packet of condoms. "Shit," He mumbled as he sat back.

She took the box from his hands, checking to see if it really was empty. "Oh, baby," she mumbled as she tugged at his curls again. "We can get some and try again tomorrow night."

But then his eyes lit up and he grinned. "Or we could just not use any protection," he suggested and attached his lips to her neck, trying to convince her.

The laugh that escaped her lips couldn't be considered pretty, but Lando still loved it. "Are you joking me?" She asked as she pushed him away. "You really want another child? Did you forget about the three devil spawns we already have?"

The Personal Massager

"Dad?"

Lando hummed as he drank his coffee. "What do you want, Wy?" He asked his six year old son and oldest child.

He sat back in his seat and turned his attention to Wyatt Norris. He had his dads same curls but, other than that, he was almost the spitting image of his mother.

He was damn cute and could probably get away with murder.

When Lando looked up and saw what Wyatt had in his hands, his face fell. "Do you think mum would mind if I borrowed her massager?" He asked so damn innocently.

Lando's face paled. "Yeah, Wy. She'd be very upset if you borrowed her massager," he said and tried to snatch it away from his son.

But Wyatt saw the way his father's expression changed. And now it was time for some fun.

He held it behind his back, away from his father. "Are you sure?" He asked. "I don't think she'll mind. Can you call her so I can ask her?"

"No, Wyatt! Give it here!" He tried again to reach for it, but Wyatt went running through the house. Forgetting his coffee, Lando chased after him.

It was all just fun and games to little Wyatt Norris. He didn't realise what he had in his hands, didn't know that he had to put it down! "Wyatt! Come back here!" His father roared as he chased him up the stairs.

Wyatt giggled as he tried to shut himself in his bedroom. But Lando caught the door and threw it open. Wyatt looked at his father, ready to laugh at him, but the look on his face had him falling quiet. His dad was the good cop, the one that didn't get angry. But, right now, Wyatt knew he was in for it.

"Give it," Lando said, holding out his hand.

Wyatt placed the... massager in his fathers hands and awaited his punishment. "Grounded," Lando said, immediately.

"Why?" He asked, but Lando didn't answer, didn't get stuck in that loop. One response to why, and it was all Lando was going to be hearing for the rest of the way.

The Paddock

Lando's little princess could do no wrong. She was the youngest of three, barely old enough to talk, but she already knew she had her father wrapped around her little finger.

Lando loved taking his kids to the track. His boys holding onto him in some way while he carried Arabella to the McLaren garage. His fellow drivers stopped the three of them to say hello to the boys and coo at just how cute Ari Norris was.

She really was cute, but that was what made her so damn dangerous.

For once, the boys were on their best behaviour as Lando took them into the McLaren garage. He almost couldn't believe it, but he stayed quiet. The moment he was to say something, they would have been running around, out of control.

He sat the boys in his drivers room with something to read while he carried Arabella around the garage on his hip.

"There she is," Oscar called as he grinned across the garage. Oscar Piastri loved Arabella Norris. But Arabella Norris did not love Oscar Piastri.

He cooed as he approached and Arabella giggled as she reached towards him. Acting as though she loved him. Nobody was ready for what was to come.

As soon as Ari was settled in her Uncle Oscar's arms, her face went red, screwed up, and she started screaming. Her cries were so damn loud, echoing through the garage.

It was an awful, horrible sound. Oscar's eyes went wide as he stared at the screaming child in his arms. "Lando!" He called, but not much could be heard over Ari's screaming.

But, the moment Lando heard his daughter screaming, he was making his way back across the garage. "C'mon, Ari," he mumbled as he took her and kissed the top of her head. "It's just your Uncle Osc." But there was no way she could hear him.

Sighing, Lando took her back to his drivers room. He bounced her until she calmed enough to fall asleep against him.

Arabella Norris wanted attention from her father and nobody else. The moment somebody that wasn't her father was holding her (with the occasional exception of her mother), she was screaming the house down for him.

The Broken Stuff

Hugo Norris was the clumsiest child in the world.

"Are you sure you've got it?" His mother asked as he began walking out of the kitchen with a glass of lemonade in his hands.

Hugo rolled his eyes. But the second he had done it, his face was flushing and he was full of regret. He should not have done that. "I got it, mama," he said and walked out of the kitchen.

For a little while, everything was fine. Mrs Norris listened out for the unmistakable sound of glass shattering as she cleaned up from lunch. But it never came, and she released a relieved breath.

But then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of glass shattering. "Oops," came Hugo's voice. His mother didn't hear it, though. She grabbed the dustpan and brush and went rushing to the room her middle child had disappeared into.

"Oh, Hugo," she mumbled.

Hugo didn't even have socks on. Placing the dustpan and brush down, she grabbed her child and carried him out of the room, placing him in the hallway. "I'll get you another drink in a minute, Hugs," she said and sent him up to his room (he wasn't in trouble, she just needed a moment to clean up.)

While she cleared up the shattered glass, things were quiet. Wyatt was reading in his room, Arabella was down for a nap, and Hugo was waiting for her to bring him a drink in a plastic cup. She loved her clumsy child, even if he was a little exhausting sometimes.

She didn't hear the second crash over the sound of the hoover, collecting up the tiny bits of glass that she couldn't see with her naked eye. Didn't realise anything had been broken until she headed upstairs with another drink for Hugo.

One of Lando's trophies was in several pieces on the floor. "Oh, Hugo," she mumbled for the second time that day. She walked a little further down the hall and knocked on Hugo's door.

When she pushed the door open, Hugo was hiding beneath his blankets. "Baby," she said as she sat on the end of the bed and placed the water on his bedside table. "Tell me honestly, did you break your fathers trophy?"

He sniffled. "He's gonna be so mad," He cried.

She shook her head. "No, baby. He'll understand and we can always get it fixed. You know, your father used to break trophies back in the day."

Hugo pulled the blanket away from his head. "He did?"

She laughed and launched into the story.

Back to the bedroom

The Norris's laughed as they recounted the stories of their little terrors. "Okay," Lando said, tossing the empty box of condoms to the floor. "Maybe we could do with one more," he said as he rested his body on top of her own. "What do you say mamas? Wanna make another?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. "One more couldn't hurt, I suppose," she giggled and kissed him.

That night, and every night for the next few weeks, was what led to her pregnancy. But it was expected and it was what they had wanted. Just one more baby.

Just. The. One.

At her twelve week scan, they found out they were having twins. Oh, she was going to kill her husband.

[stylesharrys]

Say it Right [Roommaterry/Fratrry]

When Harry’s delinquent behaviour gets him transferred to a new college, he and Y/N (who seem polar opposites) form a strange kind of relationship. 

A/N: another old Patreon exclusive for you darlings. This is another long fic so get some snacks ready! I forgot how cocky and full of himself Harry is in this but tbh it’s just standard for Fratrry I guess lmao. I hope you enjoy besties!! <3

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, slight mentions of unwanted attention (someone trying to force kiss Y/N), smut; oral (male receiving), kissing, teasing, dirty talk, masturbation (both male and female), v v cocky Harry, consumption of alcohol, brief descriptions of a fist fight, a fair amount of angst 

WC: 23.6k

//

It’s midday when he arrives on campus. Dark, swooping curls sit on top of his head and they bounce a little from the breeze of the wind. It’s a little chilly out, that crisp May air, and he’s only wearing a green t-shirt and some black running shorts, but he doesn’t feel the bite of the chill.

He’s taking his time to look around the parking lot. There are a few nice cars — an Audi and a Range Rover a little closer to the main building, and Harry supposes they belong to the ones living off their Daddy’s credit cards. He scoffs to himself.

His tattooed arms and hard-set jaw are quick to catch the attention of a few girls passing by, whispers slipping past their pretty lips and Harry can’t help but smirk to himself. He knows the effect he has on women, specifically their nether regions and he’s known to use it to his full advantage.

But being unbelievably good-looking and a known Bad Boy doesn’t always get him what he wants. Which is why he’s scuffing his feet as he walks into the Administrator’s Office of yet another prestigious college. He’s still confused about how he got here in the first place after losing his scholarship back at NYU, but he supposes it probably has something to do with the fact that his Aunt is the Dean of the place.

He knows he’s getting unfair treatment, that others work their fucking asses off for this place to even look their way, but he’s not exactly bothered by it. He’s getting what he wants for half the work and isn’t about to bitch about it.

“Harry Styles. I was told to come here and get my schedule and key.” He huffs out, solid arms folding over the high desk in the reception and the young girl behind it stares up at him for a moment. 

She’s completely caught off guard, saliva stuck in her throat at the sight of him and she shakes her head and stares back down at her computer, typing away and trying to compose herself.

Harry can’t help the arrogant smirk that appears on his lips. She’s pretty, really pretty, actually. Big brown doe eyes and long wavy hair. Her skin looks soft, lips plump and glossy and he wonders what they’d feel like wrapped around his co—

“Harry Styles as in… Cathy Styles’ nephew?” 

And there it is, the question of the day. He purses his lips and nods his head, noticing the way her pretty eyes light up and she beams a bright smile. “You’re all everyone’s been talking about.” She tells him, bottom lip caught between her pearly teeth and Harry grins, condescending.

He leans forward a little, raising his brows just enough for it to be suggestive and with a ducked head and a low voice, he tells her, “It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

And he’s pretty sure he can hear her gushing beneath that stupid fucking desk.

Her cheeks brighten beneath the layer of makeup painting her skin and Harry’s eyes trail from her face to her chest. He bites at his own lip at her perfectly round tits just spilling out of her blouse and he wonders how that wasn’t the first thing he saw.

Before he can say anything else, his name is being called in an all too sharp and familiar tone to his Mother and he stills, turning with a sigh. Catherine Rose Styles stands across from him with an unamused glance and arms folded across her chest. She’s in a pantsuit that Richie no doubt got her for her birthday this year and her long hair has been cut short since the last time he saw her.

“Hey, Auntie Cathy.” Harry grins. 

Though he’s smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world, his heart is stammering in his chest because she’s the one who will make or break his future, and though he won’t admit it, he’s not prepared to be deemed a failure by his own family.

“Harry.” She greets, voice stern but he knows she’s trying to be professional, knows she really just wants to scoop him up in her arms and he’s thankful for the former.

Cathy eyes the receptionist sceptically and clears her throat. “Danielle, close your mouth.” She quips and the girl blushes bright red, staring at her computer screen and sinking further down in her chair a little.

An amused smirk tugs at the corners of Harry’s lips and he follows his Aunt out of the reception and into her office. It’s fairly sized, a big bay window behind her desk that looks out to what Harry presumes is the quad. Her walls are decorated in a few certificates and diplomas and there are at least five bookcases that stare back at Harry, almost mocking him for not being able to pronounce the titles even if he tried.

“Glad you showed up.” Cathy begins, taking a seat behind her desk.

Harry watches her for a moment, the way her perfectly manicured fingers point to the chair opposite her and he lets out a short huff of breath and takes the seat.

“Didn’t really have a choice,” he grumbles and he knows he’s being sour. 

Cathy gives him a pointed look—the same look his mother gives him when he’s said something he probably wasn’t supposed to—and folds her arms over the top of the desk.

“You can cut out the attitude, I’ll tell you that right now.” She tells him, voice calm and expression void. 

Harry isn’t sure if that’s scarier than her being angry or disappointed, but he knows he doesn’t want to find out.

He sighs and rolls his head back, pinching his eyes closed. He knows that his Aunt is stubborn and strong-willed, something she and Richie share very clearly, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise to Harry but he can’t help but feel he’s at home again, being moaned at.

Catherine Styles is not a force to be fucked with. She’s lethal when needs to be and still knows how to have a good time. She was the troublemaker out of her and Harry’s father growing up, and maybe that’s why Richie sent him to her because he knows she can relate to him and maybe talk some sense.

She watches her nephew for a moment as he tries to calm himself down. He isn’t angry, they both know that. But he’s fucked off and tired and just wants to get on with whatever the fuck he needs to get on with. Cathy gets the hint when he rolls his head back down to face her, eyes a little darker than before and if she squints just hard enough, she’s sure she can see them glossing over.

She swallows back what she wants to say and reaches for a sealed, brown envelope, twisting it and her fingers gently push it across the desk so Harry can reach it. 

He furrows his brows at her. 

“It’s your schedule and campus map. I already got you the books you’ll need. The receipts are in there, you just have to pick them up from the library.” She explains.

Harry’s frown only deepens when he pulls out the map and receipts and a little silver key falls out, clanking against the table and the plastic of the little keyring bounces as it does so. He picks the dainty thing up between his thumb and forefinger, inspecting it like he’s never seen one before.

The little trinket is white, Greek blocked writing in the centre of it. ZΘΨ. Harry lets out a humorous chuckle and dangles the keyring in his Aunts face. 

“You’re housing me in a Frat house? You sure that’s the best decision.”

He’s grinning, knows exactly what kind of parties and girls that can be found at Frat houses and he thinks he might’ve hit the jackpot and his Aunt is too naive to see it.

“It’s not a Fraternity, and I’m not babying you, Harry. You get three strikes, and you’re out.” She tells him, snatching the key from his grasp and throwing it at his chest. 

He doesn’t feel the impact as it sits in his lap, and all he can do is raise a brow.

“Now go to the house and get yourself settled in, I have a University to run.” She tells him, and just like that, he’s back in his Jeep, key in his hand and he stares at little Greek fraternity symbols for a moment too long. 

He doesn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, it’ll be great chances for drunken parties and getting his dick sucked, but on the other, he’ll have to live with other people and something about that just doesn’t sit well with him.

Nevertheless, he follows the map Cathy gave him to the destination of his new temporary home that she’s circled with a bright red marker. The little roads that surround the campus are quiet for this time of day, and Harry begins to wonder just who he was going to be moving in with. One thing was for sure, he can’t handle any fucking jocks. No way.

It’s even quieter when he pulls up outside of the house, and his Jeep is drowning in its enormous shadow. He can tell it won’t just be him and a couple of other guys, and he knows his Aunt is already cackling to herself at the thought of his face right now.

Harry groans and kills the engine anyway, rubbing a hand through his tousled hair. He’s pulling his keys out as he opens the door, hurling out of the Jeep and slamming it shut.

He wants to delay this whole process as much as he can, but the air is getting colder and Harry would much rather be inside than stuck in the cold and the rain when he notices the looming storm clouds above him.

With a huff, he rounds the back of the Jeep and pulls the trunk door open. He’s hauling out three duffle bags of clothing to start with and tugging out his slick black guitar case. He holds the bags in one hand and gently places the case on the curb, closings the trunk and picking it back up.

He’s kicking his booted feet against the ground as he slowly steps onto the path. The veins in his arms are protruding from the weight of his things, and he’s fairly certain his biceps might actually tear through his shirt at any given moment.

The closer he gets, the more the house looms over him. It’s bigger as he walks the steps of the front of it, and the whole ordeal is just a little more daunting than it was when he was sitting in his car.

Harry doesn’t do neves, never has and likely never will. When he was growing up, his mother always told him ‘nerves mean you care’, but as he approaches the front door, he feels something unfamiliar in the pit of his stomach.

He’s sure it isn’t nervous, though. Blames it on the fact that he hasn’t eaten in over seven hours and his mothers’ persistent warnings just an hour before he left for this hellhole. He’s not upset with her, never could be, but he wishes she stood up for him more when his father sent him away.

He knows it was a long shot to move to New York for college, and he knew it was a matter of time before he lost his scholarship and got kicked out. It all came tumbling down and Harry was willing to stay put but when his father showed up and dragged him back home, he had no choice but to listen and attend Mildred University. .

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the chatter from the inside of the house, and it’s only when he looks up from his feet that he finally notices the front door is open and a tall blond and short brunette are standing by the threshold.

The blond clears his throat and Harry sets his bags and guitar by his feet on the porch. “Harry, right?” He asks and Harry nods his head with slightly squinted eyes.

Niall Horan, a history and economics major, holds his hand out in greeting and offers a grin. “Niall. Nice to meet you.” Harry eyes his hand for a moment before nodding his head a little and shaking his hand.

“Yeah, you too.” He’s weary when he speaks and his eyes soon flicker to the short brunette by his side. 

She’s got a cute button nose and soft brown eyes, long straight hair and half of it sits in a bun on top of her head. Harry can’t help the cheeky grin that sneaks its way on his pink lips and he sees the way she blushes under his gaze.

“I’m Maisee.” She introduces herself with a little wave. She’s nibbling on her red-stained bottom lip and her dainty fingers play with the sleeves of her tousled blouse that’s tucked into her denim shorts.

He nods and swipes his tongue out against his lips. “Harry.” He repeats his name, momentarily forgetting Niall is still standing there until he clears his throat again and Harry finally acknowledges his presence for more than just twenty seconds.

“You want some help with your stuff?” He offers, pointing to his bags and Harry nods, watching as Maisee wanders off, grinning back at him over her shoulder.

Harry bites his bottom lip and grabs his guitar and other duffel bag and follows Niall inside his new home. 

“Don’t get any ideas with her. She’s great, and all, but she’s bad news.” Niall tells him gruffly. Harry hums, not really taking the information in, too busy looking around.

The walls are a light, dusty grey and aesthetically white and black furniture decorate the emptiness. He’s shocked at the cleanliness of the home and with furrowed brows, he follows Niall through the foyer and into the equally clean kitchen.

“Dude, why is this place so clean?” Harry asks, nose slightly scrunched up when he notices three more people in the room. 

He’s standing beneath the archway as everyone stops what they’re doing to look at him. Niall sets his bags down beside the centre island and lets out a soft laugh.

“That’d be Y/N.” Niall laughs out. 

He rounds the island and searches through the fridge for two beers, handing one to Harry who takes it thankfully and pops it open. He frowns and takes a sip.

“Who’s that? Your maid?” He quips and he doesn’t mean it rudely, for once. He’s curious as to how a Frat house is so clean and organised, and by the looks of Niall, he doesn’t seem one to have his shit together.

Maisee laughs from her place at the stove. She’s stirring a large pot of pasta and Harry presumes that maybe she’s on lunch duty. Is that a thing in this house? 

“No, she’s a student and she lives here. Her OCD flares up sometimes so this place is always spotless.” She explains, not bothering to look over her shoulder and Harry can’t help but frown to himself over her sudden sense of coldness.

“You mean… girls… live here?” He asks. 

He knows he sounds like some hormonal teenager but he’s more than shocked that his Aunt would allow him to live in a house with a practically endless supply of pussy, whenever he wanted it.

“Yeah. It’s only Y/N, Maisee, and Raegan,” Niall begins to explain, pointing to the blonde that sits at the table, head in a book. She waves a hand over her head, looking up for a couple of seconds to offer Harry a smile.

He nods his head in affirmation and looks back to Niall. “Then there’s us guys. Me, you, Dean,” he points to the guy that’s reading a magazine. His hair is styled back into a quiff and he’s wearing skinny jeans and a shirt.

“There’s Mackey, he’s at a class right now. And Oliver is on a grocery run.” Niall explains. 

Harry takes a moment to nod his head. He knows there’s no use even trying to remember these names, knows he’s not going to be talking to them much.

“Where’s Lily?” He asks as he eyes the group. Ah, wrong already. Niall stifles a laugh and shakes his head, noticing the death glares that Raegan seems to be sending him over the top of her book.

“Her name is Y/N.” She corrects him, brows slightly scrunched and as quickly as she interjected, she returns her attention back to her book. 

Harry raises a brow at her boldness, then he realises that none of them actually know who he is and maybe he’s a little relieved about that.

“Y/N is at work. She picked up a double so she should be home for about 10 p.m., in the meantime, let me show you to your room.”

//

It’s 11 p.m. and Harry’s all unpacked in his new bedroom. The walls are bare and his closet is only partly full, but he’s unpacked. He’s got his laptop set up on his desk and he’s made his bed to the best of his ability. His toiletries are in his bathroom and the steam is still pouring out of the room from his shower twenty minutes ago. He supposes next time he’ll open a window.

He’s dressed in a pair of gym shorts, laying back on his bed with his back against the headboard and his acoustic guitar sitting in his lap. He’s strumming softly at the strings and he thinks he might’ve found a melody until a soft tapping on his door stops him from following the feeling.

He sighs and places the guitar in his bed, quickly tugging on a black t-shirt and pushing back his wanton curls when he opens the door to her.  

She’s pretty, he supposes. Her hair is thrown in a ponytail and her rounded eyes sparkle as they stare up at him. She’s got full lips and a little crook in the bridge of her nose. Her face is void of makeup save for a little mascara and brow powder, and Harry can see the little blemishes that scatter her cheeks.

She’s short, too, Harry reckons no taller than 5”7 and her left front tooth slightly overlaps the right. She’s got that good girl look about her and for once, Harry’s not interested in corrupting it. He raises his brow and she drinks him in. 

He’s tall and lean, muscular, she’s sure and his biceps are begging to tear through his shirt. His jaw is sharp and skin clear, and his lips look so soft and pink. What gets her most, are his curls. They’re fluffy and wild and she can’t help but want to run her fingers through them.

Maisee told her he had a bad boy vibe, but right now, she can’t see anything other than soft. 

“Welcome to Mildred University,” she greets him softly, and he’s pleasantly shocked by her voice. 

It isn’t as sickeningly sweet as he had thought. It’s a little raspy and velvety at the same time and completely unexpected to Harry.

“I’m Y/N.” She introduces herself with a hand out for him to take. 

He does, hesitantly. Her skin is soft on his and she beams brightly up at him, despite just having worked a fourteen-hour shift on three hours of sleep and a slice of dry toast from this morning. Not to mention she still has to study for her test tomorrow morning.

“Harry.” He greets, smiling through pursed lips and she releases his hand. 

She smells like flowers and if it wasn't for the florist apron covering her front, he would’ve thought she'd been laying in a field all day.

“You work in a flower shop?” He quips, and suddenly she’s so cliche. 

A good girl working in a flower shop, what a surprise. Y/N stills at his tone and retracts her hand, fiddling with her fingers and she retracts her gaze from his face.

She clears her throat and looks back up at him. “Yeah, gotta pay the bills somehow.” She jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but she knows he’s probably going to be a dick about it and tease her.

He nods. “But we’re all living here for free.” He retorts. 

Y/N sighs and closes her eyes for a moment. Yes, they’re all living there for free. Maisee’s father is the owner of the building and promised her and her housemates could live free of charge, providing there’s no complaints or drugs.

She scratches her forehead. “Yeah, but we have cars to pay for, groceries, books, supplies… you know.” She trails off and Harry can tell by the way she doesn’t look him in the eye that she’s hiding something. 

“And besides, I like flowers.” She tells him and this time her voice is a little harder and there’s a tick in her jaw.

Part of him wants to tease her and he isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s just his inner dick showing but the way he’s speaking to her makes the young woman feel uncomfortable and she feels so unworthy to be under his gaze.

He’s not bothered, really. But his Aunt's words continue to play in his head and he knows he has to keep out of trouble and not start upsetting people. Three strikes and he’s out, and he isn’t about to get his first one on his first night here.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say hello,” Y/N concludes, her stomach breaking into an uneasy herd of elephants and she’s sure she can taste the bitterness he’s protruding.

She spins on her feet before he can say anything else and Harry watches her disappear into the room next to his. Great, he thinks. We’re neighbours. With a huff, he kicks his door closed and bounces back on his bed, guitar sitting back in his lap as he plucks inspiration from nowhere.

From the other side of the wall, Y/N let’s out a breathy sigh and closes her bedroom door. She’s leaning against it as she tugs off her apron and unties the hair band in her hair. 

She struggles to calm her breathing and she isn’t sure why. She’s used to being intimidated by other people, but he’s doing it on a whole other level. Her body feels hot and her cheeks are flushing, and she’s certain she can feel a wetness between her legs.

“Cut it out, Y/N.” She tells herself, shaking her head and taking another deep breath. She’s stripping her clothes when her phone goes off and she quickly picks it up as she steps out of her shoes.

Maisee: Total hottie right?

Y/N giggles at her friend and she can’t help but nibble on her bottom lip. She’s running the water of her shower, waiting for the temperature to heat up as she quickly texts Maisee back.

Y/N: Gonna have to agree on that one lmao

Y/N: Don’t get any ideas, though! He’s our roommate and you can’t go whoring around with him, it’ll make it awkward for all of us here :/

Maisee: You’re only saying that cause you secretly wanna hop on that dick. God, you’re such a slut!

Y/N stifles out a laugh and shakes her head, phone thrown into the bed and she climbs into the shower. The water’s hot on her aching body and she takes her time to let the water run over her.

Her puffy nipples pearl beneath the hot water and she runs a hand through her hair, brushing it from her face. She feels hotter than before, chest heaving and she cups the swells of her breasts before her hands slowly travel down the expanse of her stomach, and she can’t help but wonder what it’d feel like if his curls were ticking her skin like her fingers.

Harry stills on his bed at the sound of a strange noise coming from the other room. He frowns, resting the guitar against his nightstand and slowly makes his way toward the wall opposite him.

He can hear the shower running and he knows it’s Y/N. He’s about to roll his eyes and wander off when he hears a soft groan and sharp intake of breath. His eyes widen and cheeks flush and he hears Y/N let out another shaky moan.

She’s showering and she’s touching herself. Harry gulps, entire body heating up and he’s not sure if his mouth is watering or if it’s growing dry. He feels a twinge of something familiar between his legs and by the time he looks down, there’s a small tent forming and he’s straining in his boxers.

Oh fuck.

//

Y/N Y/L/N is a people-pleaser. She doesn’t know how to say “no” and often finds herself swallowing back her discomfort to put others well -beings first. She’s always been like it, gets it from her mother, so it’s no surprise that she’s been dragged into yet another one of Maisee’s brilliant ideas.

“And you’re not skipping out halfway through, either.”

Y/N sighs to herself as she stacks the red solo cups. It’s Friday afternoon and her and Maisee are getting the house ready for Harry’s surprise party tonight. A week has passed since he moved in and after a little planning and cash spent on drinks, it was well and truly underway.

“I’m not gonna skip out. I already told you.” Y/N speaks softly, though she is wondering if maybe she’ll be able to sneak off toward the end of the night so she can get a head start on her paper due next Wednesday.

Maisee already seems to know what she’s thinking and she takes the plastic cups away from her fiddling hands. “I mean it, Y/N. As much as I love you and your anti-socialness, you need to get out a little more. And besides, I invited Chris, so you have to come.”

And just like that, Y/N’s gaping at her best friend. “Why did you invite Chris!?” She shrieks and Maisee lets out a scoff like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Um, ‘cause he’s into you… duh.” She frowns, twisting the bottle of liquor on the counter to read the names.

Y/N frowns to herself and lets out a shaky breath. “But I’m not into him. He freaks me out, Mais,” Y/N argues but she knows her pleads are falling on deaf ears. 

Maisee waves her off and shakes her head. As much as Y/N loves Maisee, she doesn’t love her attitude right now.

“He just likes you,” she argues back and Y/N has to take another deep breath in an attempt to shake off the anxiety that she can feel crawling up her chest. 

It’s typical Maisee, really. She knows how Y/N struggles with her anxieties and she’s always been one to show her the “tough love” side to it, and in the past, it’s worked. But now, all Y/N can feel is her chest caving in and her hands growing clamming and she knows she’s on the verge of a panic attack.

“One… two… three,” Y/N finds herself whispering under her breath, bottom lip quivering. 

“Blue,” she whispers, eyes darting around the room as she searches for three blue things. 

Mackey’s book, couch pillow, Harry’s shirt. She stills. Harry’s shirt? Harry. 

“Harry.” she squeaks out, hand reaching to smack Maisee in the side.

He’s standing in the doorway, dark hair tucked beneath a baseball cap that Maisee thinks looks like pure sex. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Harry! What are you doing here?” Maisee giggles out breathlessly. 

Y/N fights back the need to roll her eyes at her best friends whorish antics and Harry nibbles down on his lower lip.

“I live here… remember?” he jokes half-heartedly and she almost gushes at the sound. Y/N clears her throat and subtly nudges her friend’s side. 

“Thought you had classes till seven?” Y/N interjects, though she knows there’s no real use in lying about what they’re doing.

“Got cancelled.” He shrugs, wandering into the kitchen and grabbing a deep red apple from the fruit bowl. 

Y/N watches as he takes a bite out of it and lets out a sigh. She isn’t sure if she’s thankful she’s able to stop secretly setting up his party, or if she’s angry that he didn’t come home sooner.

“So… what’s all this?” He asks, hands gesturing to the mass of alcohol and party food and all Y/N can do is stare at his stupid head and wonder why he’s hiding his hair under that stupid cap. 

Before Maisee has the chance to fabricate a story, Y/N is blurting out that it’s his surprise party. Harry’s quirking a brow and taking another bite of his apple when Maisee sends her friend what can only be considered a death glare, but Y/N doesn’t exactly care. 

She doesn’t want to go to the party and she’s hoping that maybe Harry will force her to call it off with that stupidly charming smile.

“A party sounds fun.”

//

It’s warm and it smells. Y/N’s tucked herself in the kitchen the entire night as she’s kept away from the ruckus of horny college students. She’s got a cup of lemonade in her hand and she tries to fight back the urge to run upstairs and lock her door behind her.

The party has been in full swing for well over two hours now and Y/N is more than eager to leave. She hasn’t seen Harry since earlier this morning and she isn’t even sure if he’s actually here. Maisee is off with her second guy of the week and Y/N isn’t sure where the rest of her housemates are.

She’s been avoiding Chris all night, running out of the room whenever he enters it and she knows she’ll have to face him at one point, but that won’t stop her from trying to delay it. 

“Aye, Miss Y/N Jane, what are you doing here all on your pretty lonesome,” a husky voice booms through the kitchen and Y/N looks up from her cup.

Oliver and Mackey come bolting into the room, arms around their shoulders and they struggle to hold their drinks and keep their stability. Y/N’s heart warms at the happiness on her friends’ faces and she giggles to herself at just how far gone they seem.

“Too loud out there,” Y/N shrugs, welcoming the warm hugs that the young men give her. 

Mackey and Oliver Belford: aka, the hottest twins on campus but the brothers Y/N wishes she had. They both circle her and hold her close until she’s squished between them.

“Want me to make them be quiet?” Mackey asks, ruffling a hand through his golden locks and Y/N stifles out a laugh and shakes her head. 

“S’Okay, Mack. You two should go back in there, though. Go have fun!” She tells them and though they don’t mind staying with her, they wander off anyway and blow a kiss as they leave the room.

“Aye! Mackey, Olly!” Niall shouts out to his friends from across the room. 

He’s wearing a green tee with little holes decorating it and a pair of skinny jeans that sit low on his waist. The twins approach him with grins, hollering out greetings to the tall curly-haired man with them.

Harry’s having a good time, and to say he’s surprised is an understatement. He’s got a beer in his hand and a light blush to his cheeks. He knows it’s from the alcohol and the attention he’s been receiving all night, and he’s already got his eye on a pretty little brunette that’s been eye-fucking him from across the room for the past thirty minutes.

“Boys,” Harry greets them, and it’s like he’s known them for years. 

Mackey works with Harry at the garage on Thursdays and Saturdays, while Oliver majors in music and is tatted up to his shoulders, something Harry took a quick interest to and it wasn’t long before he was friendly with all the guys in the house.

“Styles, let me tell you something,” Mackey slurs as he slings his heavy arm over Harry’s shoulder, “I think you’re pretty cool, for a bad boy, and that little piece of ass over there is totally begging for it.” He snorts out a laugh and Oliver can’t help but shake his head and frown at his brothers choice of words.

Harry hums and sets his drink down on the mantelpiece of the fireplace. He’s enjoying himself, and maybe it’s because of the alcohol or the fact that he knows he’s getting his dick sucked tonight.

“Bro, I can’t believe you’re from Holmes Chapel and we’ve never met before. I used to visit my aunt every summer there.” Niall laughs out. 

He and Harry have grown closer over the past week, learning that somehow, they have a lot more in common than they thought.

They’re both into music, both like beer and parties. They share other smaller interests, too. Niall likes bikes and Harry fixes them. Niall likes tattoos and Harry has plenty. It’s definitely a blooming bromance and for once, Harry isn’t all that mad about it.

He’s kept to himself, aside from spending a few hours hanging out with Niall here and there. He supposes maybe one day he’ll open up a little more to him, but for now, hanging out in the present is enough, and he isn’t ready to drag his past into things.

Harry shrugs and stifles out a laugh, not wanting to tell him that he was in with the wrong crowd and was the reason for so many headlines that met the papers. 

“Guess our paths just never crossed,” he agrees, and he’s thankful for that. It’s only been a week and Niall is already more solid than Harry’s previous ’friends’.

“Gonna go grab some pizza.” He tells them, offering Niall a pat on the back and a tight-lipped smile to the twins. 

Harry weaves through the groups of people he doesn’t know, paw-like hands coming up to push back his hair. He breathes out a small sigh as he enters the quiet kitchen. The surfaces are smothered in splattered pizza slices and sticky alcohol and the thought of cleaning it in the morning gives Harry a brief headache, but he’s sure Y/N would have a whale of a time.

He’s unsure as to what his problem is with the girl but something about her irks him. No one is really that well put together or polite and kind. 

He hears muffled voices and hums from the utility room on his left as he wanders to the fridge to pull out a bottle of water, no longer in the mood for pizza, (not that there was any left anyway). 

He laughs to himself under his breath, the couple in the room no doubt too eager to wait until they’re home, and Harry’s about to leave the kitchen until he hears a desperate whimper and he stills.

He’s not so sure if it is a bunch of horny college students anymore when the pleas of “stop, I mean it,” come out louder and clearer, desperate and serious. His eyes widen and for a moment, his heart stops, but the second a heartbreaking sob sounds from behind the door, he’s kicking it open before he can even think.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

There’s a blond dude hunched over a young woman he’s got cornered against the sink. Her hands are frantic as she tries to push him away but she doesn’t have to try much longer when Harry tears him off her and sends a quick jab to his nose. It isn’t until the woman looks up that Harry’s stomach drops to the pit of his stomach.

Y/N.

Niall comes bolting into the utility room, eyes frantic and he quickly pieces together what just happened. He dags Chris out by the scruff of his neck when Raegen and Maisee come racing through the door, standing on either side of Y/N as they escort her out of the room and up to her own.

Harry watches as they pull her away, catches sight of her wet cheeks and mascara smudged eyes. She’s shaking with terror and embarrassment and Harry has to stop himself from calling her name or pulling her into him. As he turns around to the kitchen, a large crowd has formed and the music’s stopped.

He feels sick, completely and utterly disgusted. Guilt sits just as heavy in his stomach — slightly ashamed to have been so rude to her previously. That initial dislike to Y/N has quickly began to dwindle when he finds himself angry at everyone gathering around the scene. 

Harry lets out a growl and that once carefree persona is long gone. “What the fuck are you all looking at? Party’s over!” He roars out and he isn’t sure if it’s in anger or something else. 

The partygoers are quick to scramble and suddenly, he’s left alone with his thoughts and a completely trashed house.

Niall, Mackey and Oliver are locking up and making sure everyone left, Dean passed out on the couch with a bottle of wine cuddled into his chest and Harry wonders for a moment how the whole ordeal hadn’t woken him. He supposes he still has a lot to learn about his roommates.

He takes to the stairs, jaw set hard and he’s almost certain there’s steam oozing from his ears and nose. All he can think about is her. He’s desperate to know if she’s okay, if he hurt her… but he doesn’t know what he’d do if he had. His shoulders slump as he walks down the hallway, eyes widening when he sees both Maisee and Raegen leaving Y/N’s bedroom with pursed lips.

“Is she okay?” Harry rasps out and he doesn’t know where this sudden hesitation and worry is coming from. 

Maisee looks up at him with a slightly tilted head, like she’s trying to read what his angle is. 

Raegen sighs and shrugs. “She just wants to be alone.” 

Harry frowns. “So you just left her? After what just happened?” he quips, voice raising before he can even process what he’s said.

Maisee squints at him, wants to know what his deal is and Harry is quick to notice her attitude toward him. 

“Sorry.” He quickly apologises for his tone, and it’s yet another thing he can’t seem to understand why he’s doing. 

The girls walk past him in silence and Harry watches as they both enter their own bedrooms, closing the doors behind them.

As he turns his head, he stares at Y/N’s door. He doesn’t know how long he stands there for but after a few minutes he can hear her cries through the thick wood and he just wants to scream.

She’s shaking as she sits in the corner of her room, and she tells herself she’s being stupid, that she shouldn’t be so upset about this. But she is, she’s fucking distraught and she has to remind herself that she has every right to be. She was violated and she doesn’t even want to fucking look at herself.

Harry stands there until her cries quieten down to silent sobs and his fists clench by his sides. He forces himself to move, to turn on his heel and go into his bedroom that’s right next to hers. He pretends he doesn’t hear her crying herself to sleep. Just like she pretends she doesn’t hear him leave his room an hour later to clean the house for her.

//

He’s sweating.

There’s dirty oil smothering his bulging biceps and his short sleeves have been rolled up, sitting on his shoulders. His hair is a mess, slicked back with gel and sweat but the girl in the sunflower dress thinks he looks like sex.

He’s meant to be working, refitting an engine, to be exact. He isn’t, though. Instead, he’s chatting up Corina, his boss’ niece and if it wasn’t for Mackey working across the garage, he’d have her bent over the table with that pretty little dress hiked up her waist as he pounded into her pussy.

She’s perfect, he thinks. Gorgeous skin, innocent eyes that he knows will be the death of him, and the most mind-blowing hourglass figure that he can even make out beneath her loose fitted dress. He can only imagine how juicy those tits must be.

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his clear arousal toward the young woman, and if anything, he makes it clear as day when Mackey looks over and the tall boy is pressing himself against her, a taunting smirk on his lips as he whispers something filthy in her ear.

Mackey shakes his head and clears his throat, supposes he should probably help a brother out. “Yo, Harry,” he calls out, watching as Harry looks over Corina’s shoulder to see him. “Go take your break. I got it down here.”

He doesn’t bother hiding his grin as he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her into the building, giggles slipping past her lips when he guides her into the bathroom.

He’s shoving her against the door, lips hot on her neck and she sighs out in sweet relief. Her skin tastes like strawberries and Harry can’t get enough, swears it’ll be the death of him. She tugs on his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp, knows they’re gonna be untamable, but at this moment, he can’t seem to care.

His hands snake down her sides and to the hem of her little sundress before he’s hiking it up around her hips. Corina’s breaths are shaky in his ear as she licks the shell of it. Harry’s fingertips graze against the silky skin of her thighs and all he wants is to have them wrapped around his head.

He’s panting and she’s barely done anything. His fingers feel the soft cotton of her panties and she’s soaked through already. He fights back a smirk as she pulls away to look up at him, gorgeous brown eyes batting away and she sinks to her knees with a smirk of her own.

Harry nibbles down on his bottom lip, the anticipation almost becoming too much as she fumbles with his belt. He throws his head back and takes a deep breath. He needs this. It’s been too long and if he doesn’t have a pussy or pair of lips wrapped around him in the next ten seconds, he’s gonna burst.

It’s like she gets it, though, like she hears his thoughts and she runs her soft, wet tongue up his throbbing shaft. He’s big. Thick and the perfect length and her pussy is pulsing just looking at it. His tip is red, sore and angry, and all she can do is pepper kisses to it as she drinks him in.

She’s pulled his jeans and boxers down just enough so she can scratch up his thick thighs. Her plump lips tickle at his balls, sucking them into her mouth and she swirls her warm tongue around them, and Harry’s seeing stars. Knows it’s over for him when she releases with a pop and sucks up half his cock like a pro.

He’s fucking her face, holding it in place by her blonde locks and she doesn’t even gag when he hits the back of her throat. He’s completely gone, can’t tell his left from his right and he swears to God he’s gonna die and this is the best way he could ever fucking imagine.

She’s taking him like never before, slurping and lapping him up. Harry’s head is thrown back, eyes rolling and he feels like he’s going to explode. “Holy shit,” he pants out, beads of sweat dotting his hairline and he’s seeing stars.

Harry’s fingers thread through her hair, shoving her head closer to him until his cock is snug down her throat and her button nose is pressed against his naked pubic bone. 

“Ah, shit,” he cries out as she swallows around him, coming up for air.

She’s grinning up at him, eyes watering and plump lips swollen and soaked. Her own saliva is smothered across her chin and a string of it connects her lips to his tip. His cock is soaked too, completely fucking drenched and he wonders how tight her pussy would feel.

“You like that, baby?” Corina purrs up at him, long, dark lashes fluttering and he bites back a moan, doesn’t want to let her see him so fucked and vulnerable. 

He’s gnawing on his bottom lip, groans bubbling in his throat as she sucks him back up again. She moans around his shaft, tongue swirling on his underside of his cock and she pumps what she doesn’t want to fit in her mouth.

Harry’s hips are jutting into her face, eagerly chasing his release and she’s coaxing him on; sucking harder and pumping faster. He’s a spluttering mess, vision clouded and dotted with white lights and he’s coming. He’s coming so fucking hard, Corina struggles to keep it all in her mouth.

His arousal drips from the corners of her lips and Harry watches with blown eyes, jaw slacked. She’s still staring up at him, grinning as she swallows everything he gave her. Harry whimpers, taking a shaky breath and tucking himself back into his pants.

Corina giggles and licks up what slipped past her mouth, raising back to her feet and leaning into him with puckered lips. Harry grimaces and pulls back, dodging her kiss like his life depends on it and she sinks back to her feet and stifles a laugh.

“Oh, you’re one of those,” she quips, and Harry can’t help but scoff. 

He leans back against the walls, head rolled to the side slightly and Corina just wants to mark up that pretty neck. Shame she doesn’t get to. She squints, like she’s trying to read what’s on his mind, but it comes back blank. 

“My number’s in the books. Call me.” 

And just like that, she’s spinning on her heels and strutting out of the bathroom and out of the garage completely, hips swaying like she didn’t just suck the soul of his dick.

He stays there for a moment, trying to catch his breath and wrap his head around what had just happened. Just when he’s about to leave, Mackey is standing at the doorway with arms folded over his chest and a knowing smirk.

“Fuck off, Mack,” Harry grumbles out a laugh, fighting back the blush that sits on his cheeks. 

Mackey shakes his head at the young man and guides him back into the garage, throwing a greased up cloth at him and Harry gets back to work.

//

He’s getting frustrated. The notes don’t flow together and he can’t get the damn melody right. It’s 2 a.m. and Harry’s a mess. He’s not sure why he’s sacrificing his sleep to play around with his stupid guitar, but he really thought inspiration would strike. It hasn’t.

He stops his strumming and lets out a sigh, his stomach churning and he hears it gurgle silently. With a huff, Harry throws on a shirt from the ground and makes his way out of his bedroom. The hallway light is on and he can hear soft, yet frantic tapping as he makes his way down the stairs.

He rounds the corner when he notices the kitchen light on and papers sprawled around the island, and his heart stops a little. Y/N sits with a furrowed brow, AirPods shoved in her ears and she’s gnawing on her bottom lip as she types her fingers raw. Her hair is braided back and she’s got a stupid, slimy looking facemask on and she hasn’t noticed Harry’s presence.

He’s tempted to turn around while he still can, avoid her the way she’s been avoiding him for the past week, since that night at the party, but she catches his head of curls from the corner of her eyes and she’s pulling out her earphones and offering a soft, yet nervous smile.

“Hi,” she breathes softly, and it feels like it’s the first time he’s hearing her voice again. 

He’s not sure why he’s so bothered that she’s been avoiding him. And maybe he wouldn’t be bothered if it was under other circumstances, but he’s been silently worrying and treading on eggshells for the past nine days and he fucking hates it.

“Hi, yourself,” he tries to make it playful, to ease the air that’s suffocating them in the room and she breathes out a stifled laugh. 

Harry sits opposite her, watching the way she chews on the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit, he supposes. He can’t figure out what’s going on in her head.

“What are you doing up?” Y/N finally asks, and her voice is just as velvety as he remembers. 

She’s trying not to make eye contact, doesn’t want to deal with the awkward tension between them both. Never had been good with confrontation. Harry seems to get the hint, and like magic he’s willing to forget the whole thing.

He shrugs, “I couldn’t sleep,” and he’s got his chin propped up in the palms of his hands as his elbows rest on the counter. His hair is curling around his ears and at the nape of his neck again and Y/N just wants to brush her fingers through it. She doesn’t, though.

Instead, she nods her head and gently pushes her laptop screen down so she can get a better look at him—like she’s making up for the nine days and three hours that she hasn’t seen him for.

“I have some camomile tea in the cupboard. I always find that helps me with sleeping, you can have some, if you want.” She offers with a tight-lipped smile and picks at her nails. 

She struggles to look him in the eye, terrified he’s going to bring up the night of the party and she isn’t sure she can handle that. She hasn’t spoken about it to anyone. She’d like to keep it that way. 

“Why are you always so nice to everyone?” 

He can’t help but ask the question that’s been stuck in his head since he met her. She’s silent for a moment, a little stunned because no one’s ever asked her that before. She’s just nice. That’s who she is. She doesn’t know anything else.

Y/N shrugs. “I have no reason to be unkind,” and Harry can’t help but frown at her words. 

Part of him gets it, though, somewhere deep down, but the more conscious part of him doesn’t.

“Haven’t you heard of ‘kindness is weakness’?” He asks with slightly raised brows and she falls into herself a little, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry. 

Y/N doesn’t want to look at him, doesn’t want to mutter out an answer and she’s too stuck in her head, wondering if Harry had meant to backhandedly call her weak.

“I guess I’d rather be weak than an ass.” She shrugs, and this time, Harry isn’t sure if she meant to backhandedly call him an asshole. 

He sees the hint of a teasing smile on her lips and he can’t help but chuckle whole-heartedly, knowing she’s only playing, but he’s also sure part of her is being truthful.

Harry squints at her. “Why are you up, then?” He quips and he tries to keep it light and playful. 

Y/N lets out a shaky laugh and motions her hand across the surfaces. “I have a poetry essay to write, and I haven’t quite finished annotating everything,” she explains briefly, worried her talking will bore him and if she’s honest, she quite enjoys his company.

He hums and nods a little, about to say something when she speaks again. “And I heard you playing, you’re really good. You should see Professor Lennon about joining his class.” She smiles brightly, so bright that she misses the way his face hardens and jaw sets.

Y/N doesn’t stop talking, though, doesn’t hear the alarm bells in her head or see the way his face turns an angry shade of pink. 

“You were listening to me?” He asks, stuck in complete disbelief, and Y/N isn’t sure if his expression is one of anger or embarrassment.

It’s the former.

“I mean, the walls are thin, of course, I heard you,” she explains and before he can get a word in, she’s rambling again. “And you’re really good! I don’t know why you put up this hard front, you should be pursuing music, not keeping up this bad boy look.” She speaks, and Harry can’t help but see red.

How dare she tell him who he is and isn’t.

“You don’t know shit about me, so back the fuck off.” He spits at her, and he doesn’t miss the way her face drops and shoulders slump. 

He doesn’t care. He spins on his heels and ignores the frantic calls of his name and eager apologies as he bounces up the stairs, anger rolling off him in waves.

Y/N sits in her spot, completely frozen in shock and her whole body jolts when she hears him slam his bedroom door and glass shattering on the floor.

// 

The house is a tip, Y/N thinks. The cushions on the couch aren’t fluffed, the throw blanket over the back isn’t straight and she’s only just deciding that the rug beneath the coffee table is too big for the living room.

The house isn’t a mess. The surfaces are spotless and literally shining from the amount of polishing Reagan had done, the floors have been swept and mopped thanks to Niall, and the throw blanket over the back of the couch is straight.

The house isn’t a mess, Y/N is. She’s snappy and not at all her perky self. It’s 11 a.m and she’s forbidden anyone from walking around the house with their shoes on, and insisted that if you eat, it’s over the fucking sink or not at all. 

She doesn’t mean to be a controlling, raging bitch, but she’s stressed beyond comprehension and she only has thirty more minutes to make sure everything is perfect.

Her Dad is visiting. The one man that Y/N likes to think she doesn’t take shit from, but in reality, he’s the route of all her men-troubles. He’s ignorant, stubborn, filthy rich and, in Maisee’s word, a complete and utter fucking DILF.

Grayson Lee Y/L/N is not only Y/N’s biological father, but also the founder and CEO of GL Trading, one of the most successful businesses in all of the Greater London Area. It’s something Y/N tends not to brag about, and if anything, it’s something she purposely tries to go out of her way to hide.

It’s bad enough she shares his last name, she doesn’t want the entire campus (or everyone she meets, for that matter) to know he’s her father. It’s not that she’s ashamed… exactly. Moreover, she’s completely and utterly disgusted by his presence alone. He’s controlling, manipulative… a bully, and Y/N doesn’t like it one bit.

Harry’s bouncing down the stairs when Y/N rearranges the cushions and takes a step back to inspect their straightness. He’s got on his black skinny jeans and a Nirvana t-shirt. He’s got a hoodie thrown over his shoulder and a stupid beanie suffocating his hair. 

He notices Reagan first, how she’s dusting the tops of the picture frames on the walls. Her shirt has ridden up a little and so has her skirt, the hem of it barely resting below her ass and Harry looks away, eyes catching sight of a distraught Y/N, instead.

“No, it’s still not straight.” She huffs in aggravation.

The apples of her cheeks are growing warm and she’s tugging at the roots of her hair out of frustration. Harry’s never seen her like this and he can’t help but raise his brows in amusement at what she seems to be getting so upset over.

He takes a step closer to her, brows still raised and she stomps her foot like a child, and that’s when Harry decides he can’t hold back a little laugh. Y/N spins around and grits her teeth at the grinning young man.

“What? What the fuck is your problem, huh? Why don’t you fucking help instead of standing there, not doing shit!” 

She isn’t sure where it came from, no one is. Her chest is heaving with anger and everyone stares with wide eyes and slacked jaws. Harry’s fairly certain his head has been bitten off and he’s too much in shock to say anything back.

No one gets the chance to say anything before her shoulders are slumping and she’s rushing past everyone and up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her. Harry gapes at the spot she was just standing in and lets out a choked noise when he feels his boxers begin to strain.

Oh, no.

He spins around when Niall lets out a sigh and Harry can’t help but raise his brows in amusement again as he tries to mask his arousal. “What the fuck was that about?” he scoffs out a laugh as everyone disperses and Mackey takes the trash out.

Niall huffs and straightens the pillow for Y/N, although he’s quite sure he just made it worse. 

“Her Dad’s coming to visit today,” he explains briefly and Harry isn’t sure why that’s such a big deal and what other information Niall clearly isn’t telling him.

“That’s it? Why is she getting so uptight about the house and that fucking pillow?” Harry asks, completely bewildered and feeling more than a little out of the loop. 

Niall shrugs and spins a little, inspecting the rest of the room to make sure it was up to standards.

“She doesn’t like him. He’s a dick.” He concludes, offering a smile through pursed lips and all Harry can really do is gape at the man. 

Y/N, not liking another human being? That must be a joke. Harry waits for Niall to say so, but he doesn’t. He walks off with a little whistle and goes out to the backyard to help Dean and Maisee pull up the weeds.

Harry hums to himself and takes a deep breath. His pants are growing more uncomfortable by the second, hands growing clammy and he clears his throat. He’s alone in the lounge and the sun’s shining. It’s almost 3 p.m. and Harry has a class in forty minutes. 

He’s nibbling on his bottom lip, wondering if he has time to quickly get himself off and not be late for class. Usually, he wouldn’t care, but his attendance is already falling and he doesn’t want a formal meeting with Aunt Cathy and his parents.

Harry says fuck it and takes for the stairs, bounding up them three at a time. He’s racing straight for his room and misses the way Y/N tries to call out for him to apologise, and he’s unknowingly slamming the door in her face right after.

She wanders off with a sigh and he’s stripping his clothes, leaving them as a trail from the foot of his bed to his bathroom. The water’s running as his cock hardens, chest slightly heaving and he lets out a shaky breath. Stepping into the shower, he leaves the door open and allows the steam to filter through the bathroom.

He’s standing directly beneath the showerhead, scolding hot droplets of water racing down his toned torso, few sitting in the divots of flesh that form his abs. His skin is still a little sunkissed from his time in New York, golden and tan and his cock jumps a little when the water pelts down on him and his rosy nipples are caught in the crossfire.

He’s thinking about her, about the way she scolded him and the harshness of her tone. He’s thinking about how hot she looked with all flustered with a heaving chest. The way her lips seemed fuller and eyes darker. He’s teasing himself at the thought of her whispering dirty things in his ear in that same voice—pinching his rosy nipple between his fingers and giving it a gentle twist.

He wonders what her lips would feel like around him.

His free hand gently slides down his front, softly grasping his rock hard cock in his hand. He seethes quietly, head thrown back as he teases his slit with the tip of his finger, a string of pre-cum connected from his head to the pad of his finger. He swirls his arousal over his length, knows it isn’t enough to get him going but it’s a start.

Harry isn’t sure if he wants to picture her spread out with legs wide or sinking down on her knees in front of him. He’s torn between two of the most orgasmic images he could ever muster up in his dirty little head and for a moment he wonders if he should even be thinking about her at all.

His worry quickly ceases when his mind makes the decision for him and he sees her sinking to her knees, staring up at him through those pretty lashes. He thinks her eyes would be blown, that she’d have this innocent look about her – stronger than what it already is.

Harry slowly pumps himself, sighing out in relief and he pictures her dainty little hands doing it for him, instead. He thinks about Y/N parting her pretty fucking lips for him, thinks what her warm tongue would feel like, her warm mouth wrapped around him. For a hot second, he’s sure he can feel her sucking on his cock, but he opens his eyes and she isn’t there, of course, she isn’t.

He lets out an aggravated sigh and pumps himself harder. His guttural groans bounce off the walls and he’s placing a firm palm against the shower door, steadying himself the best he can. His eyes are shut tight, mind taking over and all Harry can see is Y/N’s dripping fucking pussy just begging to be eaten, to be treated right.

He thinks he can taste her, smell her, and he’s so fucked at the idea of her playing with herself and making him watch. He wonders if she’d touch her pussy and shove her fingers in his mouth, allowing him to taste her, just not from the source.

He’s bucking his hips into his hand, picking up his pace and it feels so good, so good he isn’t sure how long he’s going to last. Harry thinks back to his first day here, to when he heard her crying out in pleasure from the other side of the wall as she touched herself. He wants her moaning like that in his ear, running her tongue up his neck as she fucks herself on his big cock.

He wants her crying out for him, begging him to go faster, harder. He wants to feel her tight little pussy sucking him up, squeezing him like the greedy little cunt he knows it is. He’s losing his rhythm, struggling to keep up the pace and he feels himself throbbing. He’s spluttering out guttural moans, growling in complete and utter ecstasy and soon he’s covering the glass of the shower door with his arousal, painting it with white ribbons.

Harry takes a deep breath, tries to steady himself and get back to reality when he realises who he just got himself off to.

//

It’s quiet, silent, almost. Y/N flicks her salad across her plate, appetite lost the second her father wandered through the front door. Grayson didn’t come alone (not that Y/N expected him to), he wandered through the door with a young blonde on his hip, who Y/N learned was only two years older than her.

“Dinner’s good,” Grayson mumbles with a hand over his mouth. 

He’s dressed in an expensive grey suit and he’s got one of his many Rolex’ on his wrist. Y/N wants to smash it. Instead, she smiles through pursed lips and hums. 

“Yeah, Mum’s recipe. You know, the one she made you seconds before she found out you’d been cheating on her with your assistant.” Y/N replies, tone void of any emotion and she takes a sip of her red wine.

Grayson drops his fork on his plate and glares at his daughter. His plus one, Miley, purses her lips and Y/N knows she feels awkward, and she almost feels bad for her, but then she remembers she’s only with him for his money and she isn’t that bothered again.

“Problem, Grayson?” Y/N makes it clear not to call him her father, doesn’t want to give him the title that he’s done fuck all to earn. That’s one privilege he won’t be given for free. 

“Y/N Jane, watch your mouth,” Grayson warns, dark eyes stern and Y/N glares at the older man, wondering why he thought it would be a good idea to start growing out a beard.

“Or what? You’ll ground me? News flash, asshole, you don’t control me.” She spits, any and all hints of civilness completely diminished and she’s lost her filter along the way. 

Grayson smashes his fist against the table and points to his daughter with gritted teeth, and Y/N’s thankful she didn’t inherit his bad temper.

The noise can be heard from upstairs and Harry puts his guitar down for a moment and tries to strain his ears. He knows Y/N is having a meal with her Dad downstairs, Niall made it very clear for everyone to stay away. 

But now Harry’s a little thirsty and he can’t decide if it’s for water or some tea. He pushes himself up and off the bed, down the hall until he’s at the top of the stairs, leaning down a little so he can hear what’s going on.

“Reel it in, Y/N. You know you won’t get anywhere without me, so I suggest you pay me some respect.” He spits. 

Y/N bows her head and bites back her poison, fingernails denting half-moons into the palms of her hand as she tries to calm herself down.

“I’m already getting somewhere on my own. I got myself this scholarship, and I’m paying my way with my own money.” She argues back through gritted teeth and Harry wants to back her up, knows how fucking hard she works and he’s suddenly desperate to defend her.

Grayson throws his head back with a sadistic chuckle, shaking his head and rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Yeah… and the second you fuck this scholarship up or find yourself with no more money… you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not. You don’t get a fucking choice.” He grits his teeth.

Harry takes a step back in complete disgust and he can tell by Y/N’s silence that he’s hit a nerve. He doesn’t really have time to think before he’s bounding back to his bedroom and climbing out of his bedroom window. He didn’t think to put any shoes on, nor use the fucking door, but he hopes to God he hasn’t got the wrong message.

He climbs down the tree and bends his knees to stick his fall. Harry dusts his hands off on his sweatpants and takes a deep breath, curls an unruly mess. He shakes his shoulders off a little before reaching for the door and knocking three times.

He can hear Y/N pushing her chair out against the hardwood floor, along with her soft footsteps pattering to the door. She opens it, about to greet herself but falls short when she notices it’s only Harry and frowns. She thought he was upstairs.

“Harry?”

“Y/N! Thank God you’re home, I’m sorry it’s late but I’m desperate. I just found out what’s gonna be on the test tomorrow and it’s something I’m so unsure about, and I know you’re an incredible writer, can you help? There’s no way I’m passing this class without you.” He pleads out, and both Y/N and Harry are more than a little shocked at how believable his little act seems.

Y/N splutters for a moment before Harry raises his brow and silently tells her to go along with it. She nods her head and ushers him inside, noticing the lack of shoes as she peers down and she wonders how the fuck he got outside.

“Um…” before Y/N can somehow come up with a way to politely tell Grayson to fuck off, he’s wiping his mouth and standing from his seat, shaking his head. 

“It’s fine, we were just leaving,” he tells them, Miley soon following and Grayson doesn’t bother to kiss Y/N’s forehead goodbye.

Instead, he brushes past both her and Harry while Miley awkwardly follows. Y/N stands there with pursed lips as she closes the front door. Harry watches her intently, notices the way her right brow twitches and he supposes it’s a tell of hers. She clears her throat and wanders to the kitchen, grouping up the half-empty plates from the table.

Harry helps, doesn’t miss the way Y/N looks at him as they empty the dishes and place them in the sink. He’s leaning against the counter when Y/N runs the water, grabbing the sponge and cleaning the plates off with soapy water. 

“I’m sorry, about yesterday.” Harry breaks the silence with a soft apology.

Y/N stills, hands soaked in the sink as she takes in his words. His voice is soft and tender, and somehow, she knows he’s being sincere. She shakes her head and forces on a smile. 

“It’s okay,” she mumbles back, stacking the plates on the dish rack and shaking her hands off.

Harry scoffs and hands her a kitchen towel to dry her hands. “No, it’s not,” he insists. “I was a dick and you don’t deserve that, ever.” 

She’s avoiding his gaze so Harry dips his head and cranes his neck until he knows she can see him. She huffs out a small laugh and finally faces him, cheeks still a little flushed and Harry finally notices the dark circles under her eyes.

“It’s okay,” she shrugs. 

Harry groans and widens his eyes at her playfully. “Stop saying that!” he exclaims, enticing the most beautiful fucking laugh from her lips and he can’t help but grin so happily at her. 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she laughs and Harry raises his hands in the air, can’t understand how this smart young woman doesn’t get what he’s saying.

“And don’t apologise! You have nothing to apologise for.” He reminds her, and Y/N thinks for a second, thinks about his complete change in personality and she wonders if this is just Harry when he’s relaxed; playful and kind. She wishes she always saw this side of him, the fluffy hair and flushed cheeks.

“Okay,” she whispers breathlessly as she stares at him. 

Y/N notices a scar on his cheek, wonders if he got it from a bar fight or something a little purer like a childhood battle scar. She wants to rub her thumb over his soft skin and for a split second, she feels her hand reaching out to touch him, but she quickly stops herself.

Harry feels like his apology isn’t enough, that she deserves more. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back as he scratches the nape of his neck and clears his throat. He points up to the ceiling and scuffs his feet against the floor. 

“I’m gonna uh, go back…” he trails off and he doesn’t know why he’s being so awkward.

Y/N giggles out a laugh and nods her head, shoulders light and she doesn’t feel as tense anymore. 

“Goodnight, Harry.” she smiles softly, twiddling her fingers and Harry’s stomach does a little flip at it. He smiles and nods. 

“Night, Y/N,” he whispers, turning around but looking back at her over his shoulder.

He makes his way upstairs with a silly lovesick grin and he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. He feels relieved, thankful. And it shows on his face when he pounces on the bed with a grin, heart thumping in his chest and he hopes to God maybe she feels the same, he just doesn’t know why.

//

It’s nearing five p.m. when Y/N comes strolling through the front door. She’s got a shit-eating grin on her face and excitement is seeping through her pores. She’s hopping on the balls of her feet as she closes the door behind her, cheeks beginning to ache but she can’t find it in herself to care.

She’s skipping through the foyer and straight into the kitchen when Raegan and Dean quickly jump away from each other. As if Y/N didn’t already know. She doesn’t say anything, can’t really think about anything other what’s to come tonight.

Dean squints at her. “What’s got you all chipper?” He asks and Y/N shies her face into her shoulder for a second before bouncing on her toes and clapping her hands. 

“I have a date!” 

Heads turn her way and Y/N finally acknowledges the rest of her housemates as they gather around her like she’s discovered fire.

“You… have a date? As in Y/N Jane Y/L/N, has a date?” Oliver quips, sheer confusion and disbelief laced in his tone and Y/N tries to not be wounded. 

She scoffs instead. “Gee, thanks, Olly.” 

He tries to stammer out that he didn’t mean it in the way she took it, but when Raegan swiftly jabs him in the ribs with an elbow, he falls silent.

“So….” Raegan raises her shoulders and brows expectantly and Y/N states at her blankly. “Who are you going on a date with!?” She hoots out, arms outstretched by her sides and wonders how her friend is so fucking absent all the time.

Y/N’s eyes ignite up and she grins. “Oh! Uh, Liam, the guy from the bar.” Y/N softly answers and she suddenly feels like they’re about to interrogate her, kill the lights and force her onto a stool. They don’t. 

“Oh, you mean Liam from Psych 101.” Dean clicks his fingers and Y/N nods her head sheepishly.

It’s hushed for a moment. “Wow, really? Liam from Psych 101 asked you out?” He repeats and Y/N feels that little tug in the pit of her stomach. 

Ah, they’re surprised, and by the tone of their voices and looks on their faces, she’s guessing they’re astounded that he asked her out, of all people.

“Liam from Psych 101 asked who out?” a gentle voice quarrels through the room. 

Harry bounces in easily, an airy vibe to his mood. He locks eyes with Y/N for a moment and he offers a tender smile.

It’s been exactly nine days since he played the hero in her time of need, and they’ve spoken every day since. They’re friends, to say the least. And although neither of them are subtle with their lingering glances and sheepish smiles, they’re also both completely and utterly oblivious.

“Y/N… can you believe it.” Dean says, and both Harry and Y/N’s smiles plummet, though both for completely different reasons. 

Harry just raises his eyebrows a little, hopes that they will lift the rest of his face and tug on the corners of his mouth to keep that fucking smile on his lips, though the frown lies heavy and he finds himself struggling.

“You’re going on a date.” He breathes out, nodding to himself as he clamps his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Harry isn’t sure why the new information has plagued him, not when he’s still been seeing Corina every other day and the fact that there is absolutely nothing between him and Y/N that goes beyond the means of a flourishing friendship.

“Like… like a date date?” Niall peeks at his friend.

Y/N shrugs and offers a timid smile, tucking tufts of hair behind her ear and she glows just a little, though she isn’t sure why. 

“So you’re missing movie night?” Mackey finally pipes up, words stifled by the piece of cake he’s just shoved in his mouth.

Y/N purses her lips and nods her head. She feels a little wrong. Movie night has always been her idea and she’s always given the other’s shit if they’ve missed one for whatever reason. Movie night is the equivalent of family night to Y/N, and she feels like she’s about to disappoint her family.

“Okay.” Raegan shrugs and Y/N feels a little load lifted from her shoulders. 

It’s silent again and she can feel Harry’s indifferent eyes on her and she doesn’t quite know why. 

“Um, Mais… will you help me get ready?” Y/N asks softly to her friend. 

Maisee raises her head from the book she was reading, hasn’t bothered to acknowledge Y/N’s news. She’s has hardly spoken to Y/N since the night of Harry’s surprise party, and it’s beginning to bother her. Y/N isn’t sure if she’s done something to upset her friend, she just wants things back to how they used to be. Maisee evades eye contact as she clears her throat and stands from her seat.

“Actually, I’m kinda busy. I’m sure Raegan can help.” She stammers out, surging past the group and leaping up the steps. No one seems to notice the strain between them or the way Y/N’s smile sinks into a grimace.

Harry purses his lips and steps out of the room, silently trailing Maisee up the stairs and he hinders her before she can get into her bedroom. 

“What the hell is your problem?” He quips out quietly. 

She spins and frowns, books grasped to her chest and Harry takes a few more undecided steps toward her.

“Excuse me?”

Harry jeers. “Y/N. What the fuck is your problem with her? Ever since the party you’ve been a no-show when she’s needed you. And back there, you literally blew her off in front of everyone. So what the fuck is your problem?” He’s essentially fermenting.

Harry doesn’t know what comes over him, can’t understand why he’s so hellbent on fixing their friendship. Before Maisee can say anything, Harry’s shaking his head and turning his back to her, stomping off into his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Maisee stands there, dazed. She’s more than a little speechless but part of her isn’t surprised. She’s had an inkling that there might’ve been something going on between Y/N and Harry and now she’s dead certain there is.

He’s right though. Maisee’s been avoiding her. She blames herself, for what happened with Chris at Harry’s party, and she knows Y/N’s too fucking nice to blame her, too. Maisee drops her books off on the desk in her room, staring at the pinboard on the wall. There’s polaroids of them both, Y/N and Maisee, smiling and giggling without a care in the world.

Maisee takes a deep breath and wanders to Y/N’s bedroom, knocking on the open door and taking a step in. Y/N sits on the edge of her bed with a solemn look, gorgeous hair, that Maisee’s always been jealous of, covering her face and she picks at her fingernails. Nervous habit.

“Hey,” Maisee whispers, Y/N’s head snapping up and her eyes are wide, hopeful. 

“Hi,” Y/N breathes and her shoulders raise as hope and love bubble inside her. She just wants her best friend back.

Maisee takes a seat beside her and smiles through pursed lips. “I wouldn’t have come up here if Harry didn’t convince me.” She admits, and part of Y/N appreciates her honesty. She stares at her with a slight frown and somewhat squinted eyes.

“Harry spoke to you?” She asks, and Maisee doesn’t bother to hide the humorous smile on her lips as she stares at the carpet beneath her. 

“Yeah, reminded me of what a shitty friend I’ve been lately,” She chuckles out dryly.

Y/N purses her lips. “You haven’t—” She’s cut off with a sharp scoff. 

“I have, don’t even try to deny it.” She insists. 

Y/N stays quiet, stares at the carpet too and this is the most conversation they’ve had in three weeks.

“I’m sorry.” Maisee’s apology echos through the room and Y/N smiles softly, a little happier now. 

Partly because she already forgave Maisee, the other part because Harry went out of his way to do something nice for her, for no reason. A blush squirms on her faded cheeks at the thought.

“Me too.”

// 

It’s midnight.

Her feet are raw, her jaw throbs and she’s pretty sure her eyes resemble a panda’s. Her heels (that she borrowed from Maisee) are dangling from her fingertips by the straps and the soles of her feet are covered in dirt. 

She’s silent, stealth like. She doesn’t want anyone to hear her sneaking in, nor see that look of utter exhaustion and embarrassment on her face. Her aching toes pad up the stairs, teeth clenched like that’ll somehow keep her movements light and silent.

She thinks she’s made it, that she could be considered for the Secret Service, but she forgets the uneven floorboard outside her bedroom and it creaks, reverberating through the empty hall. She stills for a moment, eyes clutched shut, lips pursed in a fine line like it’ll make a difference.

It doesn’t, and Harry pokes his head out of his door and smiles when he sees the side of her face that’s masked by her hair. 

“Hey… how was your date?” He asks smoothly, running across his face and he stifles a yawn.

Y/N clears her throat and sniffs. 

“Yeah, it was okay.” She mutters, uninterested. Harry frowns and steps out of his doorway and toward her. 

“Just okay? What’s wrong? You sound upset.” He notices, warm hand caressing the side of her cold arm and she finally turns around to him.

She looks absolutely fucking devastated and something about her tottering eyes and quivering lips hurts him. 

“He stood me up.” She sniffles, eyes flooding with fresh tears and he doesn’t have time to think before he’s pulling her into his chest and keeping her close.

She’s wailing into his soft, blue shirt and she feels so bad for ruining it with her makeup, but Harry shows he doesn’t care when he cradles her head snug into his chest and gently coos her. 

“You’re okay, honey… it’s okay.” He isn’t sure where the nickname comes from, he’s never been one to use them, but it feels right, like it was made just for her.

Harry reaches behind her and opens her bedroom door, carefully ushering her inside and she sits on the foot of her bed as Harry detaches himself for her. He suddenly feels aloof. He reaches over and closes the door before making his way into her bathroom, grabbing a pack of makeup wipes from her sink and pulling one out of the packet.

“Hey, shh. Look at me, okay?” He whispers, benevolently guiding her hands from her face and he’s surprising himself with this new side of him. 

Y/N swallows, breath caught in her throat as she does so and she’s so fucking enthralled by his kindness.

He gently wipes under her eyes, removing the smudged mascara stroking her soft cheek with his other hand. She stares at him for a moment, almost disregarding why he’s there, but then she remembers.

“Why am I never enough for anyone?” Y/N whimpers out and Harry quickly realises he’s on deep and untouched territory. 

His mind is screaming at him to run, to get the hell out of dodge… but his heart beats softly and he knows he needs to stay. She needs company and comfort, and he… Well, he needs to know that she’s okay.

“You’re more than enough, honey. Don’t do that to yourself. He’s a dick, okay? He doesn’t deserve you.” Harry comforts her, makeup wipe on the floor as he cups her swollen cheeks in the palms of his hands.

“Y/N Jane, you are the kindest soul I have ever met. You are smart, talented, funny, strong. You are so beautiful, Y/N. I promise you.” His voice is straining like he’s desperate for her to hear and believe his words. 

She does. For a fleeting moment, she does.

And then she kisses him.

Harry’s never been one to get nervous. Never had the experience of sweaty palms and frantic butterflies in his stomach, or a dazed head and blushed cheeks. But all at once he’s experiencing them when her lips meet his. 

His mind is in a frenzy, body still as a rock and he can physically hear his heartbeat in his ears. He moves quickly, though. He cups her pretty little face in the palms of his hands and his eyes gently flutter closed. He’s losing himself in it, in her.

Her lips are sweet… plump and soft and Harry can’t believe he’s kissing her. Y/N threads her dainty fingers through his wispy curls and gives them a generous little tug. He’s seeing stars, his lips are tingling. 

Y/N subtly slides her warm tongue between his lips, the sudden boldness catching Harry off guard and he pants slightly into her mouth. She tastes like cherries with a hint of peppermint and Harry finds himself completely mesmerised by it.

Harry’s hand sneaks its way to the back of her neck, slim fingers twirling her locks and tugging ever so gently, but it only makes her more eager. She’s shifting to the very edge of the bed, fingernails scratching at the nape of his neck and he lets out a soft groan against her lips.

Y/N pulls away, panting with what Harry can only guess to be a dizzy smile and she purses her lips to bite back a soft laugh. 

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.” She giggles through her embarrassment and Harry can feel the heat that rises to her cheeks.

He clears his throat, his forehead resting on hers and he nibbles on his bottom lip, savouring the taste of her that’s varnished him. 

“No, it’s… it’s okay.” He tries to assure her, though there’s a thick silence that sits on them as they continue to lean into each other. 

Harry doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. This isn’t like him, he doesn’t do this kind of shit. But it’s her, it’s Y/N and Harry doesn’t want to pull away. He doesn’t want to feel the coldness of her body not being close enough.

The silence becomes unbearable and Y/N really can’t help the bubble of obnoxious laughter that bursts out of her. She’s embarrassed, so fucking embarrassed and she hopes to God that Harry will never tell anyone what she just did.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” Her laughter rolls off into waves of soft whines and Harry thinks that she regrets it, regrets him. 

It’s a sudden feeling of red hot fire all over and an unfamiliar sting in his gut. He’s hurt, he just doesn’t understand why.

“I should uh… I’ll go, let you get some sleep.” He clears his throat with a soft smile and Y/N finally pulls off from him, a fair distance between their lips again but she still can’t seem to tear her eyes away from them.

Y/N nods her head and lets out a soft smile, breathing still a little shaky and Harry has to remind himself that he’s not hers. It’s not his job to reassure her, to love her. It’s not his job. 

“Yeah… uh, goodnight.” She stutters out, wiping her clammy hands on the sides of her black dress and Harry clears his throat for what feels like the tenth time tonight.

He leans up on his toes until he’s standing tall once more, brushing off his hands and wandering toward the door. She watches his back as he walks away and freezes when he slowly opens it. 

“I uh, I took your advice, by the way. About Professor Lennon.” He tells her, back still facing her body but Y/N shoots up to her feet and her jaw slacks a little.

“I showed him some music. He wants me to write an original for him, a demo, by Wednesday.” He looks over his shoulder at her and she’s grinning so fucking wide, and Harry is almost certain he can see tears pooling in those gorgeous eyes of hers.

“I’m proud of you.” She whispers and this time, it’s Harry’s eyes that start to water. 

He offers a smile through pursed lips and rushes out of her room and into his. The second he closes the door, his chest is heaving and he can still feel her body on his.

//

It’s noon when Harry leaves Professor Lennon’s room, guitar in one hand and music sheets in the other. There’s a cool breeze casting over the quad and students chatter softly as they study on the grass. Harry’s minding his own business when he notices a loud ruckus of chatter and laughter from a little further ahead.

“Should’a seen her, looked so fuckin’ stupid.” The blond snickers, his friends laughing along and Harry notices something familiar about him. 

Harry squints at him a little longer until it clicks. Liam. He remembers that smug fucking face from when he looked him up on Instagram after leaving Y/N’s room last night.

Harry bites down on his tongue and makes his way over to the small group, their chatter and excitement dying down when they notice the unfamiliar face and Harry offers a feigned friendly smile as he sets his guitar case and music notes down against a tree.

“Hey, you’re Liam, right? The guy that stood up Y/N Y/L/N?” Harry asks, a hint of amusement in his tone and Liam grins, smacking a friend in the chest as he tries to buff himself out. 

He looks so smug… proud, and Harry wants to wipe it off his face.

“Yeah, who are you?” He puffs out his chest and takes a step forward, shoulders rolled back and Harry can’t help but scoff to himself. 

What the hell did Y/N see in this douche? 

Harry rolls his tongue and clenches a fist, swinging it until his knuckles collide with Liam’s nose and he’s stumbling back as he clutches his bloody face.

It spirals from there, punches, kicks, hair pulling. It all goes so fast that Harry doesn’t feel the black eye and cut up cheek and brow until he’s sat in Aunt Cathy’s office and his hands and body are fucking throbbing. He caught a couple of kicks to the stomach, and even though Harry was beaten blue by four guys, Liam still looks worse than him.

Harry smiles to himself.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts and ego that he blanks out the majority of the lecture Cathy gives them. Harry bounces his knee as he chews at the insides of his cheeks and Cathy quickly grows sick of his nonchalant.

“Liam, you can go.” She huffs, head nodding to the door and he scoffs something out under his breath, not giving Harry a second glance. 

Cathy notices the limp in his walk and the way he holds his left arm as he moves and closes the door behind him.

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Strike one.” She tells him, doesn’t need to look at him to know that his stupid smile is wiped off his face. 

She hears him clear his throat and croak out a half-assed apology that she doesn’t care for. She shoos him out of her room just as quickly and Harry’s begrudgingly walking toward his Jeep as he holds an ice pack to his knuckles and tries to ignore the iron taste of blood on his tongue.

He’s proud, that’s for sure. Knows Liam deserved it and Harry would quite happily lay into him all over again. He supposes he shouldn’t, though. He’s earning all kinds of looks from girls as he walks by them. Hungry eyes and pursed lips and Harry supposes they’re just desperate for a good fuck. He growls to himself at the idea but clears his head as he climbs into the Jeep and turns on the engine.

It’s proven a struggle when Harry tries to steer his way back to the house while holding his knuckles and his eye is beginning to close due to the swelling. He makes it, though, just about. He throws the Jeep in park and leaves it on the drive, staggering up the steps to the front door as he carries his music sheets and guitar in one hand.

Once he’s through the door, Harry decides he isn’t going back through it again today. He kicks his shoes off and heads straight upstairs. Harry only assumes the house is empty by the sheer silence of it and he discards his music sheets and guitar on the bed as he makes his way to the bathroom to take a shower.

His knuckles ache when the water cascades down his body, a large purple bruise forming around his eye and he debates whether or not he should go and find Liam to finish the job. He decides against it. He has homework.

Y/N is fuming. Her face is hot and her little hands are clenched into fists by her sides. She doesn’t bother greeting anyone when she gets home, completely ignores them all and takes to the stairs. She bounds up them two at a time, could do three if her legs were a little longer. Her heavy footsteps can be heard as she crashes down the hall, drowning out the chatter from everyone downstairs and Y/N barges straight into his bedroom.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” She yelps out as she pushes the door open. 

Harry’s got his back to her, pulling his white shirt over his head and he spins around with wide eyes. Y/N’s glare drops and her own eyes widen, watering just as quickly and her shoulder sag.

She covers her mouth with her hands. He’s got a black eye and a cut eyebrow. His sunkissed, tattooed stomach is bruised and her breathing is caught in her throat. Harry drops the shirt on the bed and scratches at the back of his neck, his muscles taut and she can’t look away.

“Harry,” She gasps out as she stretches for him, delicate fingertips pressing on his bruised torso but he pulls away with a hiss. 

Y/N stares at him in grief and drops her hands to her side. “Why did you do that?” She asks breathlessly, her chest rising and falling and it burns her to see him like that.

He stares at her for a while, doesn’t understand why she’s so upset, so worried about him. He supposes it’s because she’s just a nice person, but another part of him, deep down, prays to God that she cares for another reason.

He shrugs, takes a step closer and brushes a strand of hair from her face—doesn’t want her to think he’s being cold by brushing her off just seconds prior. Harry finally gets a good look at her. Summer dress and tennis shoes with that florist’s apron wrapped around her front. Just like the first time they met. 

Harry beams, heart ricocheting. He thinks back to the first time he saw her, how he supposed she was pretty. He looks at her now and sees the stars. Like she’s got this glowing tint around her silhouette and Harry swears she’s the most precious fucking thing he’s ever seen.

“He treated you like shit, Y/N/N.” 

There he goes again, with the Goddamn nicknames. 

She stares up at him like he’s the unknown eighth wonder of the world and she feels like her heart might leap out of her throat any second. 

“Wasn’t going to let him get away with it.” His voice dies off into a whisper.

Their noses are almost touching and neither of them are quite sure how they’ve grown this close without moving. Harry’s still got his fingers in her hair, twirling the soft curls around and she’s unknowingly nuzzling into his touch. Y/N’s eyes flutter closed, feels like she’s on cloud nine and she’s struggling so fucking hard to keep her lips off his and her heart beats erratically.

Harry eyes her, watches the way her lashes gently flutter and he’s about to lean in, about to allow himself to taste her one more time, and then his phone rings. It’s an obnoxious blaring that breaks them apart and Y/N’s eyes look to the bed, reading the name that lights up the screen with the incoming call.

Corina x

Y/N feels her heart sink, knew it was too good to be true. As if someone like him could ever be interested in someone like her. She feels a bubble of hurt in her stomach and she swallows her insecurities, spinning on her feet and leaving Harry alone to stare at the phone on his bed.

He closes his eyes when he hears Y/N leave, a sigh slipping from his lips and he pinches at the bridge of his nose, feels so fucking stupid. He picks up the phone, raising it to his ear. 

“What?” he spits out through gritted teeth, hand in his unruly curls and he tugs.

She invites him over, in that sickly sweet voice that he’s growing to hate lately. But it’s dripping with sex and he can tell she’s wet just by the way she’s breathing down the phone. Harry’s mind falls on Y/N for a moment, wondering if this is something he should be doing. 

But he isn’t with Y/N, they’re not a thing, not even close, and Harry knows he needs to stop himself from imagining them as such.

“I’ll be there in ten.” He grumbles into the phone, shoving it in the pocket of his sweatpants and he struggles to put a shirt back on. 

Harry shoves his feet into a pair of nearby sneakers, grabbing his keys and a jacket on the way out of his bedroom.

He bounces down the stairs, little Harry growing more and more excited the closer he gets to have her lips wrapped around him, but that lovely image is quickly torn from his mind when he sees Y/N speaking softly to a man with a familiar head of hair. Harry frowns, takes slow and easy steps down the stairs and he can smell the cologne he grew up with.

Y/N looks past him and up at Harry, heat on her cheeks and she smiles softly. He notices and spins around, an unimpressed look on his face and Harry gulps, brows still furrowed.

“Dad?”

“You’ve got some explaining to do, Harry.”

// 

Shopping bags smack at their thighs with every step they take, but both young ladies have blocked that out since they walked past Claire’s seventeen minutes ago. It’s quiet for a Tuesday afternoon and Y/N’s quite thankful for it. She’s got her arm linked with Maisee’s as they pass the water fountain and slowly window-shop their afternoon away.

Y/N’s been blabbering non-stop since they left the house this morning. She’s told Maisee all the juicy details of the kiss, the way he held her and touched her. Maisee looked like she was about to combust with happiness and Y/N tried her hardest to calm her friend down, but that didn’t stop her from screaming it at the top of her lungs.

“But, who’s Corina?” Maisee huffs, brows furrowed and Y/N tries to hide her disappointment but it’s no use, Maisee knows her like the back of her hand. 

She pinches Y/N’s arm and gives her a look, a look that tells her to stop comparing herself to someone she doesn’t even know. Y/N rolls her eyes.

“Did he meet her?” she asks quietly, like she’s afraid to mention the mystery girl again in case Y/N bursts into tears or breaks someone’s arm. 

Y/N shakes her head with a sigh instead. “I think he was going to, but his dad showed up,” Y/N explains with a little shrug of her shoulders.

“Is he hot? He must be hot, Harry’s hot… he has to get his looks from somewhere,” Maisee mutters to herself, nibbling on her red stained bottom lip at the thought and Y/N cringes beside her. 

“First of all, ew, gross. Second of all, he’s just… just a dad.” She doesn’t really know how else to describe the older man, other than that Harry’s the spitting image of him.

“Whatever, I’m ninety-three per cent sure Harry’s into you,” Maisee concludes, shoulders shrugging and she’s got that look on her face that says this isn’t up for discussion, and Y/N just sighs. 

“What was his dad doing there anyway?” She asks again as they make their way to the parking lot, swarmed by darkness and sharp headlights of the cars that drive past.

Y/N shrugs again. That seems to be all she’s doing today. 

“Probably because Harry got into that fight with Liam. Everyone knows about it,” Y/N mumbles out, worried that her name is attached to it and she doesn’t want to be associated with what happened, even if it did happen because of her.

“That is a prime example of him having feels for you,” Maisee points out as Y/N digs through her purse for her keys.

She pretends to ignore Maisee’s comment like she doesn’t hear it, but part of Y/N wants to believe her, wants it to be true. She shakes the thought from her head and unlocks the car, trunk popping open and they throw their bags inside.

“Where to? Wanna come do grocery shopping with me?” Maisee asks. 

Y/N looks at her with squinted eyes, knows Maisee fucking hates doing the grocery shop on her own, but Maisee also knows she doesn’t have a choice. Y/N shakes her head as she starts the engine, watches her friend throw her head back with a drastic groan and whine.

“But… my car’s in the garage, remember? How am I meant to get to the store and bring all the stuff back?” Maisee argues, hopes that she might be able to guilt Y/N into it, but she’s not taking Maisee’s bullshit. 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m letting you borrow my car.” She grins, pulling out of their parking space while Maisee wails.

//

He’s got a beer in his hand as he stares at the tree at the back of the garden. It’s hot, too hot, actually, and his shirt is long forgotten as sweat begins to pool in the little divots of flesh that sculpt his abs. They sit together in silence, father and son, and it’s eating at Harry… just wants to know where he stands.

After Richie showed up last night, Y/N had left them both to themselves where he gave Harry the Dad Look and sat him down in the kitchen, told him he needs he to get his act together or else. Harry knew the threat wasn’t empty, so it was also no surprise when Richie told him he was staying for a few days to keep an eye on him.

Subsequently, this meant no sex for Harry.

Richie’s sitting beside him, shirt by his feet and he’s got his arms behind his head as he relaxes in the sun lounger. He’s got a full chest of hair, something he always told Harry made him a man when Harry was younger, and sweat begins to glisten on his sunkissed skin. He’s relaxed, a beer beside him and a little smile on his lips, eyes hidden behind his black tinted sunglasses.

“How’s Mum and Gemma?” Harry breaks the silence, voice a little raspy after not speaking a word for over an hour and Richie hums at the mention of his beloved ladies. 

“They’re good. Maybe you’d know that if you called once in a while,” he quips and Harry closes his eyes, knows his Dad is right and nods his head.

Richie feels bad. He shouldn’t, because what he said is true… but he knows his son, and he knows how much Harry loves his Mum and sister. He also knows that Harry distances himself for his family when he feels himself spiralling, or feels like he’s a disappointment. Richie doesn’t tell Harry that’s the real reason he’s here… to remind him he is loved.

“Mum’s okay, she misses you,” Richie says, Harry nodding with a hint of a smile on his lips. 

He misses her, more than anything. And he knows she’s only an hours drive away, but he doesn’t think he can face her. Doesn’t want to disappoint her.

“And your sister… well, she’s sixteen going on twenty-five and I can’t keep up,” Richie laughs out, eyes crinkling behind his glasses and Harry does the same. If anyone were to walk past, they’d probably think they were looking at the same person, just twenty-five years apart.

It’s silent again for a brief moment when their laughter dies down and Harry’s left in his thoughts. Richie chews on his bottom lip, stares at the grass. 

“You gotta get your shit together, Harry.” He mumbles out to his son, doesn’t miss the way Harry’s head whips round to face him but Richie keeps his focus on the green grass across the garden. 

“You want to pursue music but you’re not gonna get anywhere with it if you get kicked out of this place. I’m serious, Harry. What’s going on with you?” Harry looks away.

He thinks about Richie’s words, knows he’s right, like always, and it hurts. It hurts to be the family disappointment. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers out, brows knitted together and he picks at his bruising knuckles, doesn’t wanna look at his Dad and see the sadness on his face.

Richie sighs and sits up, legs hanging over the side of the chair and he leans his elbows on his knees. 

“We’re always going to be proud of you, Harry. You’re my son, and I love you. You just gotta figure out what’s going on in your head. You’re not seventeen anymore. It’s time to grow up.” It isn’t a lecture or a telling-off, it’s advice, solid advice that Harry needs to follow.

He nods and tilts his head, smiles through pursed lips and Richie smacks him on the back of his shoulder in a loving matter. 

“Now enough of this sappy shit, go get me another beer.” Richie smacks him again as he swings his legs back onto the sunlounger and relaxes, Harry’s sweet laughter music to his ears and he can’t remember the last time he heard his boy laugh like that. It’s nice.

Harry’s still smiling to himself when he wanders into the kitchen through the back patio doors, giggling softly when he opens the fridge and pulls out to cool cans of Corona. He kicks the door shut, about to go back into the garden when he hears the front door open and the muffled voice of Y/N call out, “Anyone home? Little help!”

He spins and approaches the door, watches as she’s weighed down by at least twelve shopping bags and she struggles to keep the door from closing on her with the side of her foot. 

“Oh, shit, Y/N.” His eyes widen at her struggle and he quickly places the beers on the counter behind him, racing to her and taking the majority of her bags from her quivering arms.

Y/N sighs out in appreciation and kicks the door shut, shoving the bags to the floor and Harry does the same. She pushes her straightened hair from her hair and lets out a breath, looking up at Harry and drinking him in. God, he looks so good, she thinks and forces herself to look away from his sweating torso.

“You okay, honey?” he asks with a soft laugh, a small smile beaming on her lips and she nods breathlessly, wiping her clammy hands on her ripped jeans. 

“Yeah, Maisee had me drag all this in because I wouldn’t do the grocery shop with her,” Y/N explains and Harry rolls his eyes in the nicest way he can.

“She knows the rules,” he replies and Y/N raises her eyebrows, nodding in agreement but they both know that doesn’t make a difference. 

“You been sunbathing?” she asks with a soft laugh, wandering into the kitchen. 

Harry walks behind her and nods, clearing his throat when he realises she doesn’t see the reply.

“Yeah, it’s nice out,” he says, scratching the back of his neck when he sees her reach up to grab a glass from the cupboard. 

She turns and smiles at him when she gets it, running the tap and she squints her eyes, smile only growing. Harry squints back at her, a nervous smile on his face and he wonders why she’s looking at him like that.

“What?” he asks cautiously and she shakes her head, filling her glass and shutting the water off. 

“Your hair looks good like that.” Y/N grins, eyes up the black headband he’s using to keep his curls from falling in his face and Harry blushes like crazy when he realises. He purses his lips to hide his grin and Y/N splutters into her glass of water as she tries to take a sip.

Harry shakes his head and reaches for the fruit bowl. 

“Oh, you’re so funny, aren’t you, honey,” he teases as he picks off a single grape, throwing it at her forehead and they both shriek when it bounces off and into her glass of water. 

Harry giggles as he walks closer, takes her hand in his that holds the glass. She stares at him as he dips his fingers into her water and pulls out the grape, popping it into his mouth and he smiles.

“Almost as sweet as you,” he mumbles and Y/N can’t help but roll her eyes and splutter out a laugh. 

She turns and pours the rest of her water down the sink but Harry just watches the side of her face as she tries to hide her smile.

Richie watches them both from the patio doors, his shirt back on and sunglasses sitting on the top of his head. He watches the way Harry looks at her, the glimmer in his eyes and the ghost of a smile on his lips. He knows the look because it’s the same look he gives his wife… the love of his life.

Richie clears his throat, decides he’s seen and heard enough and Y/N spins around, eyes a little wide but she relaxes when she sees who it is. 

“Mr. Styles, hi,” Y/N greets him with a smile and Richie nods his head at her. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiles back and Harry watches from across the room.

He reaches for the beers and takes a few steps closer until he’s behind Y/N, towering over her. 

“You comin’?” He asks her softly, feels her side brush against him when she turns and she smiles gratefully but shakes her head. 

“No, I’ve got work in ten and then I’m at the diner until close,” she explains with pursed lips. Harry nods, heart aching and this time, Harry knows what it is. Disappointment.

“Anyways, enjoy the sun. See you guys later.” Y/N bids them goodbye before she slips past Harry and jumps up the stairs two at a time, heading to her bedroom to grab her apron and diner uniform, and she’s out the front door just seconds after.

// 

It’s almost 5 p.m. and Y/N is tired. The flower shop has been quiet, the regular old man Mike coming in at three for flowers for his wife, a couple of party planners and young girl buying flowers for her mother. 

Y/N’s feet are starting to ache but if she acknowledges it now, it’ll make her seven-hour shift at the diner hell. She’s removing thorns from a bunch of roses at the counter when she hears the little bell above the door sound.

She looks up and places the clippers on the counter, a small smile on her lips when she sees who it is. 

“Hi,” she beams, happy to have some sort of human interaction after sitting in the shop alone for almost an hour. 

Richie smiles and makes his way to the counter and Y/N notices the sparkle in his eyes. The same sparkle as Harry’s. 

“What can I get you?” she asks politely, hands leaning on the counter and Richie takes a second to appreciate the beautiful flowers that decorate the shop. 

“I go back home tomorrow, wanna get some flowers for my lady.” He tells her, asks for the brightest and prettiest bunch of flowers she can.

Y/N grins and accepts the challenge, leaves the counter to pick different flowers from pre-assembled bunches and she brings back more than enough to the counter. Richie watches the small smile on her face as she picks and places them together, cutting most down to size.

She’s not like Harry’s normal type, Richie thinks. Harry’s never had a thing for quiet girls before, at least not that Richie knows of anyway. She’s a sweet girl, seems to have her head on straight and he knows she’s serious about her education and life in general. Richie thinks she’s exactly what Harry needs and his heart bursts a little.

“So, how long have you been seeing my boy?” He asks out of the blue and Y/N almost snips the tip of her finger off. 

She places the scissors down and lets out a shaky, breathy laugh. She clears her throat and places the flowers onto the counter, looking up at the older man and he stares at her, expectantly.

“No, uh… we’re not..” she trails off, but Richie raises his eyebrows higher, not buying her excuse. “We’re friends, known each other about two months now.” She defends, though she isn’t sure why she feels so defensive, like she needs to make him believe what she’s saying.

Richie nods and squints at her, humming an “mhm” like he knows something she doesn’t. 

“What?” she laughs awkwardly, heat rising to the apples of her cheeks and Richie just smiles at her, like he’s so proud and thankful, but all Y/N is, is confused.

He shakes his head. 

“Nothing…” She knows he has more to say, so she raises her brows and he huffs. “Just that in all the years I’ve raised Harry, I’ve never known him to use endearing nicknames… and I heard him call you two in a matter of ten seconds back in the house.” Y/N grows shy, sinks into herself a little at his words and she doesn’t know what to do or say.

“Not to mention he looks at you the way I look at the love of my life, but hey, what does an old man like me know.” 

He smiles kindly and Y/N begins to spiral deep in her thoughts, unable to come up with a believable excuse and her mouth runs dry, heart thumping like there’s no tomorrow as she mindlessly finishes assembling Richie’s bouquet. She places it on the counter as he drops a twenty beside it, taking the bouquet in his hands and smelling the flowers.

“Thank you for the flowers, Y/N.” He smiles at her, but she’s completely frozen in her spot, brows furrowed slightly and Richie spins around, reaching for the door when she finally snaps out of the daze she put herself in.

“Richie!” She calls out before he has the chance to open the door, his name a pleasant shock and he raises his brows at her. She scuffs her feet behind the counter. 

“What do you mean Harry doesn’t do nicknames? Why not?” She asks, curious, and the question alone tells Richie everything he needs to know.

He smiles at the girl. “To Harry, nicknames mean attachment, and Harry’s never let himself get attached to anyone.” He explains, voice soft and barely audible but Y/N hears and hangs onto every word he utters. 

Before she can even process them and ask him something else, the door is chiming and he’s gone.

// 

It’s past one when Y/N stumbles into the house. Her feet are completely raw and her legs are frozen after walking home from the diner in a yellow miniskirt. She closes the front door behind her, kicking off her tennis shoes and rubbing the sleep from beneath her eyes. She’s shrugging her jacket off when she hears it from upstairs—the yelling and stomping.

She frowns and hangs her jacket on the wall, small steps leading her to the bottom of the stairs. A tall blonde, well, taller than Y/N, comes bounding down the stairs, her jeans half buttoned and shirt all messed up. She’s furious, red in the face and gritting her teeth. Y/N’s about to ask if she’s okay when she shoves into her and almost knocks her flying.

Harry’s bounding down the stairs just as quick, catching Y/N’s arm before she can hit the floor and pulling her into him. Her palm presses against his bare chest, feels the fine hairs that decorate his skin and she’s overwhelmed and confused. It’s not until she puts the pieces together that she realises the girl is Corina and her and Harry have clearly just ended their night in a different way than planned.

Corina notices the lingering touch they share and the way he stares at her, eyes frantic like he’s making sure there’s not a scratch on her, and she scoffs. She stares at Y/N in disgust, knows who she is and she can’t help but stare at her clothes, blood boiling. 

“Of course, she’s a fucking waitress.” And Y/N’s offended, doesn’t understand what she’s done to get the sharp end of this.

Just as quickly as she spits the words, she’s running out of the door and leaving it wide open. Harry says nothing, doesn’t follow her, just closes and locks the door before turning back to Y/N. 

“You okay? Did she hurt you?” He asks gently, reaching for her again and she shakes her head, cuddling into herself out of coldness and confusion.

“What was all that about?” she breathes softly, doe eyes staring up at him and he’s suddenly blushing, scratching the back of his neck, which Y/N has learnt to be a nervous habit of his. 

“We… got into an argument. I don’t think I’ll be seeing her again.” He admits and Y/N tries to hide the giddiness she gets from his words. He won’t be seeing her again.

“Oh.” Is all she says, wiggling her toes in her ankle socks and Harry rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

It’s awkward, like she came home at the wrong time and saw something she wasn’t supposed to, and Y/N doesn’t know what to do. So she stands there with pursed lips.

“How was work?” Harry asks, breaking the silence and Y/N nods her head. 

She debates whether or not she should tell him she saw his dad, whether she should mention anything about the whole nickname situation. She doesn’t. Instead, she says, “It was okay,” and leaves it like that.

Harry nods his head and they’re back to that stupid silence again. Neither of them can understand why they’re being so weird about what just happened, it’s not like they kissed… again.

“Anyway, I’m super tired, so… I’m gonna head to bed,” she tells him, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder and Harry’s so fucking thankful she’s ending this weird conversation. 

He nods, bids her goodnight as she slowly creeps up the stairs. He watches her up, offers her a wave when she looks back at him over her shoulder and pinches the bridge of his nose when she’s out of sight.

“Jesus Christ.”

// 

There’s nothing worse than having a perfect dream and being abruptly torn from it. Y/N learns that the hard way when her obnoxious phone blares out her ringtone. She blindly reaches for her nightstand, eyes struggling to adjust to the light that filters through her room and Y/N lets out a loud groan, forgetting the field of daisies and the boy that ran with her.

She grabs her phone, accepts the call without looking at the caller and brings it to her ear. 

“Hello?” She lets out groggily, brows pinched and her head sinks further into her duck feather pillow. A screech is heard from the other line and Y/N pulls her phone away from her ear with a wince.

“Happy twenty-fourth, baby!” 

It’s her Mum, she knows it. Y/N grins sleepily to herself, stretching her tired limbs and she brings the phone back to her ear. 

“Thanks, Mum,” she raps out softly, eyes still struggling to adjust to the morning light and her stomach flips.

“What are you doing today? I’m sorry I can’t be there to celebrate with you, honey,” Jane rambles on. 

Y/N knows she’s probably holding back her tears and beating herself up about it, but she wishes she wouldn’t. Wishes Jane believed her when she says it’s okay.

“It’s alright, Mum. And I don’t know… I’m not sure if Maisee’s got anything planned or not,” Y/N shrugs, but part of her kind of hopes they make a small fuss. She wouldn’t mind pancakes for breakfast and maybe take out in the evening.

“I’m sure she does, you know what Maisee’s like.” Jane laughs, considers her to be a second daughter and Y/N laughs too. 

It’s quiet for a brief moment and they both bask in the comfort of just knowing they’re somewhat together.

“I’m really sorry I can’t make it this weekend,” Cindy continues to apologise. 

Y/N sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head and she just wants her mother to understand that she understands. Y/N knows her mother is a hard worker, knows she’s never had anything just handed to her and Jane has brought Y/N up the same way. 

Y/N grew up watching her mother fight for what they had, work seventeen-hour shifts just to make sure there was enough food on the table and to buy Y/N the books she needed for school.

Y/N watched her mother claw her way up the nursing ladder for years, comforted her on the nights she’d come home in tears after losing a patient, cooking her dinner at three in the morning when she got home from a long shift. Y/N was her mothers’ mother and they were each other’s best friends.

“Mum, stop… I’m coming back to Kingston in a few weeks for spring break anyway, it’s okay, it’s just a birthday,” Y/N shrugs it off and Jane knows her daughter’s being completely honest. They’ve never lied to each other and Y/N wasn’t about to start now.

She hears Jane sigh from the other line and a little smile graces Y/N’s lips. She won. 

“Okay, you win. Your card should come in the mail today and you get your presents when you come home. That okay?” Y/N smiles and sits herself up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and she can only imagine the mess her hair must be.

“That’s perfect, mum,” she sighs out.

“Okay, I’m gonna go. I got my final assessment in an hour and I need to get to work. Have a great birthday, baby. I love you!” Jane sends kisses down the phone.

Y/N laughs. “Bye, mum. Good luck, let me know how it goes. Love you!”

They end the call and Y/N throws her phone to the empty right side of her bed, sinking back into her pillow and she blows a few strands of hair out of her face.

Twenty-four and she doesn’t feel any fucking different.

Her morning routine is the same. Y/N gets out of bed and uses the bathroom, washes her face and brushes her teeth, makes her bed and has a quick shower. She dresses in a flowy, yellow summer dress and slips her feet into her Converse. Y/N lets her natural waves cascade past her shoulders and down her back as she fills in her brows and coats a layer of mascara to her lashes.

She’s bounding down the stairs soon after, tucking hair behind her ear. It’s quiet, only soft mumbles in the kitchen from her housemates. Y/N reaches the bottom of the stairs when she notices the lack of banners and balloons. Part of her is thankful no one has made a big deal out of it, but another part of her feels a little disappointed.

Y/N makes her way through the foyer and into the kitchen with a beaming smile, a little skip in her step but no one acknowledges her presence. There’s no birthday cards or a smiley group of friends. There’s no pancakes.

Y/N purses her lips. “Morning,” she mumbles out, swaying on the balls and heels of her feet and everyone mutters out a ‘hi,’ in the most disinterested way possible. 

Maisee’s got her head in her phone as she picks at her cereal. Dean and Raegen are too busy whispering like children with small smiles on their faces. Mackey and Oliver are half asleep on the counter and Harry’s sitting across from them all, earphones in and his MacBook on his lap.

“You got mail, by the way,” Maisee waves her hand to the front door, not bothering to look up from her phone and a very heavy sinking feeling sits in the pit of Y/N’s stomach. 

They forgot about her birthday. 

Y/N nods and quietly thanks her, feet shuffling back to the front door and she picks up the three letters addressed from her.

She stares at them, knows the cursive writing on the first one is from her grandma and grandpa, the one with the writing that resembles hers is from her mother, and the one with the printed text right off the computer is from her father. She’s shocked he remembered.

Y/N shakes her head and takes a minute to compose herself, throws the cards back onto the little entry table and clears her throat. She shouldn’t be upset that her friends forgot her birthday, she’s never liked a fuss made of her anyway, she shouldn’t be upset.

Y/N tugs her sundress down her hips a little, wiggles her toes and wanders back into the kitchen. No one pays much mind to her, save for Harry, who peers up at her with lidded eyes but she misses the curious squint he offers.

She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and bumps it closed with her hip. 

“What’s everyone doing today?” she asks as she uncaps her water. 

She earns a collection of mumbles that she somewhat translates to 'nothing much,’ and Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip.

Harry watches her, notices the harsh disappointment on her soft features and he’s so confused as to what’s going through her head. He wants to ask her, pull her aside and make sure everything’s okay, but they haven’t spoken in four days, since that whole situation with Corina, and he’s beginning to think he’s done something to upset her.

He hasn’t spoken to Corina, either. Blocked her number and deleted her on any socials he had her on. He took his dad’s advice, started a fresh.

Harry’s been focusing on his school work and writing songs for Professor Lennon the past few days and if he’s being honest, he feels good.

“Okay,” Y/N says to herself, pops her cap back on the water and she purses her lips. “Well, I’m going to work. Guess I’ll just see you all later,” she mumbles, eyes downcast and Harry’s almost fucking certain he sees her bottom lip quiver a little.

//

It’s been a shit day, to say the least. The milkshake machine threw up on Y/N within the first ten minutes of her shift starting, and her stupid boss refused to let her go home to change. She’s been verbally abused by customers all afternoon, a bunch of bikers riding through town and trying to cop a feel while she was waiting on them.

She’s felt icky all day and she just wants to go home, shower, and forget about the complete and utter disaster of her forgotten twenty-fourth birthday. She’s close to tears when she parks outside the house and the Nissan stinks of banana split.

Her grandparents called her on her break, wished her love and happiness, and she’s still to hear from her father, but that much is expected. Y/N’s kicking the rubble beneath her feet when she makes her way up the steps to the porch. 

The lights are off and she supposes everyone’s out. It’s 10 p.m. on a Saturday night, there’s no reason for them to be home, and Y/N’s thankful for the chance to cry in peace.

But when she pushes through the door and flicks the light on, there are bodies jumping out from every hidden corner, balloons on the ceiling and party poppers are going off in her face. 

Y/N lets out a frantic scream, hands covering her face and she can hear music and laughter. She squints her eyes open, heart dropping and stomach swirling. 

“Happy 24th, Y/N!” Maisee screams at the top of her lungs, pretty dress holding her hips and Y/N feels severely underdressed. 

Maisee pulls her into a hug, kisses her forehead and pushes her to greet her guests. Everyone’s there. Her friends from her English study group and other classes, a few of Mackey and Olly’s friends that she’s spent time hanging with. It’s everyone she knows and she couldn’t be more grateful.

“Oh my God,” she breathes out, tears in her eyes and she swears she’s about to burst into tears. 

She’s pulled into hugs from everyone, chatting and drinking and dancing and she feels so fucking good, feels the thing everyone says she would. She feels liberated.

“Let me change, hold on,” she tells Maisee as she tries to drag Y/N out to the backyard. 

Maisee rolls her eyes but lets her, nonetheless. Y/N’s running up the stairs with a grin, untying her apron and shimmying out of her skirt in the process. She’s in only her underwear when she closes the door, making for the closet when she sees something on her nightstand.

A bouquet of trilliums sits on the surface, a tall bag of Horlicks beside it and Y/N frowns as she picks up the folded flower card that leans against her lamp.

Happy Birthday….

Saw the flowers and thought of u.

Oh and I used all ur horlicks so here’s a new bag, you were right, I’m out like a light after LOL.

Love, Harry x

Y/N blushes, heat rising through her body and she can’t help but giggle at her gift, but she’s still thankful, nonetheless. She gently places the card back on her nightstand before rummaging through her closet, opting on a black, floral wrap dress and she’s bouncing back down the stairs.

//

It’s been two hours and Y/N’s feeling brave. She’s drinking a little more than she knows she should (three drinks being the usual limit and she’s now on her fifth), but she’s enjoying herself. She’s wedged on the couch between Maisee and the armrest, her head on her friend’s shoulder and Maisee coos her.

“You’re so great, Mais,” Y/N sighs out, eyes fluttering closed and she’s growing even more appreciatively grateful for the little get together her best friend had assembled. 

“I know, baby,” Maisee tells her, a smirk on her lips and Y/N lets out a snorted giggle.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, save for the music and the laughter of the other partygoers. Y/N takes a moment to sober up a little, to sift through her thoughts and she’s only now realising that she hasn’t seen Harry all night and she remembers the flowers on her nightstand.

“Is Harry here?” she asks quietly. 

Y/N feels dirty, like she shouldn’t be asking such an innocent question, and in her hazy state, Maisee nods through a yawn. 

“Think he’s in the yard,” she tells her and Y/N hums.

She waits on the couch for a few more passing moments and nibbles on her bottom lip. She debates whether she should go through with what she wants to do… whether she actually has the guts to tell him what she needs to. But before Y/N can fully comprehend those thoughts, she’s telling Maisee she needs the bathroom and she’s searching for him.

Y/N weaves through her friends and acquaintances, one goal on her mind and she’s eager to tell him. She prays he feels the same, he must do. She can’t stop thinking about everything Richie told her, about the longing looks, the nicknames. Y/N’s certain there’s something between them, she can feel it in her bones.

She makes her way into the kitchen, trying to suppress her beaming smile and she searches for his fluffy head of curls, knows he hasn’t been slicking them back lately, even if they have been avoiding each other since that night with Corina.

She’s on her tiptoes, surprised by how crowded the kitchen is and when she sees that mop of brown curls, her smile grows to twice its size. She can see the tight pink shirt he’s wearing and the black corduroy pants, and he looks good, so good.

Y/N’s about to move closer when the man in front of her, that was blocking her view, wanders off and she can see his pretty face so clearly. But the smile slips from her face just as quickly as it appeared as Harry dips his head down and envelops another girl’s lips with his.

It’s like she’s drowning. Her heart sinks to the pit of her stomach, knees tingling and her throat feels like it’s closing in. Everything around her is black and white, everything but him and her. The air is being sucked out of the room and she feels that familiar feeling of impending doom crashing over her.

You’re so stupid, Y/N. He never liked you!

She’s almost panting for air when she watches Harry pull away, a cocky smirk on his lips and the girl beside him looks fucking gorgeous as she tries to catch her own breath. Y/N knows that kiss, knows the way it makes someone’s knees buckle and head grow cloudy.

Y/N doesn’t feel the tears that begin to pool in her eyes, but she feels all self-confidence quickly evade her nerves and she feels so fucking small. Harry feels eyes on him and he doesn’t expect to see a heartbroken Y/N staring right at him.

He sees the pain in her eyes and the little twitch of her lips as they curve into a frown. Harry lets go of the girl beside him, didn’t have any interest in learning her name at the beginning of the night and he certainly doesn’t have any interest now.

He’s focused on Y/N and the way she tries her hardest to give him an encouraging smile, despite the fact that she’s fucking crumbling within herself. She nods her head and spins on the heels of her feet and Harry doesn’t miss the frown that quickly takes over her fake smile before she’s rushing for the front door.

Harry doesn’t say a word to the girl beside him, just brushes past her and follows Y/N. Harry doesn’t know why he chases after her or feels the need to tell her the kiss meant nothing, but he also doesn’t give himself a chance to think about it. He just needs to get to Y/N.

He thinks he’s lost her when he gets to the lounge, can’t see any sign of her pretty black dress or her full head of hair but then he sees the front door slowly swing closed and he stops it before it locks, rushing outside and closing it behind him.

The air is cold, freezing, actually and he can see her shivering as she sits on the bottom steps of the front porch. Harry purses his lips and slowly eases closer to her, sits beside her and stretches his legs out the best he can. She’s silent beside him, too busy staring at the concrete beneath them.

Y/N takes a deep breath. It’s now or never, she tells herself. Harry’s oblivious beside her. 

“I don’t know when I’m next gonna feel confident enough to do this, and hell, maybe I shouldn’t be doing this at all, but I need to. I need to,” she mutters out, brows knitted like she’s trying to convince herself and Harry can’t help but frown in confusion.

She turns around, eyes watering and he gets a good look at her. She looks distraught, but in the most fucking beautiful way possible. 

“Honey… what’s going on?” Harry whispers, doesn’t miss the way her breathing hitches in her throat and his hands are growing clammy and he’s got that uneasy feeling in his stomach again.

“I like you,” she blurts out, eyes wide and Harry blinks. “Like, I wanna be with you, like you,” she’s whispering as her voice dies out from its confidence to uncertainty. 

She can hear her heart pounding heavily in her ears and Harry clears his throat, feels like it’s about to close in on him.

He can’t believe it, it can’t be true. Harry stares at her for a few moments, tries to find any indication that she’s joking, or if it was a spur of the moment thing, but all he can see are insecurities and pure adoration and she’s swaying just a little.

“Y/N,” he begins, taking her cold, dainty hands in his huge ones and he rubs his thumb against the divots of her knuckles. 

“You’re drunk, petal,” he laughs lightheartedly, like he needs to believe that’s the reason she’s saying this… like he doesn’t deserve for her to mean it.

Y/N shakes her head and pulls her hands out of his grasp, standing to her feet and pacing in a small circle. 

“No… I mean, maybe a little, but I’m still honest,” she reasons and she’s in her head again, drowning in her insecurities like every other night.

“But it’s okay, you don’t have to like me back, it’s nothing new. I don’t expect for someone as incredible as you to even glance at someone like me. It just doesn’t ever happen, I should know that by now,” Y/N rambles to herself, let’s her fears and self-doubt feast on her and Harry grabs her hand and gently tugs so she’s sitting beside him again.

She plops down, pout weighing on her pretty lips and Harry brings her hands to his mouth, peppering kisses to her knuckles. 

“Y/N, you are incredible. Not me. I don’t deserve you,” he tells her breathlessly. 

His heart is aching and he just wants to hold her. It’s an odd emotional reaction for Harry, but he doesn’t question it.

“If I’m so incredible, how come no one wants me?” Y/N sniffles, her nose a little runny and Harry’s lip involuntarily pouts back at her. 

She doesn’t expect the impact of his soft lips on hers, but she doesn’t fight it either.

Harry holds her clammy cheeks in the palms of his hands, suckles softly on her bottom lip and Y/N loses all sense of reality. Her fingers thread through his curls as she tugs at them softly, kisses him back with all of her drunken might and neither of them mind the taste of alcohol on the others tongues.

“I want you,” he whispers against her lips.

//

Feedback is always appreciated!!

Tags: @kissfromadove @stilesissaved @kiwitsayedsugar @savannahwendel @triski73 @stylesfever @babyyhoneyyy @theresnooneheretosave @ellaorchard @itsmytimetoodream @daphnesutton @matildasatellite

[verareids]

feel the same - s.r. x reader

spencer misunderstands a conversation he overhears between reader and derek. tags/cws: misunderstandings, confessions of feelings, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluff, mild angst, derek morgan has big brother energy wc: 1708 (much longer than I thought lmao) a/n: I'm truly obsessed with season 1 spencer as of late so I HAD to write a fic with him in mind. <3

also posted on ao3

“You know Pretty Boy likes you, don’t you?”

Spencer had been trying to get some sleep on the flight back after working a case that had drained all his energy when the sound of Morgan’s voice caught his attention. Without opening his eyes, he knew exactly who he was talking to. Spencer had never outright admitted to anyone that he had developed feelings for you but it was getting harder to deny. Once Derek had started pointing out the way he’d look up when you entered a room or the way his eyes lingered as you walked away, he was becoming concerned that this crush was more obvious than he’d like it to be. 

He’s been trying to ignore it, telling himself it’s unprofessional when really it’s because he believes there’s no way you could possibly feel the same. There’s a myriad of reasons why he wished Derek would keep his big mouth shut but honestly – that was probably the biggest.

“Likes me? How old are we?” The smooth sound of your response makes Spencer smile to himself in spite of the current situation. 

“(Y/N), come on…” Derek chuckles and is immediately met with a long stretch of silence. Spencer can picture the death glare he knows he’d see on your face if he were to look at you in this moment. “Look, you know he’s never gonna ask you out himself so maybe you should just–”

“Derek.” You interrupt with an evident sternness in your tone. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I’ve told you, it’s not happening.” Ouch. Spencer had never allowed himself to dream that you would reciprocate his feelings but he definitely wishes he had been asleep for that one. With that, he forces his eyes shut tighter than before and takes in one deep, slightly shaky breath and decides to try to go back to sleep, if only so that he doesn’t have to hear you reject him even harder.

~

Spencer wakes up as the jet is landing and he quickly gathers all of his things, walking out and across the strip with much more urgency than usual. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by you, not much does – especially where Spencer is concerned – and you make a mental note to check in with him later. He had caught your eye the first day you met him which must be, what? Half a year ago now? And he had been on your mind ever since. You had bonded quickly as friends, being the two youngest members on the team. About a month ago you had finally allowed yourself to acknowledge the fact that you had developed feelings for him. You’d sit next to him at any given opportunity, listen to his infamously long rants much longer than anyone else would, spend just a little too long staring at his lips as he talked you through his theories. It didn’t take long for people to notice. Elle had her suspicions, JJ made a comment every now and then, but Derek – he wouldn’t let it go. He teases you about it constantly. You haven’t given him the satisfaction of admitting it, you haven’t been able to deny it either.

When you eventually make your way into the building along with the rest of the team you notice that Spencer had already left. It’s only then you start to be concerned. It’s unlike him to leave in such a hurry, even more so to not even say goodbye. You rack your brain trying to come up for a reason for this strange behavior. Is he sick? Upset about something? Was it you? You begin to go over every interaction you’d had with him recently when you have to stop yourself before you spiral. He’s just tired. If it was serious he’d tell you… right?

~

The next morning you walk in to find Spencer at his desk working on the report he didn’t write last night before he had basically ran away.

“Morning, Spence!” You greet him, making an effort to sound cheerful as you lean on his desk. He doesn’t look up, like he’s trying extra hard to look busy.

“Morning, (Y/L/N).” He replies without looking up. His tone seems normal, his use of your last name is what sounds the alarms in your head.

“Hey… are you feeling alright?” You ask tentatively, not wanting to pry too much in case you really had done something wrong that you clearly weren’t aware of. “I noticed you kind of left in a hurry last night.” He finally looks up and meets your eyes, easing your nerves slightly. His eyes shift away and then back to yours before a soft smile graces his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m okay.” He responds after a while in a way that sounds like that’s not all he wants to say. You go to reassure him, make sure he knows he can tell you anything, but stop yourself when you notice the way he tenses when you place a hand on his shoulder. Retracting your hand quickly, you begin to fidget with your fingers before running them through your hair nervously.

“Spencer… I–” You start and stop and Spencer feels a little guilty as you seem to stumble over your words anxiously. “Is it me? Did I do something? Because if I did I–”.

“(Y/N).” Spencer cuts off your panicked rambling. You take a steadying breath as he slowly rises to stand in front of you, your eyes trailing up when he towers over you. He looks around the room and sighs before focusing back on you. “Can we go somewhere to talk?” You nod and begin walking towards a storage room with Spencer following close behind, quickly checking that there's no one in there before stepping inside.

“What’s going on with you?” You break the silence as Spencer closes the door behind him. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird.” You notice the way he dodges the question. He can’t meet your eyes anymore, his gaze shifts around the room and he smiles awkwardly at you.

“Spence, that’s not–” You interrupt yourself, trying to find a way to put your thoughts to words without overwhelming him. “I only want you to be okay. You’ve been acting differently since last night… If there’s something going on I want to be there for you.” When you say that he smiles sadly. He looks down in thought as if he’s considering something.

“I heard you talking to Morgan…” He mumbles, still staring at his feet – wringing his hands together. You furrow your brows in confusion. Talking to Morgan? “On the jet on the way home…”

“Oh.” This isn’t happening. You figure you should’ve known Derek’s relentless teasing would be your downfall. He must know you like him now. There’s a reason you never wanted him to know how you felt. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything ruining your friendship. Spencer visibly deflates even more in front of you at your lack of response. You begin scrambling to come up with a way to get out of this horrifically embarrassing situation.

“Look, I– I didn’t mean to make this awkward…” Oh god. The way he’s stuttering and tripping over his words. You stare blankly at him, then duck your head, bracing for the impact of his rejection. “It’s not like I thought you would feel the same way I just–” Wait what? Your head snaps back up to see his face, eyes widened, which seems to startle him a little. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I guess I just got really in my head about it.” He begins to look a little panicked. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry if I did.” You just keep staring up at him, mouth agape in disbelief. “(Y/N)?” He says your name with a sad desperation and it reminds you that you should respond.

“Sorry, I–” You say slowly while shaking your head. “Are you saying that – Do you like me?” Now it’s Spencer’s turn to look confused, but it was all starting to make sense to you. You had thought he was acting weird because he had found out about your feelings, when in reality, it was the other way around.

“Yes?” He replies hesitantly.

“I like you too.” You say simply with a shy smile but Spencer looks completely taken aback. 

“You do?” The way his eyes light up with a subtle excitement was adorable. Soon after, that look was replaced with skepticism. “But I thought— you told Morgan you didn’t like me.”

“I told Morgan to stop teasing me about you because I didn’t think this…” You gesture between the two of you. “Was ever going to happen.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief and smiled bashfully.

“You could have just told me.” You feel his eyes scanning your face as if he were still looking for proof that you weren’t messing with him.

“You didn’t tell me either.”

“I thought there was no way…” You make eye contact as he trails off in thought. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.” Spencer takes a tentative step closer to you but doesn’t move to touch you in any way, so you reach out to take his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Well… maybe if we don’t have to fly out for a case today, we could go to dinner tonight?” You’re staring down at your intertwined hands, squeezing once before looking back up. When you see his face he’s still looking down with a big dopey grin on his face and you can’t help but smile right back.

“Yes— definitely.” You giggle at his obvious enthusiasm. 

You both stay in the storage room for another couple minutes, mostly just staring starry eyed at each other. Eventually you both decide that you should get back to work. You try to hide whatever was now going between you as much as you can but like always, Derek Morgan figures you out within minutes and he, along with the rest of the team, teases you relentlessly. (You wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[luveline]

Hi Jade ! I loove your sunshine!readers, could I request one for Carmy ? Maybe someone calls her to get to the restaurant when hes feeling anxious to calm him down idk if thats good lol love ya !

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

Is it The Beef or The Bear? In your head, despite the wishes of everyone who works there (except for Ebra, who seems to have mixed opinions), you always call it The Beef. But the sign brags otherwise, and when you push open the doors, nothing inside is left to remind you of the old restaurant. It was a total gut. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” says a familiar, warm voice. 

You almost walk straight into her table, distracted looking for brown curls through the kitchen door’s little window. “Hey, Tina.” You grin at your second favourite chef. Your most favourite Sous. “You taking a break?” 

She offers you a round butter cookie from a sleeve of them. Her cup of coffee billows with steam. “Uh-huh.” 

“Hiding from a meltdown?” you ask, taking a cookie, fingers oily with butter, sugar grains falling to the floor. 

“It’s not like that,” she says. 

Well, what is it like? you think. 

Richie’s text wasn’t exactly descriptive. Need ur help with the little Bitch, he’d said. Then, when you didn’t answer, ASAP!!!!

You figured it must’ve been another rant. He’s prone to these… episodes of anger where he doesn’t realise he’s spinning out and hurting people who really care about him. You try to bring him out of it, but he’s a Berzatto. They’re all the same, sort of. Everything that’s wrong with them has been stamped into them a long, long time ago. 

He’s been better since Nat steel armed him into AA, but still. You tilt your head to one side, sugar cookie between your fingers, listening for the goings on in the kitchen. “Sydney’s here?” you ask. “I thought she was sick.” 

“Sydney gets sick, but she doesn’t take sick days,” Tina says with a loving shrug. 

You smile at her in brief goodbye for now and make your way to the kitchen, where you push in quietly. All their ‘Behind!’ and ‘Corner!’ and ‘Hands!’ makes you laugh, and you can’t take it seriously so you don’t, but you’re not trying to be dangerous in there either. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

Sydney and Richie look up from a cramped notebook at the table nearest to the door. There are employees you're unsure of prepping vegetables along the wall, but Carmy isn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Fucking finally,” Richie says, before rubbing his face regretfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I texted you an hour ago, babe, you’re letting me down.” 

You laugh. “Sorry, babe,” you tease. “I have a job, just like you.” Your hands are cold where you tuck them under each armpit, crossing your arms. “Hi, Sydney. You feeling okay?” 

“No. He’s stressing me out.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both of them.” She looks like she might rub her face too. “I need him to be in here right now, he should be doing this, but he keeps walking away and– and not saying where he’s going.” 

“He is stressful,” you agree, though usually Carmy’s stress tends to bounce right off of you, “I’m gonna find him and strap him down for you.” 

Sydney just frowns. 

“I’ll see what’s up,” you say more seriously. “In the office?” 

“Out the back,” Richie says. “Smoking like his mother. He’s a fucking steam train lately.” 

It’s like they want to worry you. You give them grateful nods, sorry nods, and start to make your way out of the main kitchen, past the dishwashers and the dessert station to one of the back doors. Carmy isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to apologise for him, you don’t have to mother him, he should commit to his responsibilities all on his own, but… it’s hard. You like apologising for him because his behaviour isn’t always on purpose, and he struggles with commitment for similar reasons. There’s this aching, stagnated grief in him that’s reawakening, there’s the stress of the restaurant, his business, the scars of the last ten years, and before that. You know it isn’t your job to come here and make him feel better, but isn’t it? When you love someone, it’s half the deal. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at his friends, or employees. He shouldn’t chain smoke, and he shouldn’t be sitting on the low wall by the dumpsters shaking so hard with his head so low that you can see the first notch of his spine in his shirt. 

“Carmy?” you ask. 

His head ducks further down. You can hear him breathing, not too hard as to alarm you, and yet unrelaxed. 

You smile without thinking. You hate seeing him like this, but looking after him is a pleasure. “Hey, Carmen. Can I sit with you?” 

He forces his face up. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

Trying to make sure he doesn’t tear another chunk out of Richie. “It’s my lunch break.” 

You perch on the wall beside him and snap your nearly forgotten cookie into two pieces, one side bigger than the other, which you offer him. 

Carmy takes it. Looks at it without expression, though that slowly turns to a dry ire you’ve felt directed your way a hundred times. “What the fuck is this?” 

“Cookie.” 

“I don’t want this.” 

“Could you just eat it?” You put your own half in your mouth in its entirety, all aligned to your teeth. It shatters into sweet, soft crumbs between your teeth. You talk with a hand over your mouth, “It’s not gonna kill you.” 

Carmy looks at it for a long time before he eats it. 

You watch him. He’s more tan than you’d think, that Italian gene kicking in, skin clinging to whatever sunshine it finds. He spends enough time inside that you’re surprised it can muster the energy. He looks better with it though, his curls look gold toned under the sun, and his clenched jaw doesn’t seem so harsh. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask eventually. Almost conversationally. 

“Nothing.” His hand shakes on his thigh. He turns his palm down to clasp his knee. 

“You sure?” 

“No.” 

“That one’s my favourite.” 

“What?” 

You poke toward a tattoo on his hand. It’s a simple flower, same style as most of his tattoos. “I like it ‘cos it’s just a flower.” 

“My least pretentious,” he guesses. 

“Something like that.” 

He tips his head back. 

“Richie texted me. He thinks I’m gonna… like, I’m gonna calm you down, I guess.” 

“You always do,” he says. 

You give him a long, smiley look. “So you’re in love with me?” you ask warmly, pushing up into a knee to wrap your arm behind him, hugging him before he can move away. “You’re totally fucked for me, Berzatto, that’s fucking crazy.” 

“Fuck off,” he laughs. 

You rub his arm, his skin hot in your hold. He touches your waist very, very lightly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? I can’t cook. You and Syd are on your own.” 

“You already… already did enough.” He grabs your waist where you wobble on the brick wall, grit biting your knees, his hand comparatively soft. 

“Such a crush on me,” you tease in a whisper, his hair crushed under your cheek. 

You’re tempted to kiss his temple, but affection with Carmy is like oil and water sometimes. You give him a last protective squeeze and sit yourself down again. 

“Carm,” you say, “you know you can call me, right? Like, if you don’t feel okay.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

“Or text me. If that’s easier. It’s hard to say hard things out loud.” 

He laughs again. “Sorry.” 

“I know, I don’t– I don’t seem like I know what you’re talking about, I get it, but I do understand. N’ even if I didn’t, I don’t mind listening. Or laughing at you.” 

“What’s that about?” 

“The laughing?” you ask. “You tell me.” 

His hand slides behind your back in half a hug. “Guess it’s funny.” 

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?” 

“The flowers not your favourite?” 

“No. You know which one I like best?” 

His thumb rubs into your back. “The snail.” 

“Absolutely the snail. You’re so fucking silly sometimes, I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re yelling and red in the face with a snail on your arm?” 

You can’t see his face with your cheek to his shoulder, won’t know that he’s smiling at you with a rare aura of peace. Can’t see the wanting, either. 

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Wasn't actually going to do a part 2 to this mafia!Price x pregnant reader drabble but a few people requested it so ...

I don't think this will be a long fic or a series or anything but if anyone has by particular requests for scenes, let me know!

You take the table's orders quickly and almost trip getting away from them.

John follows you immediately, of course, but if you can just get to the kitchen, he won't be able to follow you.

Or so you think.

The doors don't have time to swing shut behind you before they burst open again and you feel a hand on your waist, spinning you around to face him.

"You're taking your break," he tells you.

"I can't yet, I have tables. And-"

You see your manager approaching and brace yourself for the tirade.

"Sir, you can't be in h-"

He stops when he gets a proper look at John.

"Oh. Um, is there a problem, sir? Or some way I can-"

"She's taking her break," John tells him, jerking his thumb at you. Your manager just nods mutely and John takes your hand, leading you out the back entrance.

"Beat it," he tells the line cook, smoking by the bins. The man slinks back inside without a word.

As soon as you're alone, John shepherds you against the wall, arm on either side of you so you're walled in.

"It's mine?" he asks and you try not to be offended. It's a fair question, you suppose. You just nod, looking at your shoes. He tilts your chin up so you're looking at him. You can't read the look on his face.

"Finish your shift. I'll wait."

+++++++

He takes you home, makes the others take a cab wherever they're going, and just gives you a look when you suggest you can take the bus.

He also insists on walking you inside. Your face warms at the way he's analysing your apartment building. When you hold the door to your place open for him, he rubs his hand along the doorframe, studying the lock, heads straight for the windows to do the same once he's inside.

"We'll need to get you moved out of here," he says when he finally turns around. You raise  your eyebrows.

"Is that right?" you ask. If he notices the sarcasm, he doesn't comment.

"Mmmhmm. Could get the lads to pack up your stuff for you, handle the movin'. We could have it done tonight"

"And where do you suggest I go?"

John smiles and sidles towards you.

"I could think of a few places," he says, raising his eyebrows. You huff a laugh.

"Hmm. But there's nothing wrong with my apartment."

John just hums.

"Not a good area," he tells you.

You start to feel your temper rise a little.

"Think whatever you want of the area; You don't get to walk in here and tell me-"

"Well I am telling you darlin'. I know these parts and 'round here isn't a good place for a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" you ask flatly, crossing your arms. You force yourself not to move away from him as he gets in your space. You can smell him from here, the scent of his cologne, and doesn't that bring back memories.

He leans down so he's looking into your eyes properly.

"A good girl," he says.

You snort and turn away.

"Does that line usually work for you?"

In a second, you feel his hands on your waist, pulling you back against a hard chest.

"Worked before, didn't it?" His voice is raspy in your ear.

"You didn't mind being my good girl the last time we spoke, did ya, sweetheart? Or can you only be good when you're stuffed full?"

He presses harder against your back and you can feel the length of him now.

"'Cause I can help you with that, love, just you say the word."

You pull away, turn to look at him, with your chest heaving.

"Place like this could be dangerous for a girl like you," John says and it sounds like a warning.

"Aren't men like you what makes places like this dangerous?" you whisper.

He steps towards you again, slower this time, puts a hand on your hip. You don't pull away.

"Sometimes," he admits. "Not always. Need to make sure you're taken care of, from all the bad things out there. Goes for both of you."

"I don't need taken care of," you tell him. It would sound more convincing to your own ears if you could find it in yourself to pull your hand off his chest.

"No?" His hand suddenly dips between your legs and you jolt forwards into him.

"You been taking care of yourself here, hmm?" He starts to rub, over your work leggings, leans down so his head is nearly on your shoulder.

"Been taking care of this pretty pussy like it needs?" he asks, voice rough. "It was so needy that night we met, I was sure we'd go a few rounds. Why'd you run instead, sweetheart? I didn't even get a chance to taste it."

You can't answer, can't think, especially not when he shoves his same hand under your pants, sliding your underwear to one side for better access. Your head falls back when he touches your clit.

"Need me to take of you here, darlin'?"

You can't help your moan.

"Not good enough," he grunts. "Need you to say it, love. Say you need me to take care of this pussy."

And you've been so stressed for so long and, really, at this point, what harm could it possibly do?

"Please, please, John, I need you. I need-need-"

He quietens you with a kiss, leaning down to lift you by your thighs. The bump makes it a bit awkward but he doesn't falter as he makes his way to your room.

"All you needed to say, mama."

[senseofnewness]

crushing!art donaldson because i need that boy to be desperate since childhood [nsfw]

• you guys have known each other since you were 7 or 8, growing up in the same circle, at first, he thought you were annoying as fuck

• only sees you during summer because you go to an all-girls catholic boarding school

• doesn't know how to deal with the fact that you grow more mature and prettier each year, so he resorts to tugging on your ponytail, pinching your waist, and teasing you with silly nicknames

• notices your hips getting wider and your chest growing fuller when you're 13, and he can't help but let his eyes linger a little too long when you aren't looking

• starts being more gentle when you play rough-and-tumble, one time, you even feel him growing hard beneath you, you never wrestled again after that

• introduces you to the infamous patrick one summer and it's the first time you understand why your dad tells you to be cautious of boys, so you stick to art, you feel safe with him

• forces patrick to invite you to his summer house after that, telling him you're like family, patrick thinks you're just getting in the way of precious boy-time with his best friend

• brings you to the beach to buy you ice cream as soon as patrick takes a nap, when you ask why patrick is missing, he tells you he's lactose intolerant and can't eat that

• tries to teach you about tennis but the shorts you're wearing makes it hard for him to form coherent sentences, he spends the whole time readjusting his own shorts

• gets mad that you always associates him with patrick, even if it makes sense since they're always glued to the hips

• his grandma thinks you're dating and calls you his girlfriend, he never bothered correcting her

• helped you get rid of the sand on the back of your thighs once and still thinks about the feeling of your skin underneath his fingers on a daily basis

• the first time he stroked himself thinking about you was after another day at the beach when he saw you mindlessly tugging at the crotch of your bikini bottom that kept riding up your crack

• was turned on by you long before that but had never admitted to himself that he was attracted to you and allowed himself to think about you in his most private moments

• caught you changing into your swimsuit once and turned bright red, it was so quick before you covered yourself and whined at him that he had barely seen anything but knowing that he saw you naked got him heavy breathing

• thinks of you as a prude innocent thing that needs to be shielded from the perversion of the world and keeps telling patrick to shut up when he starts saying innapropriate things in front of you

• gets obsessed with the idea of kissing you ever since you told him you wear flavoured lip glosses

• when he finally tells patrick about his crush, patrick is constantly on your back bragging about what a good guy art is and trying to question your feelings about him, but from art's point of view, it looks like patrick is monopolizing your time and he gets pissed about it

• gets in a big fight about it with patrick, after that patrick seems more distant with you

• finally kisses you in the ferris wheel at the funfair during the summer of your 17, he had planned that moment for days because he wanted your first kiss to be romantic

• changes his mind about you being prude and innocent when you're sucking on his tongue minutes later, you both spend the rest of the night making out on the beach

• when he tells patrick, he's all giddy until patrick reminds him how frustrating it's going to be for him to date a virgin who is saving herself for marriage

• starts officially dating you and when the making out gets too intense, he assures you he respects your choice to wait and he won't pressure you into doing anything

• you spent the whole summer after that just constantly dry humping each other, both soaked, always coming close to breaking the promise you had made to god

• gets so frustrated while making out that he asks for your hand in marriage while his is up your shirt, you laugh at him but maybe he was a little serious about it

• thinks about all the ways he could convince you to let him just slide the tip in for a second, just to feel you, but he won't

• the summer ends with you still a virgin, you did jerk him off though, a lot, like in every room and at any moment of the day, patrick even urged you to 'just do it already' the third time he caught you with your hand down art's pants

• pays for your train tickets home the first weekend back to school because he misses you so much already

• when you show him that after a long introspection you decided to stop wearing your purity ring, he already knows you're going to spend the whole weekend in bed

[classyrbf]

A GOOD POUNDING! — TOJI + SUKUNA

SYNOPSIS...toji or sukuna fucking you so good that you can barely think, the only problem is that you can’t make any noise or he’ll stop

INFO...toji x fem!reader, sukuna x fem!reader, mirror sex, carry fucking, degrading, praise, they’re kinda mean, rough sex, pussy slaps, dacryphilia, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Just imagine toji or sukuna fucking you so good, his big strong arms holding you up, your arms wrapped around his neck as his dick pistons in out of you, leaving your mind spiraling. Your toes are curling at the delicious feeling of his cock rubbing against your g-spot, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. You’re panting, biting harshly on your bottom lip, eyes screwed shut because if you make any noise, he won’t hesitate to pull out and leave you and needy, whiny mess. Your pussy clamps down on his cock, juices cascading down his shaft and to his balls, making it sloppy between you two.

“You better not make a fucking sound or I’ll stop fucking this tight pussy,” he grunts. It’s so hard to keep quiet with how deep he was, the pleasure coursing through you wasn’t helping in the slightest. “Look,” he chuckles, “look at how much of a mess you’re making on my cock.” He nods towards the mirror, a smug smirk on his face as he easily lifts your hips. You look over your shoulder towards the mirror, seeing the effects of your creamy pussy. “Poor baby wants to cum so bad, huh?” He thrusts his hips into you unexpectedly, nearly making you yelp. You stare at him with such desperate eyes, practically begging him to let you at least make some type of noise.

It wouldn’t be too much longer until you did, his hips slamming back into your sopping cunt, making your eyes rolling back. His pace picks up, guiding your hips down to his as he watches the way your ass ripples against his pelvis. He’s being mean, fucking you harder and faster cause he wants to see you break. Your nails claw against his back, holding onto his for dear life, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. Your lips are pursed shut, digging your head into the crook of his neck as you tried to conceal the moans that wanted to escape to badly. The familiar feeling of your orgasm began approaching and you can’t hold it back anymore. “Please, please, please, I’m gonna cum!” You’re crying, tears pricking your eyes.

“What a fucking slut you are.” He pulls out of you without hesitation, leaving you squirming in his grip, hole clenching around nothing. “Can’t you listen to a word I say?”

“I’m sorry! Please just keep fucking me! I need you so bad,” You beg, growing so desperate you try and reach around to shove his cock back inside. He takes joy in the way you whimper, a frown on your face as tears well in your eyes.

“Only good girls get to cum.” He tosses you on the bed, leaving your swollen pussy exposed. He hovers over you, a large hand pushing one of your legs back to get a good view at your slick folds. Without warning his slaps your pussy, the stinging sensation making your body jolt. Then he does it again, and again. It felt so good, but hurt so bad. It was almost just enough to make you cum. You’re whimpering, legs quivering as you stare up at his large figure. His hand comes in contact with your sensitive cunt again, your lips now puffy. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’ll get off to anything just to cum.”

“I’m a good girl, I swear!” You pout, gasping when his fingers ghost over your clit before he removes them.

“I don’t think you are, sweetheart,” he sighs. “Now sit here and have fun trying to get yourself off. You don’t deserve my cock,” he says, all while he did it on purpose just to see those tears in your eyes and to hear your pleas to cum, squirming and becoming a needy whore. It was all apart of his plan.

repost from my original account

[pseudowho]

Yuuji's hand hovered over the receiver, paralysed. His universe zeroed in on the little plastic bubble around him, and the payphone, with the chatter, ringing, beeping and bustling of the Police Station behind him. The cuffs chafed on his wrist. He thought and thought, reaching for the receiver again, before freezing.

The police officer behind Yuuji tapped his foot. "Get on with it, kid." Yuuji shrunk in on himself, smaller than ever.

"Uhh...I'm really sorry. I don't think I'm ready for my first call yet. Can I have a bit longer?"

A huff from the officer. Yuuji's wrists clanked as he was grabbed by the upper arm, a heavy clang as he was pressed back into the cell, locked in. There was a drunk on the perpendicular bench. Some big guy with a kill you stare, the other side.

Yuuji tried not to cry as he hunched down towards his knees.

He had never felt so orphaned, as he did in this moment.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento hummed to himself, outwardly upbeat, and happy to be so in the absence of observers. He grabbed his travel mug from the desk; his paperwork was completed. He was advised he wouldn't be needed for the rest of the day, so why don't you just head off early? We'll just call you if we need you.

Words like syrup. Kento's metaphorical sweet shop. He lapped it up. He dropped you a text; home soon. I'll make dinner.

Making himself a fresh coffee, Kento felt his pocket buzzing. His humming stopped at the Unknown Number on screen, eyebrows pinching together. He answered, stirring his coffee.

"Nanami Kento speaking."

Initial silence. An awkward rustle. Kento waited.

"...Nanamin. I'm sorry, I...I didn't know who else to call. I'm in trouble." Kento turned his back on his coffee, pacing in front of his desk, a prickle of fear up his spine.

"Itadori-kun. Where are you?"

"I'm...I'm downtown. I was arrested. I was only trying to help--"

"I'll be right there. Don't say anything. You're safe. I'll be straight there."

Kento put the phone down, concern clipping his movements. He looked down at his phone, thinking. He tapped out two more text messages, grabbed his travel mug, and headed out to his car in long, purposeful strides.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

By the time Kento arrived, guided into the station by a receptionist, he scowled to see Yuuji being interrogated at a desk by an officer.

"I swear, I was just checkin' the place out, just--just bein' stupid, I didn't mean--"

"--didn't think the "No Entry" signs were for you, huh? What was the plan, go in and wreck the place? Damn kids--"

"Excuse me for interrupting. I don't believe you're supposed to be interviewing minors without a chaperone."

The police officer stopped, bristling as he looked up at Kento, looming down over him. Kento silenced Yuuji with a heavy hand on the shoulder. A travel mug of hot coffee was gently pressed into Yuuji's hands.

"Don't answer him, Yuuji. We're waiting for your lawyer."

Yuuji looked so small and tired, folded over on himself, that Kento felt a prickle of cold rage frost through him at Yuuji's treatment.

Kento's eyes flicked across the desk. He noted paperwork, with Yuuji's name. He noticed the 'Next of Kin' section...empty. Kento's stomach clenched, and his grip on Yuuji's shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. The police officer shivered under a chilly gaze.

"Nanamin...I'm sorry--"

"I'm sure you have nothing to be sorry for. This man, however--" the officer's blood ran cold when Kento's eyes swung to him again, "--should know better than to bully a child."

A rustle and a clatter sounded behind Kento and Yuuji. Yuuji heard a deep voice, apologising for knocking something off a desk, before another hand landed on his other shoulder. Yuuji gaped up.

"...Higuruma?" Hiromi glanced down, coal-soft eyes belying a little smile. The police officer sputtered into his coffee, looking frantically between the two men, now.

"Higuruma? Shit. I don't get paid enough for this."

"I assume you're charging my client with something." Hiromi sat, crossing his legs, hands clasped on his lap.

"He broke into an abandoned hospital--"

"Was it locked?"

"...ahhh..."

"Did he cause any damage?" Total silence. Hiromi cleared his throat.

"Did my client come with you willingly?" The police officer's face twisted, bitter and snide.

Hiromi blinked once, slowly. "I see. So, simple trespass really? With a minor, first offence? A caution at most, really, isn't it."

Yuuji looked over to Kento, who was busy scribbling something on Yuuji's paperwork, while Hiromi ground the police officer into the dirt on the other side of him.

"I assume you felt something inside the hospital. You weren't investigating just for fun?" A stern gaze through tinted lens.

"No, I...I think there's a Curse in there. Didn't get to it before I ran into the cops."

A hum. "Ah. I'll get Ijichi onto it." Yuuji nodded, his eyes prickling with tears. Kento's hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him, a flood of warmth down through his body.

"How long were you here for? Before you decided to call me."

"Uh...four or five hours." A pregnant pause from Kento. A sigh, Kento's voice softening.

"You can always call me, Yuuji." Kento stood, straightening his cuffs. "You'll come home with me for dinner. You're hungry." Yuuji's belly rumbled in response. Kento's lips almost quirked at Yuuji's sunny grin, reminded of another boy he once knew.

In due time, Yuuji was released with a caution. Hiromi clapped him on the shoulder with a lopsided smile, giving Yuuji's jaw a pat, before leaving for home. Yuuji stood, glancing at his paperwork on the desk.

In the previously empty "Next of Kin" section, in neat block capitals, with a phone number and address, was listed: NANAMI KENTO.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve’s parents send him on a gap year after high school in hopes that it’ll get him ready to apply to colleges and become a proper adult. They let him choose any of their three vacation homes so he chooses their condo in Paris.

He’s expected to find a job and himself.

The bakery down the block from the condo is owned by two old men who don’t wanna open anymore because they like sleeping in and sipping on their coffee on their balcony. Steve is happy to take over.

Especially when he sees the guy who works at the wine store across the road.

He’s in by 8 every morning, waving to the people coming in and out of the bookshop next to him and the bike repair shop next to them. His smile is contagious, and Steve often finds himself completely distracted by it even if he’s helping customers.

His long hair is always down when he gets there, but by the time Steve sees him leave in the afternoon, it’s pulled up and he has a sweaty sheen across his skin.

Steve decides to visit on his day off, maybe grab a bottle of wine even though he hates every wine he’s ever had to sip on at family functions.

But the man isn’t there when he stops by, or at least not at the counter. An older man is there, wrapping a bottle in paper for a customer who seems like they visit often.

It’s a small store, no bigger than the bakery, so it’s not like the guy could be hiding somewhere.

“Looking for something?” The older man asks as he walks around the counter towards Steve with a smile.

“Oh. Um.”

“You’re lookin’ for Ed right?” The old man’s smile turned into a smirk. “Ed! Customer!”

The man Steve had been seeing every morning and afternoon was suddenly rushing from the back of the store, clipboard in hand, hair sticking to his neck and forehead.

“Hi! What can I help you with?”

Steve could think of quite a few things he could help him with, but it probably wasn’t appropriate to say in front of someone else in his place of work.

“Sorry. Do you need me to speak French?” The man, Ed, asked in flawless French.

“No,” Steve assured. “I work in the bakery across the street. Just wanted to come by and say hi.”

Ed’s brows furrowed as he turned to the older guy who was already back at the counter trying to look busy.

“Does David need a bottle for something? He usually has Wayne pick his pairings.”

Steve shook his head. “No, not that I know of. I’ve just…um. Well, this is actually weirder now that I’m here. So I think I’ll go. Sorry to waste your time!”

Steve turned to go, but a hand grabbed his arm, tugging him back.

“Are you always this awkward?” Ed asked. Steve looked up from his feet to see him smiling. “It’s kind of cute.”

“Steve.”

“Steve. How about you come taste our sample bottle for the day? Maybe it’ll take the edge off,” Eddie offered, gesturing towards a side table that had an open bottle of wine and small sample glasses. “You like rosé?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Then let’s find out.”

Turns out Steve didn’t mind rosé that much, but maybe that was the company. The flavor was a bit less bitter than he was used to, going down much smoother without leaving a burning sensation on his tongue.

And later, after Eddie had talked to him for nearly an hour about himself and the store and his uncle who took him in and worked for him, Steve leaned in and got a taste of the rosé on Eddie’s tongue.

Steve decided he liked wine more than he thought.

[brainmuncher]

The emergency

A good number of members within the Justice League have children. Not all of those kids are biological or adopted but they are their kids nonetheless. Some of those kids are even old enough to be adult heroes of their own, but even then they are still their kids. And the other kids tend to take up heroism at a very young age to most people's chagrin. Although as shown by the original child hero, now going by Nightwing, it’s not as easy as telling the kids to stop.

It was learned through intense hardship that smothering the child heroes was just asking for trouble. Despite how much the older heroes wanted to stay close to their kids, it was seen as overbearing and a show of mistrust. They would act out with even less backup in retaliation, which would only bring even more stress.

So to satisfy the need for protection without stepping on any toes, two new emergency meeting signals were introduced.

One was for the kids to send off. Each one was gifted a small device that could be hidden in their person. The device had both a mic and a tracking chip that could be activated when they were in extreme danger. As soon as the device was active a signal would be sent to the league for an emergency distress signal with the details of who sent it. Due to an outcry from the kids, the device could not be activated by the guardian of the child. The mic and locator could only be activated from the device itself. It wasn’t nearly as protective as some of the more worried leaguers would like, but it was at least something. 

The second signal was one that the leaguer with a kid in danger could activate. This signal could be activated with a single code into the communicators that every member owned. If the member who sent out the signal didn’t specify what kid was in danger, every member would receive a generalized notification of the emergency alert for one of the kids. This wasn’t ideal, but it was learned early on that the guardian of the child was often too distressed to make the code more complicated. It was best to leave it simple and answer questions at the emergency meeting.

Which was great in all, until someone who doesn’t have a child involved with heroics in their care sends off a general emergency.

In places all over the globe, an emergency meeting signal message was sent by Hal Jordan, one of the lanterns. He didn’t include what child was in danger in the signal, meaning that it could be any of the underaged heroes. And considering he didn’t have a child in his care, that made multiple members panic.

When was the last time they checked in with the kids in their care? Who was the one he was sending the code for? What happened to the child he had noticed was in danger? Why is he the one that noticed? Where were their kids? Who was in danger?

Because of the nebulous nature of the call, it didn’t take long for multiple heroes to find the nearest transport to the watchtower and tumble in. What they didn’t expect was the absolute haggard appearance of their friend. He was standing in the meeting room looking like the world had been destroyed before his very eyes. The way he sat without even cracking a sarcastic remark made multiple members pause.

“Hal?” Wonder Woman called, her face pinched in concern. “What has happened?”

The aforementioned member looked over who had already arrived before settling on her face. It was at that moment she knew that he was only looking so collected through willpower alone. This wasn’t just any child of the league, this was personal.

“My nephew Danny has been captured,” He began, sending a wave of different emotions circling the room. “I’ve been trying to find where they took him for a week now and I can’t get any leads. I need your help.”

The unsaid questions and emotions were nearly palpable. Multiple members turned to one another or stared with a million questions. Nobody had known that Hal even had a nephew named Danny. Sure he mentioned someone named Jason at times, but he never indicated anything else. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned him or the fact that he’d been apparently searching for a week was strange.

“And why are you only telling us now? Why did you wait so long?” Superman asked, speaking up the question that was on multiple minds.

A fire of anger curled in Hal's eyes. It was fierce and protective. It was a mixture of appalment for being questioned on his decision and fury for the reasons why he had to do it in the first place. He stepped forward towards the center table, slamming his palms down and leaning into it.

“Because any person that goes against the group will be declared an enemy of the United States. I’ve already had my account and housing connected to Green Lantern seized,” He explained with a deceptively calm tone. “I also needed to make sure that they didn’t have any connections with the Justice League. They have their agents everywhere.”

Unsurprisingly, Batman appeared from the gathered heroes from seemingly nowhere. Despite the feud between the two of them, the Bat was completely zeroed in on the situation. While he had a decent amount of distrust in the lantern, mainly because of the parallax incident, he could tell that the man was genuine. And the Bat always did have a blind spot for children.

“Explain,” Was all Batman said, staring Hal down.

The lantern in question looked at him with a grim face. This was it. Now or never.

“They’re called the Ghost Investigation Ward, or GIW for short. They hunt down and either exterminate or experiment on anyone they deem ectocontaminated or a ghost,” Hal started to explain, his hand curling on the table in frustration. “My brother Jack faked his death and ran off to be with another woman. Those fucks deemed my nephew as ectocontaminated and tried to take him from his home. He ran from his family so that they couldn’t be arrested for knowingly harboring an ecto entity. Told me that he remembered my face from a photo his dad tried to hide in the attic and sought me out.”

If the fire in his eyes were any stronger, they would probably become physical and burn down the room. It was undeniable that Hal Jordan was understandably completely pissed off. This situation was terrible from down to the very root.

“I tried to hide him but they somehow found him anyway. Now my civilian name is being heavily monitored and Green Lantern is being hunted down,” He finished his explanation. “If you join me in this, be prepared to lose everything.”

This was so much worse than anyone could’ve predicted.

[badbtssmut]

Money shot

When you want to make it into the porn industry, there’s only one thing stopping you; you don’t have a male partner to costar in your audition tape, but fortunately for you, your best friend Jungkook is eager to star in your first tape.

Contains: blowjob, fingering, jk cums on her face, jk being smug, doggy, missionary, riding, dirty talk, some spanking, possessive Jungkook?, recording

Admin note: Idea from one of my anons :)

—

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Are you really asking me that while I’m standing here butt naked with a boner in my hands? Come on, I think we are way past the point of second guessing whether I want this or not. Besides, it was your idea to begin with, don’t be a chicken, y/n.”

“I am not being a chicken! I just— was checking on you, I just don’t want things to be different between us, ya know?” You say while staring at the carpet beneath your feet, trying not to look at his big cock standing proud right in front of your face.

Jungkook placed a finger under your chin, raising your head so you would look at him.

"Nothing will be different between us, okay? If at any point you want to stop, just tell me. I won't do anything unless you tell me to, you know I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do. And the same goes for me, aight? If I want to stop at any point, I’ll tell you. Now stop worrying.”

You take a deep breath before answering.

"Okay, okay. Let's do this."

Jungkook grabs the camera, starting the recording. He sits down on the couch and gestures for you to come closer. You kneel in front of him, starting by wrapping your fingers around his cock, pumping him slowly while you looked up at the lens, before your eyes gazed back at the cock, watching his cock swell up at your efforts. You stopped jerking him off, and instead used your mouth, taking as much of his cock as possible before you started to bob your head up and down.

Jungkook grunted, temporarily forgetting about the device in his hands, quickly snapping out of it as he readjusted the focus on you, trying to keep the camera from shaking due to the pleasure he was receiving from the warmth of your mouth.

“Fuck, yes,” Jungkook hissed, throwing his head back as you continued sucking him off, his cock hitting the back of your throat every time you went down on him. “Babe, show the camera your pretty pussy.” He instructed and you stood, Jungkook stood from the couch, positioning the camera on the table in front of the both of you, before he walked over to you to pull off your lingerie.

His hands roamed over your chest, before moving to your backside and giving it a squeeze, a gasp escaping your lips at the suddenness of it.

“Come here.” Jungkook pulled you to the couch and got you on his lap. “Spread your legs for the camera.”

You obeyed, spreading your legs open, and Jungkook took the opportunity to tease your folds with his fingers, before sinking a digit into your wet cunt. You moaned at the feeling of his long digits, and bucked your hips forward as he added another, his thumb flicking at your clit.

He fingered you like this, and your head rolled back, eyes closed in bliss. You let him have control of your body, your moans filling the air.

But before you could get to your peak, he stopped, his fingers sliding out of you and you whimpered.

Jungkook licked his fingers and grabbed his cock, placing it at your entrance.

“Want my cock now, don't you?" He said, slapping his cock against your cunt. You nodded, and he smirked, teasing your folds with the tip of his cock. Fuck, it felt hard as steel.

"Then show them how well you take me, baby."

You sank down on his cock, letting it stretch your walls, and you sighed. Fuck, it felt so fucking good. You started bouncing up and down, and Jungkook's hands settled on your hips, guiding your movements, thrusting his hips up to meet yours.

Your moans filled the air, the sound of your wetness mixed with his grunts. The camera captured every detail of the penetration, and the thought of how it would be used made you feel even more aroused. Would this tape be the start of your career? Would the executives be drooling or getting a boner from watching this tape?

“Love cock?” Jungkook whispered in your ear, repeating himself again when he realized the camera must’ve not picked that up. “You love this cock, y/n?”

“Ya, love cock, so good.” You said with a shaky breath. “Oh!” You winced, forcing yourself to bounce on his cock harder, but your back and hips started to feel sore, and your thighs began to ache. Jungkook noticed how you were starting to slow down, and decided to switch positions, he stopped you, and guided you off his cock. “Get on the bed.” He instructed you, taking the camera from the table, soon joining you on the bed. The camera pointed down at your dripping wet pussy, and his tip teased your folds, sliding his full length up and down against your slick, the head of his cock brushing against your clit, sending tingles down your spine.

You moaned, your body shivering from the teasing, and you couldn't help but lift your hips, trying to get him to enter you. He chuckled, finally sinking into your cunt, and you both groaned at the feeling.

"So tight," He mumbled, pulling his cock out and pushing it back into your pussy. "Feel good, baby?"

"Yes, ah, feels good…”

Jungkook started fucking you slowly, his hips rocking back and forth. He kept his eyes on the camera, the lens focusing on where your bodies were joined. His other hand moved to your ankle, holding onto it as he quickened his pace. Your pussy was so wet, it was making lewd squelching sounds as he fucked you.

“Pussy doing so good, taking me so well...fuck, so tight and warm for me."

You could only moan in response.

"Yeah, your little cunt loves this cock, doesn't it?"

You whimpered, feeling the tip of his cock graze against your sweet spot.

“Yes, my cunt loves cock so much,” You moaned.

Jungkook let out a shaky breath, pulling out of you before he made you turn on your belly, ass up and head down, and he spanked your ass, causing you to squeal. He gave it another smack, the flesh jiggling.

"Arch your back a bit," He said, and you did.

The camera was now aimed at your ass, and he pushed the tip of his cock into your begging pussy. He thrusted into you, one hand holding the camera, while the other hand grabbed onto your hair, tugging at it as he slammed into your pussy.

"Fuck, oh!" You cried, and his grip on your hair tightened, his cock drilling in and out of you, the bed creaking beneath the both of you.

"So fucking good, shit."

"Yes, fuck, more, more, more, please," You whined, and he groaned.

"Take my cock so well, babe. So beautiful." He looked around for a place to put the camera on, and he decided on the dresser, the camera now recording both of you from a different angle.

Jungkook's hand was still in your hair, and he pulled at it, using it as an anchor as he pounded into you.

"I'm close," You whined, the tip of his cock pounding your sweet spot relentlessly. "Oh please, yes, right there!"

"Come, cum on my cock," He challenged you, his pace speeding up, your arms gave out and your face hit the pillows.

"Ah, ah, ah," You gasped, the pleasure building up inside you. You tried to get back up but Jungkook grabbed hold of your arms and pinned them back, his fingers interlocking with yours, his weight on top of you, fucking into you steadily.

"Oh, oh, oh," You moaned, toes curling and teeth gritted. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," You cried, starting to see stars, your knees wobbling.

“Thought you were gonna cum? I guess your greedy pussy didn’t wanna huh? Want to keep it wrapped around my cock, don't you, babe?"

“Yes, don’t want to stop, never want you to stop."

"Yeah? Never want me to stop?” He cooed, his hands now moving to your hips, guiding you back and forth on his cock, and you started to ride him backwards.

At this rate, you were going to pass out, you were overflowing from pleasure, but somehow, you were still eager for more.

"Oh, fuck," You whimpered, and you were a panting, sweating mess, the room was hot, and all you could hear was the slapping of skin against skin, along with the grunts and moans coming out of both of your mouths. You were so close.

Jungkook plopped the camera right in front of your face, now capturing how you were so fucked out and yet, still desperate for more.

"You will show the camera what that face looks like when you cum, right?"

You nodded. "Yeah, want to show the camera when I cum, please, oh, ah, more, please,"

You were moaning uncontrollably, feeling so fucking sensitive, and the camera was now capturing the look on your face, the way you were biting your lips and clenching your jaw, teary eyes from the intensity of the pleasure. You felt Jungkook’s hands squeeze into your tits, his cock pounding your sweet spot mercilessly, and that sent you over the edge.

"FUCK!" You screamed, cumming on his cock, pussy convulsing around him, your legs trembling. You buried your face in the pillows, muffling your cries, and he stopped thrusting, allowing you to ride out your orgasm on his cock on your own pace.

When you were all spent, Jungkook pulled out of you and took the camera, pointing it down at your face as he started to rub himself off, a few pumps later and he was spilling his cum onto your face, some of his load getting in your hair. He groaned, his body jerking forward from his climax, and the camera caught the whole thing, the lens zooming in on the streaks of white on your face.

“And… remove.”

“Huh? What are you doing?” You asked, voice hoarse from the screaming, and he reached over to grab a tissue from the nightstand, wiping the cum from your face.

“Sorry, but you won’t be sending in any audition tapes, After today… I won’t allow any man to see you in this way, this is only for my eyes and mine only.” And without warning, he pressed his lips against yours.

[chilumi-shipper]

Can we have some more of genshin men eating us out?

Eating You Out (2)

Thoma x Fem!Reader / Arataki Itto x Fem!Reader / Alhaitham x Fem!Reader / Kamisato Ayato x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, Oral Receiving, Horny Characters, Overstimulation, Squirting

Summary: Genshin men eating you out I mean c'mon now what did you expect me to write here.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Thoma

At any moment, can just make you spread your legs, suck on your pussy, and make you cum, then just go back to his house keeping chores like he didn't just eat cunt.

Will approach you casually with a cute puppy smile, then proceed to tell you the foulest things ever with said smile.

"You're so pretty, honey! I wanna eat you out in that dress."

"I wish I was between your thighs right now, but I'm not done with my chores yet :("

"You should get ready for later! I think I might go really rough and leave you sore for a week."

He's just so cute! Ohh, but you know that he's capable of the most vulgar activities, and you know that he does them well.

The way he eats you out though...

Like the sweet puppy boyfriend that he is, he makes sure that you're enjoying it as much as he does.

Thoma gets so happy when you let him eat you, almost like he grows a tail and it wags with happiness as he laps up your wetness.

Your moans motivate him, whenever you let out a particularly sinful moan, he perks up, trying to do what caused you to moan so deliciously.

And he likes to stare into your eyes as he sucks your pussy. You just look down and see him with bright eyes looking up at you, and when you make eye contact, he goes even harder.

When you cum, he would try so hard to have it all squirt out into his mouth, then get up to look you in the eyes before swallowing the whole thing.

And finally, he would go back in and lick your pussy a few more times just to clean it up and make sure you're nice in comfy.

He would then lay beside you and snuggle into your chest.

Thoma would enjoy eating you out so much, that he would forget about the raging hard-on in his pants and just go to sleep.

Itto

Very brave, does it wherever he wants.

In a field where you could get ambushed by monsters? Seems like the perfect place to eat some sweet sweet pussy.

Eats you out like a hungry animal, no control whatsoever, just straight sucking and licking.

Absolutely loves it when you grab onto his horns, even more so when you pull him closer into your cunt.

He is a menace and will literally not stop until he's satisfied, overstimulating you so much until he's tired. No force in this world could part him from between your thighs.

Itto is so determined to eat you out that he will sacrifice breathing just to not break away from you, he's only going to stop when he starts feeling lightheaded from the lack of air.

He would guide your hand to grab his horns, urging you to grind your hips into his face. You would usually be feeling so good yet so annoyed that he just pulled you into some sort of cave and then proceeded to give you the greatest realization of pleasure with his stupid mouth.

He would be sweet talking to your sex, looking so love-struck as he says things like:

"Ohh, look at you all dripping, can't wait to suck all that into my mouth."

"You're so soft, so delicious."

"Look at you, all twitchy and puffy, but we're not done yet..."

He says such things while staring right between your legs, with so much conviction that it almost makes you jealous.

Itto will then carry you back home to eat you up some more.

Alhaitham

Possibly the most nonchalant pussy eater of the bunch.

This man calculates everything.

So you bet he knows just how to prod at the right spots when he's between your legs.

He knows the right amount of pressure to apply with his tongue, how hard should he suck, how long he has to play with your clit before you're nice and relaxed for him. He just knows everything.

Alhaitham eats you out as if he's completing an assignment, everything is planned and calculated, and despite looking submissive with his lips pressed against your folds, his intense gaze studies you like a book. His expression remains stoic despite the work his mouth is putting on your pussy.

The morning after he had eaten you out to the point of not being able to keep your eyes open, he would absolutely embarrass you with questions.

"Did you prefer that I keep my tongue on your clit or do you wish for me to explore you a bit more?"

"I observed that after your first orgasm, you seem to push my face further into you. Do you always prefer to have multiple orgasms when I eat you out, or is one enough?"

"Shut up, Alhaitham!" You would scream at him with your cheeks tainted red.

"What? Did you not enjoy me eating you out last nigh-"

"SHUT UP!"

But then he offers to do it again and who are you to refuse.

Kamisato Ayato

For someone rather high-ranking within the nation, this man shamelessly eats out his wife in his own office, in the middle of the day, doors unlocked, possible witnesses buzzing about the estate a room away.

Thoma is often the victim witness of your escapade, but he understands his lord quite well (read Thoma's part).

Ayato is a very busy man, with his unrelenting duty and whatnot, he finds that a good break from his busy hours would be to have his face squished between your thighs, lazily enjoying the taste of his beloved wife with his mouth.

He eats you out as if he was savoring a meal prepared by the finest cook of Inazuma, indulging himself by tasting every part of your cunt.

He would be slowly licking into you as you were sat on his desk, his head rest comfortably on your thigh as he starts to make out with your heat.

He would then part for a bit to catch his breath, then to look up at you and smile while a strand of wetness still connected his lips to your pussy.

This man is a lazy pussy eater, enjoying his meal for hours on end, ushering orgasms out of you ever so slowly as he makes sure to lick up every crevice.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Mmmmmh, yummy update...

[simpjaes]

renaissance man (p. js)

Taking note of the strangers you see day to day isn’t something you’d normally do. The only reason today is different is because the guy who made small talk as he rang you up for your intimate items was the same guy who showed up catering for your family reunion.  or the one where jay is a dildo salesman, a caterer, a self-titled mechanic, and also your ride home. he is not an expert in any of his jobs, but he sure is an expert in wit and well, other things.

minors dni!! | pls reblog to show your support!

WORDCOUNT― 14.6k

PAIRING― park jongseong x afab reader 

CONTENT― fluffy comfort smut, strangers to lovers like immediately, you buy a monster sized dildo, blatant talking of masturbation and toys, smut, cliche blooming an attachment to someone after (1) fuckening. 

!!ATTENTION!!― read this before? that’s because I run two blogs and like to re-vamp fics i’ve previously written for other groups! [@/ncteez is likely where you’ve read it from. THAT IS ME!!!] 

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― it’s kind of fluffy im so sorry i just have feelings for him, average cock size jay!!!![i am not of this belief, i think his cock is fat and huge], he is very much a service top, making out, hand holding, caressing, grinding, finger fucking, titty worship,  unprotected sex, sweet talking as a form of dirty talk, missionary bc i refuse to pretend he wouldn’t want that, back scratches (sexual)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Never have you been put in the position to make small talk about the sex toys you place on a counter to purchase. Then again, you guess it’s part of the job description that most people ignore or aren’t privy to actually doing. 

Never have you been informed of the wide variety of lubricants, additional toy-cleaners, or the bigger and smaller alternatives to your chosen toy. You don’t show discomfort though, because it’s not uncomfortable. Sex is normal, masturbation is more normal, and the man in front of you appears to be normal too.

“There’s twelve different color variants if you prefer something less fleshy.” The man says, standing at the counter with some sort of a permanent pout on his lips. 

“I’m fine, if you could just ring me up now I can get out of your hair.” You respond, glancing at the time on your phone and wondering how you got stuck with the only employee who actually does his job here.

“Are you sure you don’t want any lubricant?” The man adds, gazing at the size of your toy and then looking you up and down as if you clearly wouldn’t be able to handle your chosen toy without help.

The man with no name tag appears to be blissfully unaware of his invasiveness with that question as you tilt your head with a raised brow. Shocked at the very question, it’s actually quite laughable that he’s so monotone with the offensive comment. You imagine he’s done this for so long that he must be a manager trying to get the day over with, going through the steps in a bored mood with little to no regard as to how he must sound to strangers buying their first or twentieth dildo. 

With your assumption that he doesn’t exactly care about the level of wet your vagina is when you use this toy, you respond. “I think I know my body well enough and I already have lube, but thanks.”

He nods, not even sparing you much of a glance before giving you a total and bagging your item.

Now, despite Jay’s lack of interest toward the purchase of toys, he finds it comical that he’s grown numb to the very fact that he knows what everyone in this town’s kinks are after they step out of the shop’s door. Someone’s gotta do this job and keep those secrets…he likes to think he fits the bill perfectly. 

Lively as he may be outside of this shop, each job comes with a personality and this one calls for one of disinterest in your product but interest in the sale. He’s not one to lie to himself though, many times a pretty girl has marched in and bought toys far bigger than any man and he does tend to let his mind wander about it from time to time. When he first started this job, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, he found it hard to navigate a single sale without a flush of tints crossing his cheeks and ears. Now, he’s become a veteran at keeping his dick locked in place if he were to feel some type of way about a purchase and the one purchasing. 

Shy as he was when he started, it’s all lost now as he handles dicks and dongs, pocket pussies and anal plugs, even whips and chains. 

Shy. That’s definitely a word and surprisingly one that can describe him when he’s not on schedule within these walls of alien dicks and lime flavored lube to match the grotesque green color. At his other job, because he works two, he takes the praise of being the charming yet timid man who shows up with pans of food for events. 

The guests seem to love him and many times during weddings and company parties he has been offered phone numbers or asked for one simply because he appears to be that of a friendly face with a kind sense of being. Someone you’d wanna bring home to mom, some might say. 

It’s a stark contrast of jobs, and somehow he’s managed to dodge knowing many of the people coming into his night job to shop for ways to fuck themselves. The rare time it had happened, he was thankful to have another person in the shop to ring them up. Keeping up with two jobs is hard, and keeping up with two personalities is even harder.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You hadn't thought of that guy from the sex shop even once until he showed his face at your family reunion. 

He noticed you before you managed to realize it was him though. Stealing looks in your direction as you chat with little cousins and elder aunts and uncles, mostly to double check in his brain if you’re really the girl who showed up and nonchalantly bought the newest dildo in stock. The fleshy colored one with rotating beads and a g-spot stimulator button. You know, the really fucking huge one. 

 Upon meeting his eye again for the first time, he could tell it really is you, simply because of the way you furrow your brow as you recognize him. 

Jay couldn’t help but smirk. He knew that eventually someone at an event would recognize him as their local sex-shop manager, he’s actually shocked it doesn’t happen more often. At least it’s you though, a woman who looks near his age and clearly has a very healthy relationship with her sexuality. So much so that you weren’t shy or nervous in buying the toy from him. Because it’s honestly pretty common to see someone nervous or uncomfortable while buying items far less telling than the one you bought.

His smirk doesn’t go unnoticed by you before you look away from him and focus your attention back to your family and by the time he’s prepared the food and is standing aside to explain what ingredients the dishes have, you’re walking up with your empty plate and an awkward glance. 

He follows you down the line of dishes, seemingly more interested in you than anyone else. You could argue it’s just an attempt to make you feel embarrassed, or perhaps even an attempt to ask you not to snitch on where else he works to make his money. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You ask, a knowing look telling him that you’re already very aware of that ‘somewhere’ you know him from. 

His pursed lips and snide hidden laugh at you is one thing, but the way he whispers to you over a pan of potato casserole is another. 

“I think you know who I am.” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back again with a flicker of a crooked grin. 

You leave it at that, looking him in the eye curiously and for some reason, smiling back at the strange second encounter with a man who appears to have a name tag now.

“Thanks, Jay. See you around.” 

Heading away from the tables of food and toward the table that contains all of your favorite cousins, you are immediately bombarded with a raised brow from one of them. Ah, nosy. 

“What was that about?” One of them leans over to ask, glancing at the man who is still overseeing the table of food and maintaining perfect temperatures. She doesn’t quite catch the way Jay’s eyes flicker back to you, over and over again, repeatedly. 

“Huh? He was just telling me what was in the potatoes.” 

She takes your answer as truth without issue, and the conversation falls away and into something else. College life, job life, family life. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, you’re trying to hear yourself out here. Are you somehow curious and interested in speaking with Jay? Yeah. Do you know why? Also yes. For one, he just sold you a fucking interesting sex toy last weekend in the most uncomfortable way possible, and now he’s here at your family reunion to remind you of what you do in your apartment when you’re alone. 

His personality seems different this time too. He wasn’t monotone, he was snide with you about knowing who you are. He probably thinks its funny that he ended up at your family reunion over any other event.

So yeah, maybe you find yourself going up to the table for seconds even though you’re no longer hungry. Maybe you definitely wait until no one else is at the table and he appears to be tidying up the space and wiping up spills before speaking to him again. 

“Just how many jobs do you have?” You ask in a sarcastic tone when you reach him, the table between the two of you creating a comfortable distance to poke and prod.

He jumps only slightly at your presence because he didn’t notice you walking up. The brief break he’s taken from stealing glances so he could actually do his jobs appears to be the time you feel the need to finally approach. Still, he’s smiling again, looking at you up and down. 

“Plenty. How much lube do you have left?” He answers before shooting back his own question and getting right to the point. 

You freeze in shock at his question, reminding yourself that his monotone voice from the late dildo purchase is no more and he now comes across as vibrant and charming to you. You check him out for a moment, taking mental notes of what may not or may not be to like about him. You can’t tell if it’s good news or bad news that you’re not finding anything to raise any red flags. 

He’s bold, confidence, charming, clearly has a decent work ethic– 

“I can’t imagine you have much left, that thing was a fucking monster. We have tons in stock if you wanna–” He pauses to cover his mouth, forgetting that he’s supposed to be timid and gentle during his day job. He’s not supposed to be himself.

You find yourself laughing though, leaning over the table and holding out your empty plate. Mostly just to get in closer to him without alerting your family of a new future husband or something. 

“Why are you so interested in my ‘fucking monster”’ dildos anyway?” You narrow your eyes. 

He pauses, easing up at the way you’re just as cheeky and playful as he is, despite being surrounded by your family. It’s mildly inappropriate, but it’s making his shift go by quickly. You’re making his shift enjoyable today, so he continues. 

“I think anyone would be interested, with all things considered.” He checks you out again with a brief pause, knowing the size of that dildo you bought by heart, and fully aware that it probably ripped you in half if you really managed to put that thing anywhere inside of you. “Correction, they should be worried.” 

“You’re different from before,” you comment, both of you now blatantly staring down each other. “I like this version of you more.” 

Something inside of him feels giddy at that. Not to be cliche but he wonders if this is what it’s like to instantly have a crush on someone. Again, he’s not one to lie to himself. You’re pretty and you appear to be confident. Confident enough to take time from your family reunion to have a discussion about your plastic cock intake anyway.

“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime then.” He puts a hand forward, inviting you to shake it but you simply stare it down instead.  

“Yeah, maybe you will.” You smile, slapping his hand as if you’re low fiving him before swirling around and walking away thinking hard about the fact that…yeah, he might actually see you sooner than he thinks. 

Honestly, maybe within the next day or two because he was kind of right to ask about how much lube you have left, but it’s not like you’d answer that truthfully if at all. You might be running out after just two uses. He was right again about it being a fucking monster, because well, yeah. Maybe you’ll pop in and shop for bulk lube instead of rejecting his up-sale this time. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Unfortunately for you upon the reunion coming to an end, you get into your car and of course it doesn’t start. You drop your head to the steering wheel in a sigh and annoyed grunt.

The last thing you need is your father driving you home because he will lecture you about your car and how it’s got to be some fault of your own for it to not start. And you know, yeah maybe it was your fault. Why were your lights turned on during a sunny Sunday afternoon? Fuck if you know. Why were they left on for the entire nine hours you’ve been here at your parent’s house? You refuse to answer your own question.

And just as you go to accept your defeat, preparing to head back inside and take the walk of shame ten minutes after saying your goodbyes, a savior appears. 

That savior is none other than Jay,  walking up with his stiff button down shirt partially unbuttoned, hair now disheveled as he must have ruffled it up after the day of work. He watched you from his catering van for just a few minutes before finally getting out to offer his expertise. 

“The battery is dead.” He smiles, slapping both palms on your hood and leaning to look at you through the windshield. 

“Smart man, can you un-dead my battery before my dad comes out?”

Jay shakes his head apologetically. 

“I already checked the van for the cables, could be a write up on my part for not checking before leaving. We are supposed to have all sorts of shit to prevent breakdowns on a job. Not today though, apparently.” He scratches the back of his neck as he walks to your opened car door. 

“If you can hang tight for like ten minutes I can swing by after dropping the van off.”

Your eyes plead with him. You’d prefer this, yes. If he’s willing to help, you’re willing to accept.

“You sure I’m not too out of the way for you to do that?”

He shakes his head nonchalantly, waving you off as he leans into your car to pull your keys out of the ignition. He smells like food, obviously he does, but there’s a scent of something else on him that’s far more attractive. The dull scent of cologne that matches him all too well. 

“Don’t try to turn it on anymore if you don’t want your dad coming out.” He laughs. “I’m sure he would help you but if you’d rather I help you, I am more than happy to do it.”

He’s teasing. His little crush pushes him to want to help you, but he’s gonna play it off as casually as possible. 

“I’ll hang out here. My dad would lecture the fuck out of me.”

Jay nods, backing away and heading back to his van to fulfill his offer.

On another note, you’re shocked that your father didn’t hear the commotion, and even more shocked that he didn’t step outside once since the reunion ended. He must have been tired, and you know him, he sleeps like a rock and probably already hit the sack without even cleaning up the yard.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Oh, it’s dead dead.” Jay looks at you apologetically, peeking his head out from the side of your hood and through your window. 

“Define dead dead.” You comment, taking your keys out of the ignition with a huff. 

“Like, you need a new battery. This one is done for.”

You sigh loudly, knowing that now you’ll have to go ask your parents for a ride home. Knowing that your dad is going to add more to his lectures with each day your car is sitting in this driveway. This is so fucking annoying. At least you work from home though, so it’s not like you’re gonna lose your job over this or anything. 

Jay unhooks the cables and turns off his car, then stands there and watches you for a moment. You look frustrated and annoyed, and it’s very much like him to offer more help. 

Of course it is. 

“Would it be too forward to ask if you need a ride home?” 

You look at him confused, tilting your head and studying his body language much like before. You’re not one to decline someone making your life a little bit easier, and he is interesting to talk to. You nod slowly, then pause.

“You’ve worked all day, don’t waste your off-time helping me out.”

“I’m already wasting my off time on you though, might as well let me drive you home too?”

You stare at him. 

“Okay.”

The awkward silence sets in shortly after you seat yourself in his car. You fill that silence with small sarcastic comments about said car though, and soon it becomes easy to be in the space with him.

“Where did this sticker come from?” You ask, poking your finger into a sticker with its edges rolled from the summer heat, probably.

“Ex girlfriend, I couldn’t get it off without it leaving a residue so I’m just letting the sun do its job and melt it off.”

“Oh, harsh.” You laugh, wanting to prod further. “Why’d you break up?”

Jay pauses, you can tell by the way his foot lets up from the gas momentarily that he wasn’t expecting you to ask that. Then again, he’s said some weird shit to you too, so you figure it’s not an end-all question. 

“Was that too forward to ask?” 

“Not at all, just wasn’t expecting it,” He shakes his head with a small smile, nearly reaching his hand from the wheel to pat your leg in reassurance. He holds back, wondering why the fuck that urge felt so normal for him to do. “It’s been like a year, so I’m over it and stuff. She just thought I worked too much and didn’t spend enough time with her.”

“Ouch, even harsher.” You smile in reassurance to him, also feeling it normal to want to do that for some reason. “Her loss, I mean, discounted dildos and food? Huge loss.”

He laughs at your comments, briefly looking over at you once he stops at a red light. Your eyes are shining with life, with interest even. At that moment, he feels something between the two of you. Which is quite strange considering this is your first time officially meeting him outside of his working hours. He can’t help the way his face softens though, it happens against his will, honestly, it does. 

“You’re kind of cute,” You blurt, breaking eye contact with him and shifting in your seat. “and fun to hang out with.” 

“Hang out?” He laughs at you, eyes now adjusting back to the road and lowering his speed just to have a bit more time with you. “This is hardly a hang-out, but if you’re interested, I’m more than willing to check my schedule to see when I’m free next.”

You feel confidence raise up in your chest, bubbling to be free in the form of a question likely too bold to actually consider.

“You’re free right now…right?” You comment quietly, glancing at him. 

“Hm?” He asks, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and feeling your eyes on him. He heard you, but he wouldn’t mind hearing you repeat it.

“I said, you’re free right now.” You repeat, this time with more confidence. “Would it be too forward to ask if –”

“Nothing is too forward to ask, I literally sold you a dildo.” 

You pause in shock, all thoughts leaving your head.

“Damn, alright,” You laugh, feeling kind of warm inside at how his forwardness matches your own. “If you’re free right now, we could hang out right now.” 

How lucky for both of you. He’s actually not catering tomorrow and only has to be at work at the good ol’ sex shop in the evening. 

“Alright,” He nods, glancing over to you. “Kind of fucked up we are hanging out after I met your entire family and still haven’t gotten a name from you yet though, wouldn’t you think?” 

Oh fuck, he’s right. 

“I’m sure you heard the kids yelling it all day. Don’t be dramatic.”

He laughs, already in love with the idea of spending more time with you. 

And you hear him echo your name, asking where it is that you’d like to go. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

If your parents were to ask why you’re walking through your apartment building with the caterer following behind you, you’d have no excuse. Then again, as an adult, you don’t think you need one. It’s strange despite how open and casual you are with making friends though, because you never just invite strangers to your place for friendship. At least, not without hanging out a few times first. 

You guess it’s not super awkward because it’s true that he already knows things about you that your family doesn’t. Such as, the things you penetrate yourself with when you’re alone. It’s a major ice breaker, and something that makes the friendship with him come easy even after barely talking to the guy.

The few words you have shared have been easy and fun, so it’s only natural that if your instinct is to want to be around him a little longer, you’d invite him in right? You weren’t really expecting him to accept your answer to his question. 

“Where to then?” 

You thought for a moment when he asked that. You don’t go to clubs or bars anymore, most places would have been closing within the hour, and it’s not like you didn’t eat to peak fullness during the family reunion so having a late dinner with him was out of the question too. You answered him so easily, and he accepted in a way that seemed just as natural to him. 

“We could just hang out at my place, I’ve got plenty of streaming services, a gaming system, and wine.”

“Sounds good.” 

It was so easy to become friends with him, and now with him following you up to your apartment, the typical awkwardness that should come with this type of thing isn’t swarming your mind at all. He’s even making small talk about the building itself after parking in your parking spot. 

“This building is way nicer than mine, you got a door code and everything just to get in.”

“Wasn’t always like this. Being a single woman in a city like this calls for safety measures though.”

A little box in his head checks out. He didn’t even have to ask if you’re single, because he already assumed you were with the way you so easily invited him over. And in all fairness, you’ve been trying to find a reason to slip in your relationship status to him. 

By the time you get to your door with him, he’s polite when he walks in and takes off his shoes. Polite in the way he looks around and studies your space, even polite in the way he walks into the living room and invites himself onto your couch and grabs your remote. 

“I was going to say make yourself comfortable but–”

“Well, would you prefer I sit on your floor?” He shoots back with a sarcastic tone in his voice. “Would you prefer I start digging through your cabinets for snacks? Would you prefer–”

“You’re so much more talkative when I’m not trying to buy something from you.” You comment with a laugh, dipping into the kitchen for two glasses and that cheap bottle of wine. 

“Speaking of, do you actually use that thing and like it? I mean, I see some weird purchases but that specific one is super popular with the fetish groups.”

For the first time, you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You should have known that the sex toy would be a point of conversation, considering the first time you ever met was buying it. 

“Yes, I use it. I’m surprised you find it shocking considering it’s literally your job to know what people like in terms of getting off.”

He smiles at that, because you’re damn right he knows. Most of the time he would prefer not to know, but he always did wonder if, on the off chance, he ended up hooking up with a customer he’d have some prior knowledge of how they like it based on toys alone. 

“You know, normally people don’t buy toys on a Monday at nine in the morning.” 

“I buy toys at nine in the morning on a Monday,” You chuckle, carrying the two glasses and wine into the living room and plopping down next to him. “Why does that matter? I’m sure you make your quotas even on the slow days considering how hard you were trying to up-sell me.”

He shrugs as he watches you pour him a glass. 

“It’s easy to up-sell when you know people’s kinks after a few purchases. I do that to everyone just to gauge what they need so if they come back I can make more offers.”

“A true salesman.” You laugh with a pitied voice. “What would you say my kink is?”

He studies you, looking you up and down without shame and thinking hard about your single purchase. 

“Well, considering that specific item is, again, usually looked at by a specific type of person or couple, I’d say–”

“Wrong.” You interrupt before he even tries to make a guess. “I don’t have a kink, I just have a really high sex drive.”

You take a sip at his silence of being beaten to the punch, and then he takes his own thoughtful sip. 

“Okay then, What do you think my kink is?” He asks slyly, cup still against his lips as he sips again. 

“Wha–” You narrow your eyes at him, trying not to stare at him for too long because goddamn is he handsome. “Hell if I know, you probably don’t even have sex after being in a hyper-sexualized space like that for hours on end.”

“Wrong.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek and looks away from you with another casual chuckle.

“Are you telling me you have a pocket pussy or like, a buttplug or something?”

“Three pocket pussies, actually.”

You don’t know why you’re shocked. For some reason his sex toys becoming the focus makes you feel more shy than your own being the focus. 

“I bet you named them.”

“Pocket 1, Pocket 2, and Jessica.”

“Jessica?” You raise a brow despite the sarcastic banter, wondering if maybe that’s based on his ex girlfriend or something. 

He nods in a matter-of-fact tone with a proud smile. 

You feel comfortable around him, never having a friend who openly talks to you about these things without any type of awkwardness. It’s the fact that he’s a man too. Usually they think with their dicks and he seems to have no qualms in admitting that it’s something he may do from time to time too. 

You imagine he needs this type of personality to work such a job though, being casual about sex can be so difficult for your average joe because for some reason, it is embarrassing. It’s hard to talk about even to sex-shop employees. You like to think he’s probably someone who makes others feel comfortable about their sexual habits though, because you feel comfortable. 

“I’m lying by the way.” He cuts through your thoughts, “I only have two.” 

You nod energetically with a laugh. 

“Variety is good.” You continue, not mentioning the array of toys you have stashed away. 

“Yeah, I think experimenting with different things is good. I only really liked the two I kept though, I guess.”

“And yet, you’re shocked about my single dildo purchase without knowing of my other items of interest? I could have just been trying something new too, y’know.”

Another sip of wine, and another glance away from him because you were looking a little too fondly at that little scar on his nose, the birth mark on his neck, the way his lips crease when he swallows his drink and– yeah, you definitely glance away.

“No one buys that as a first time experience.” He comments, tapping the cup against his lips and looking at you.

You’re a little stunned by him, never having met a man so open to speaking like this, with a woman he barely knows no less. 

“Okay, enough about my dildo. I actually have a question about something you might have in stock but I’ve kind of been too embarrassed to ask until now.”

He nods, his personality shifting only slightly into that as the manager of the sex-shop.

“Oh? Embarrassed? Since when?” He jokes at first. “What is it then?”

“Do you guys have like,” you pause, unsure of why you’re even trying to ask. Again, it’s not like masturbation is embarrassing, nor is the purchasing of toys. Asking for a specific item is a bit too intimate to you though, seeing as how you usually just buy those things online. “Okay hear me out.”

“Tentacles? Furry buttplugs with tails attached? Bondage rope? Paddles?”

“No…” You pause at his spewing of different types of toys. “I know you have all of that.”

He pauses, studying the way you make yourself a bit smaller compared to just minutes before.

“Do you guys have sex dolls for women? You know, like, just a doll with a very normal dick?”

Jay fucking snorts. How mundane. 

Unfortunately for you though, Nope. 

“Nah, the owner tries to cater more towards men and fetish stuff. We’ve got fem tantaly dolls and all sorts of blow up dolls but he’s never brought in just like, a torso with a cock, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You shrug. 

“Guess sticking it to the wall is all I can do for now then. But like,” You pause, realizing that you’re actually going into detail at this point, which might be a little uncomfortable for him? Maybe? “It’s really annoying to have it sticking to the floor, and you’re like, riding it and it just pops off and stabs your thigh slipping out mid-orgasm.”

He snorts again, that pretty smile you’ve seen time and time again echoing the most attractive laugh you think you’ve heard in a long time. This time, his smile doesn’t fade as the seconds pass, no. He’s unable to stop laughing at the image of whatever orgasm instilled the frustration in you to even mention that happening. He tries to stifle his laughter with the last sip of his wine before choking it down and pushing his glass at you for more. 

“Noted,” He snorts, nodding his head and almost hiding his face from you. “I’ll tell the boss we need male sex dolls so the women don’t get dick-stabbed where they don’t need it mid orgasm.”

You glare. 

“Wait, no, because it actually hurts.” You frown at him. “I just wish your shop catered a little more to women who just wanna ride a dick without the dangers of riding said dick.” 

“Maybe you should slow down next time so the full force of your–” He pauses, realizing how sexual the image in his head is of you right now. “Um…” He trails off uncomfortably, unintentionally adjusting himself in his jeans by spreading his legs slightly against your couch. 

“Okay, wait. I’m sorry, is this conversation too much right now?” You ask, looking him up and down and giving him a new glass of wine. “You’re blushing.”

He tries to play it off. 

“As if you could make me blush.” He laughs at you, downing half of his glass in one go. “To make up for our lack of product though, and if you don’t tell anyone, I’ll give you a discount on your next purchase just for embarrassing yourself telling me that.”

“Oh, I was supposed to be embarrassed?” You counter, knowing that all you need to do is point out that he got flustered to shut him up. You opt not to because still, the two of you barely know each other. Instead, you opt to laugh along with him, letting your gaze fall back to studying all of those features he has that you didn’t quite notice before.

While you did notice he was handsome before, it’s not like you paid that thought any mind. There are a lot of handsome men out and about after all. It only starts to matter when they allow you to get close enough to appreciate it more. Not to mention, in your experience at various sex shops, most employees of them are mundane and nonchalant. Some are strange old men, or cool old women. Jay though? Jay.

Hmm…how to explain him?

With his messy hair that covers his eyes every time he whips his head toward you in a laugh, with his sharp jawed smile and pretty eyes. The little marks and celestial kisses against his skin that shows you of a life he’s been living. He feels…warm. Like everything about him looks comforting, smells comforting, sounds comforting. And now, even compared to when you met him at the shop, even at the reunion just this afternoon…he’s so much more handsome in this moment. 

Learning his personality, hearing his voice say your name, having him take the time to not only help you but befriend you? 

His shoulders are broad, and he’s just… you don’t even know how to explain to yourself the attraction you have toward him at this moment. Handsome is one thing, and you would have continued calling him that if it weren’t for the fact that he’s laughing with you on your couch about a ruined orgasm. 

“You know, Jay,” You start, looking into your glass and swirling the liquid inside, then you look up again and make eye contact. “I’m really not usually this forward but like,”

His brain stops for a moment at the serious tone in your voice, his expression softens and you can tell he’s listening. 

“I know masturbation and stuff is normal, and like, you see and talk about these things all the time but I never really talk about it to other people, they always get weird about it.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I can’t say this is the most normal hang out I've ever had. Usually we talk about our favorite movies or books or something.”

You wave him off. 

“Yeah, that’s a good point. We could talk about our favorite movies but I find myself, um–” You stop for a second. 

“Is talking about it making you realize that it’s uncomfortable?” 

“No, the opposite actually.” You laugh, now actually feeling embarrassed. “I keep thinking about you mentioning the other things you’ve bought and experimented with.”

“Oh? You’re curious?” He laughs, now feeling a bit shy himself because he’s pretty sure that’s you asking him to put images in your head. “I mean I could go into detail but it actually might be too-telling right now.”

You nod, unsure of why you even suggested.

“Maybe next time?” You change the subject with a smile, one that does seem slightly disappointed. 

“There’s a next time?” He smiles, setting his glass down on your table and shifting toward you.

“I don’t see why not? I’m having fun, plus you offered me a discount.”

He nods, looking around the room and checking the time. 

“I should probably head out then? We’ve both had a long day.” 

You nod back to him, feeling a bit sad. 

“When are you free next?” You ask, grabbing your phone in a way that seems a bit too excited. “Can you give me your number?”

He obliges, exchanging phone numbers and promising to contact you with his next free day or night to hang out. Just as he goes to leave though, for some reason both of you feel as though the satisfaction of this hang out wasn’t reaching full potential. 

“Hey, um,” He stops before he puts his shoes back on. “Would it be too forward to say I’m not tired and wouldn’t mind–”

“Staying for a bit longer?” You finish his sentence for him, patting the couch as if that was also on your mind.

He doesn’t even respond, and instead makes his way back onto the couch where the cushion is still warm, unable to help the fluttering feeling in his chest.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It's almost two in the morning by the time he offers to leave again, and yet, he stays at your clear disappointment of the offer. Another hour later, the two of you are sitting contently and pretending to watch some shitty tv show in comfortable silence. 

“We should say something.” He blurts, mid episode.

“What do you mean?”

He turns toward you. 

“We should talk about this.” He motions at the space between the two of you. 

You’re silent while you try to build up the confidence to meet him half-way again. 

“You can correct me if you’re not interested but I actually really would like it if you kissed me or something.” He adds as you continue to process what he seems to be getting at.

You’re taken aback by his forwardness for some reason, and instantly you knew he didn’t communicate this earlier for your own sake. Thankfully, you’ve tried to make it easy for him to read you and he ate it up like his favorite meal. The content feeling between the two of you was buzzing up to this point. Very loudly in your brain where you were thinking of how to kiss him before the night is up. Even as just a “thank you” if he were to turn away from it. 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, tilting your head and seeing him scoot closer. “Kiss you, or something?”

He nods his head, looking at you without much issue and searching for a reaction. 

“Are you interested in me like that, in any way?” He asks, looking for confirmation.

“Oh, most definitely.”

The smile that spreads across his face is one that you can argue will be unforgettable. It’s an expression you hope to bring to every person in your life, one that seems to express nothing but relief, excitement, and maybe even a hint of bashfulness.

“You thought I'd invite you inside without being interested?” You smile at him, feeling a little bit fuzzy in the head at the admittance. 

“I thought you were just being nice, or like, just interested in friendship,” He rambles on, stopping himself short to give more context to that statement. “I mean, it would be fine if this was all for friendship and I'm happy with that too but I can admit to coming into your apartment with maybe, uh, a small crush.” 

“I can admit to inviting you in with a small crush, maybe.” 

“Maybe.”

“Are we being too forward?” You ask, emphasizing the repetitive way that word seems to appear. “Even though you’re in my apartment at an ungodly hour and both of us are giving any and every excuse to keep you here?”

He smiles this time in a way that appears to be self-soothing, and you can imagine you are too. It’s always nerve-wracking to walk on eggshells with another person, the threat of wondering if you'll fall alone or fall with them into a new version of partnership. 

You don’t think about the lack of knowing him past a purchase, a quick conversation at a family reunion, or the past several hours he’s huddled up with you on this couch. You simply don’t think it’s strange at this point. After all, you’ve met people online and invited them over without much more than a name, age, and quick conversation about what they want sexually. How is this worse? How is this strange? 

“You’re right. Maybe we should stop being so polite when the reality of it is that I’ve been imagining what you’ve done with that toy since the day you bought it.” 

Okay, maybe that was too forward but all is lost now as your image of him changes drastically within the mere seconds it took him to say that, not in a bad way either. Again, of course he’s comfortable admitting it, the dude stares at dicks and holes all day. But now he’s staring at you, and talking directly to you.

Your silence makes him shift a bit, shaking his head apologetically. 

“Found the boundary, got it.” He shames himself with a timid voice, looking away from you and back to the tv with a hint of embarrassment. “I’m not lying though.” He adds after a few more minutes of your silence.

“Not much of a boundary if I admit that I was blatantly asking you earlier what you’ve done to experiment with your toys.”

“Aha! So I was right in thinking you were straight up asking for mind-porn of me?!” He feels instantly comfortable again, turning his entire body toward you as he folds up one of his legs to sit on with a little bounce. 

“Maybe, but what do you mean you’ve been imagining since I bought it? You barely made eye contact with me that day.”

“Oh, I was checking you out the whole time you shopped. Imagine my face when I knew exactly what toy you were reaching for.”

You shove him by the shoulder with a laugh, realizing that this is the first bodily contact you’ve ever had with him, but he actually leans into your shove rather than out of it. Meaning, he barely budges. 

“If I looked you in the eye at the register, you would have thought I was some pervert.” 

“You are a pervert. You said it had, what? Twelve other colors?” 

He shrugs with a pained smile at how cringe he must have sounded to you. 

“You seemed more like a sparkly pink girl rather than a normal flesh tone girl. Then again, this was before I knew you were looking for a literal male sex doll for super normal pretend-sex.”

You shove him again, your laugh coming out more forced now at the way he jokes with you. Once again, he doesn’t budge. In fact, he’s leaning in closer. 

“Now hold on, you didn’t mention anything about one having glitter in it.” You joke, wiggling your brows. 

“You trying to fuck a man or a magic unicorn?” He laughs yet again, all of it coming out more forced as the two of you drag out information just to hear the dirty words in a voice you’re only just realizing you like far too much. 

“A man.” You dead-pan, this time not laughing, looking him dead in the eye and trying to pretend you don’t notice how close the two of you have gotten. “Why else would I go for more human skin tones?”

“Fuck if I know, I haven’t met a single man who has vibration settings or rolling beads though.” 

You snort. 

“Shame…but also, why do you think I’m on the hunt for the most mundane sex toy a woman can buy now? The rolling beads almost had me passing out.” 

“Was it too much?” He asks seriously, hoping to god it was. 

“A little bit, yeah.”

“I can imagine you want something to feel real after that.”

For some reason, his words hit you straight in the gut. Your stomach drops as your attraction heightens, and suddenly you’re just staring at him as you respond. 

“I can imagine so, yeah.” 

He stares back, almost no space between the two of you as the banter only brought you both mentally and physically as close as possible without becoming twisted together. 

“When was the last time you felt something real?” He asks against his better judgment, wondering if you’re on the same page with him. Wondering if all this banter was leading to somewhere or nowhere. Because he could have sworn admitting to wanting you to kiss him, and you’ve yet to do so. 

“A month and a half.” You respond dryly, suddenly needing something to drink. 

He glances down at your neck when you swallow around your words, then stares at your lips before breathing in a sigh. One that was supposed to relieve the tension in this moment, but only building it more because he knows you see him do it. He knows you see him wet his bottom lip too.

“Are you going to kiss me, or are you planning to wait another month and a half to get what you want?” He continues on his streak of boldness as if to distract you from noticing the sexual tension, feeling his heart skip beats at the intensity of the moment. 

“It’s not like we have anything better to do.” You start, leaning in and still looking straight into his eyes.

“Are you suggesting that I’m boring?” He narrows his eyes as he feels your breath against his lips, still sweet from the wine that did close to nothing in terms of altering the brain. The two of you are totally planted into reality, if anything, a little drunk on the other. 

“Not at all.” You adjust your words from earlier, there, hovering just over his lips. “I’m just saying that nothing is more interesting than kissing you right now.”

Oh, the fluttering in his belly is so fucking intense right now. No eighteen inch alien tentacle dildo on a shelf could scare him as much as you do at this moment. Intimidatingly outspoken and aware of your wants and needs. His eyelashes flutter just like his stomach does, closing them slowly until he can feel your lips on his. 

Your stomach, on the other hand, has been doing flips since the first instance he admitted to wanting to stay. All of the tension, all of the comfortable silence, all of the glances, the smiles, the laughing, all of it was leading up to this. The moment your lips hit his, they feel much like you imagined they would. 

Soft, plush, warm. The thin lipped grins he’s given you all day now laying flat against your own lips, no longer grinning, now just wanting. And he’s gentle, so fucking gentle with it. Never has a man asked you to kiss him. Usually they close the gap to try and swoon you. It appears you’re both being swooned by each other at the moment though, and his soft kiss only pulls back momentarily before he leans forward, closer.

The third touch, save for you shoving him, his lips on yours, and now…his hand on your cheek. Caressing so gently as he deepens the kiss with ease. The heat rises up and through your skin at the simple touch. You think he must feel it with the way he chuckles into the kiss and starts peppering them against your lips over and over again. A split second between each lay of his lips, and then another solid kiss. One where you finally start moving yours too.

It’s slow and languid in the way he kisses you like this, barely even darting his tongue out but focusing more on your cheek against his palm. He can feel your jaw move as you kiss and can’t help but love what’s happening, and when you’re the one to lick against his lower lip, he falls in so easily. 

That little movement from you, that little feeling of your tongue experimentally prodding his lips open releases the last bit of tension holding him back. He pulls back to look at you and you’re not backing down even slightly. 

“Does this feel more real for you?” He asks in a snide way, swiping your bottom lip with his thumb of the glistening saliva before tilting his head with a smile. 

You very nearly roll your eyes at him for that. And by very nearly, you do roll your eyes at him and can’t help but smile yet again. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” He says, palm still against your cheek, tips of his fingers toying with the baby hairs on your hair-line. “because I can imagine that the toy couldn’t ki-”

You shoot forward to kiss him again, only just realizing how awkward the positioning is considering neither of you were probably expecting more than a first kiss. 

He laughs into it, knowing you were silencing him of something that could arguably be the most cringe-worthy thing he can say after kissing you. His laughs start to stifle though, as you press forward and somehow manage to have his back against the seat of the couch and you planting yourself on top of him. 

“Can you shut up about the toy now? I thought we got past that,” You argue as you pull back, your cheek already missing the feeling of his palm against it. “You can’t just act like this and then say some dumb shit like that.”

You’re joking, he knows it. If anything, you’re complimenting him right now and he eats it the fuck up as he stares up at you. 

“Was I wrong though?” 

You take a moment to look at him, realizing that this is the man who you just kissed. With his hair a mess and fanned out on the cushions, strands falling in front of his eyes, but mostly swept back and exposing the entirety of his forehead to you. 

You reach forward and brush a strand from his eyes. 

“Actually, say whatever you want.” You correct yourself and manage to ignore his question.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” He half-chuckles as he brings his hands up to sit against your waist, hoping you don’t pull out of the intimate position the two of you are in. 

“I don’t know, I was just looking at you and thought it would be stupid for me to try to argue with you right now.”

“Why’s that?” He prods for more compliments, feeling himself twitch at the way you look hovering over him. 

“Are you trying to argue right now?” You tilt your head, adjusting yourself now to sit directly on his thighs and lay forward, both hands cushioning your chin on his chest as you straddle him. 

“Would it be so wrong to admit that you’re fun when you argue with me?” 

You can feel him breathe under you, nearly rocking you further and further into whatever headspace Jay seems to put you in. It’s too comfortable, and it almost feels as though you’ve been with him for years now. You barely know him, yet you’re lying on him as if you got married two years ago. Insane how this works. How the heart works, or the brain, or whatever drives the arousal you’re feeling right now. 

“Will you argue if I ask to show you my room?” You start, lifting back up and away from his chest, now scooting forward a bit. You don’t dare sit on it yet, but you very much would like to if he were to suggest not moving at all from this couch. “My bed.”

He stutters and quickly quiets his excited words, replacing his voice with a nod and a sharp inhale.

“Hah! Telling me to argue and instantly buckling the second I mention my bed.” You laugh, pulling yourself up and sauntering out of his view.

He stares at the ceiling for a moment, in a daze over just how much he likes you. He wonders, would you be shocked to know he hasn’t had sex in much longer compared to you? One and a half months for you? That’s nothing to him. He’s been besties with his right hand for at least six months by now. Trust him when he says that it truly was difficult to not turn into a hormonal idiot when he saw you in the shop that day. 

Finally, he shakes himself out of the spaced out horny brain staring at your ceiling and stands to his feet. He’s quick to adjust the bulge in his jeans, uncomfortably shaking his leg before looking toward where you walked off to.

“Um.” He stops, realizing you were watching him, looking directly at the spot he just adjusted. “I mean,” He tries to start again, adjusting again as he feels it slowly move out from its tucked place. “Listen,”

“No, I get it.” You say, snickering at his embarrassment as if he somehow doesn’t know you were suggesting at least some foreplay by moving to your room.

“Of course you do,” He drops his head, now blatantly shoving his hands down his pants to adjust before looking back up and taking a step forward. “You’re the one who sat on me like that.”

“Please, I didn’t even sit on it.” 

“Didn’t need to.” He shrugs, now coming up to you and waiting for you to guide him through your space and into your room. 

Once the two of you get there, him not even attempting to hide that he is very aroused at this moment, you’re very quick to turn and face him once he comes inside. 

“We are on the same page, right?” You ask, looking at his lips and the way they still look so kissable. 

“As far as I know, with all things considered.” He responds, looking down at himself and how pathetic he must seem in getting so aroused by nothing more than a kiss and a position change. 

You smile, reaching for his hand and watching him tumble forward to you. Now standing mere inches in front of you. 

“Do you want to see it?” You ask, a cheeky smirk on your face as you turn away from him and run to your bedside table. 

He has no idea what the fuck you’re referring to until he sees it. There, in all of its non-human glory. Jay ticks his tongue, curiously straining his neck out to peek at what else is in your drawer as he walks closer. 

You make no attempt to close the drawer and instead pull out another one, and another one, another one.

“If you keep pulling out toys I’ll start to think you were lying in saying you wanted to feel something more, um–”

“Real?” You say, turning from your presented line-up of toys to look at him. 

He nods, gazing over the toys, four dildos all far bigger than he is. 

“I can admit that men can’t vibrate, nor do they have those little rotating beats but,” You chuckle at the conversation, scooping the toys up quicker than you laid them out and tossing them back into the drawer. “They’re not warm, or attached to someone that can kiss me. They’re also not witty.”

You study his expression.

“They don’t make me laugh before getting me off.” You continue, wondering if you may actually be too forward about this now. 

He’s rendered a bit speechless, which is rare for him in any given situation. He always has a quick response, not at this moment though as he looks at you. He wonders if you pity that obvious act of self-doubt upon seeing your toys. 

“They’re not attached to you.” You add, this time stifling your chuckle, because it’s a pretty funny conversation if you look at it from the outside but you can imagine he must be feeling some type of way to be so quiet.

He thinks hard about it, knowing damn well where this was leading and pushing for it himself. Hearing you now though, so confidently say these things, all doubt erases from his mind. 

“Before we do anything,” he starts, his shaky voice coming out more confident as he continues. “Is this just a hook-up to you or are you feeling the way I’m feeling right now?”

You look at him with a question in your eyes. He was kind of shocked that you didn’t finish for him this time, actually. 

“Like, you know if we do this, I’m going to be calling to take you out to dinner at some point unless you say you don’t want me to, right?”

You hadn’t thought of anything past him since you’ve gotten here. You didn’t think about anything more than hanging out with him, and now, kissing him, and maybe you know, feeling him. For some reason though, despite the lack of sex you’ve had lately, him saying that only arouses you more. It’s been so long since you’ve intended to sleep with someone and have them want to stick around after. Some of the people you’ve been with didn’t even ask for your number. Is this what adult relationships are actually like? 

“As in, you’d want to see where this goes in the–”

“Future, yes. I’m not just going to fuck you and pretend I didn’t when I see you again.”

Shockingly, that’s a first for you and you like the feeling it gives you. Plus, him implying that he’s about to, or very willing to, fuck you sends a wave of fondness through you.

“Alright. Let’s not call it a hook up then.” You say, the playful arousal from before stifling out at the idea of being intimate with someone who is making you aware that you’ll see him again, now being replaced with…feelings? Arousal with feelings?

“What should we call it?” 

“A date?” You say back immediately, sitting on your bed and finally closing your bedside drawer. 

“Oh, you fuck on the first date?” 

You laugh at how quickly his wit comes back, especially with the way he crowds up and stands in front of you. 

“With you? Looks like it.” You smile wide for him, feeling the tension bleed away and replace itself again with the arousal of him standing and looking down at you. 

“How did we not meet earlier?” He asks, leaning down a bit as if to kiss you.

“Fuck if I know, I bought all of those toys at your shop.”

“Ah, right. Nine in the morning on a Monday. I don’t usually work mornings.”

“Guess I got lucky last time then.”

“I guess you did.” He adds like a period to a sentence, finally kissing you again and making no effort to hide the fact that he’s attempting to lay you down much like you did to him before. 

You let him, falling back on your bed and feeling him nudge your legs to spread. Again, you let him, feeling your heart begin to race with excitement in the way he kisses you now versus how he did it earlier. 

There is clear intent behind it this time, as he positions himself between your legs. Your heart only races faster when one of his hands slides down your arm and he tangles his fingers with yours. It’s all very intimate to be coming from a man you officially met today, but you really do feel lucky. 

Lucky that he works two jobs, lucky that your family throws lame ass reunions every five years, lucky that you left your headlights on during a sunny sunday afternoon, lucky that your battery died. 

It’s so normal already to smile into the kiss and feel giddy inside. Never have you smiled into a kiss save for laughing when a leg cramp happens mid-fuck. You can’t believe how much you’ve smiled and laughed today, and you can’t believe he’s making you react this way just by holding your fucking hand and kissing you this way. 

He laughs when you react though, probably feeling at ease on your bed with you under him, squeezing your fingers tightly each time he licks against your tongue. And when he pulls back to breathe, you just look at him and the way his hair hangs in front of his eyes. He looks so pretty at this angle, even when he’s moving slowly, even when his other hand remains planted beside your head to hold his weight from falling onto you. 

It’s not been since highschool that you’ve laid with someone simply making out, fully clothed, giggling. You’re unsure of how he’s pulled this out of you, because usually when a man is on top of you, you’re already trying to get his clothes off. But this? This is something that you want to last. You want it to be slower than a usual fuck, because you like when he’s here with you. Whether on top of you or not, there was a reason he’s stayed this late already and you already know it wasn’t solely to fuck you.

“Did you expect to be on top of me someday?” You ask between kisses, and he takes that as an invitation to laugh against your neck and tickle your cheek with his messy hair. 

“Expect it? No,” He starts, leaving a kiss just under your ear before lowering his lips to the collar of your shirt and kissing there too. “Hoped I could, though.” 

Your heart swells up at that. You realized he must have meant it when he admitted to having a small crush on you. Only now do you realize that the curiosity that brought you back up to the food-table during the reunion may have been the start of a crush on your end too. 

You don’t say anything more after that and instead fall into the feeling of his lips kissing along your collar. For some reason the sensation of his lips pushing the fabric out of the way so he can kiss new exposed skin makes you feel incredibly wanted. Maybe it’s the pace, or maybe it’s just because you really really like him, and want him to want you. 

“Do you want to take it off?” You ask after a few more of his kisses, wanting to control yourself but also very much wanting to feel his lips everywhere else too. 

You can feel him nod in the form of his hair tickling your cheek more. But he doesn’t move from that spot at first, continuing to kiss you the same way and in the same places. You let him, up until he finally sighs and pulls back. 

Looking at him now, even compared to a few moments ago, he looks even more pretty. His eyes are now soft, you can almost see the lines from where he’s smiled for you all day. His lips, looking more kissable than they did the past two times you thought they looked as kissable as they ever could. His eyebrows, showing no signs of tension but permanently arched in a way that makes him appear constantly moody. 

You’re staring and you’re not intending to hide it. Even as he lifts your shirt from your waist and starts to pull it up. You barely budge as you stare, and stare, until you can’t because he’s trying to pull your shirt over your head.

“If you’d stop staring for two seconds maybe I could get this off of you–” He smiles knowingly, finally pulling it off when you arch your back and then prop yourself up slightly with your hands. “There.”

He sighs when he says it, going silent and almost frozen at the image of your nearly-naked torso. You watch him stare now, a smirk forming all too quickly.

“Now look who’s staring.” You chuckle, noting that his eyes still don’t leave the newly exposed skin or the fabric of your bra.

“Yeah, I am.” He admits, wetting his lower lip again and then flicking his eyes to you. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Suddenly, that eye contact makes you feel shy. You’re more naked than he is, despite mostly being dressed still.

“You know,” you start, avoiding his intense eye contact just to get the words out. “If we just take all of our clothes off now, it would probably be easier.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle at you but nods, already lifting his shirt off and going for his zipper and button.

“There’s no rush, but if you’d prefer we do,” He scoots back and away from you, standing to his feet to shove his jeans down his legs. “I don’t mind.”

You watch him undress and lose all ability to act on your own for a solid thirty seconds before you finally start panic-shimming the rest of your clothing off. Save for bra and panties, and he, now standing there clad in only a pair of form-fitting briefs. 

You’re glad he isn’t as shy as you at this moment though, or rather, he appears to be entirely infatuated with your body and doesn’t look away from it for even a moment to feel embarrassed himself at standing on the side of your bed nearly nude. 

“No rush?” You ask, when he finally trails his eyes up to you and takes his position between your legs from earlier. Except now, you can see his biceps and the way they flex, now, you can feel the immense amount of warmth radiating from him. Now, his hair is even more of a mess.

“I can try,” He says quietly, balancing on one hand and lowering his lips to yours once more, trying to ignore how dangerously close his length is to bumping against your core. “No promises now, though.”

You smirk, wondering where he lost his self control within that short span of time where you got undressed. He cuts your chuckle off mid-way though, now kissing you again and moving his hand up and down your waist. It tickles and causes goosebumps to form all over you, to the point that you can’t help but sigh into his kiss. 

He continues, still holding his hips back from grinding against you, kissing you as good as he can until trailing back to your neck again. 

It’s not until you run your fingers through his hair that he sighs himself. That relief and heavenly feeling of your fingers scraping the back of his neck— such a simple touch can literally send him straight to hell at this point and he wouldn’t care a single bit as long as it’s from you and your hands. 

He lowers himself more, just to prevent his hips from intruding into this moment only to lock his lips onto the mound of your breast, other hand lowering so he can lay down and push your bra to the side a bit. 

The cold air that hits your nipple is short-lived when you feel him immediately suck it into his mouth with a deep breath. You continue to scratch through his hair, now using your other hand to nearly hug his head in place as you feel the sensations shoot straight between your legs. Each flick of his tongue sends signals to your brain to go! go! go! But much like him, you hold back, even though your legs still manage to squeeze his body between yours in an attempt to find the friction he isn’t yet offering. 

He continues this for a few minutes, and then works his fingers under the bra on the other side of your chest before switching his lips to that one. Perking them up so perfectly that he can graze his teeth against either nipple and feel your legs react to it. All of it is turning him on beyond belief, it’s dangerously attractive to him now too, to know that you have several toys that could have already gotten you off by now, but you choose this. You choose his lips playing with your tits, and your legs doing an amazing job of showing him your lack of control. After all, toys can’t give you the foreplay that he can.

His lips continue their work, up until he’s trailing further and further down, making your sighs hitch higher and higher in pitch. He kisses your waist, just above your belly button, then just below your belly button before leaning back.

There, he looks directly at the seat of your panties and smiles at the wet spot there. He plants a kiss right in the center of your mess  before climbing back up and caressing your cheek again. 

“You’re wet.” He comments in a huskier voice than he normally uses, balancing yet again on his other arm.

Goddamn, if this is how he sounds when he’s with a girl then you feel more lucky than before. You can’t imagine the amount of women who have fallen completely in love with this guy. And, before you can actually respond to him with another cheeky comment, his hand on your cheek disappears and is instantly between your legs, cupping you there and even scooting you up the bed with the force of how he grabs you.

You hitch out a sigh and look at him with a smile.

“Obviously.” You say back, rolling your eyes playfully before unintentionally bucking your hips into the pressure his palm offers against your clit. 

“Cute too.” He adds, lifting his palm to run his fingers up the wet spot on your panties before pressing in slightly. 

You can feel the fabric stick to you uncomfortably, but it still feels so fucking good. Any amount of touching from him feels good, if you’re being honest. 

“And you’re teasing me.” You argue, looking away from his smirk as he plays with the wet fabric against his fingers. 

“Just ask. I’m not teasing you if you're not telling me what you want.” 

You shoot your eyes back to him, a mixture of curiosity and shock in your eyes. It’s true though, you are a little shocked. Most men really just do what they want, and so do you. Never have you been asked what you want. 

Your eyes trail down as far as they can, what his hand is doing is mostly hidden between your legs but you focus entirely on the way his arms flex as his fingers travel up and down your panties. 

“You want me to ask?” You question, hips bucking up again unintentionally. 

“Not so much ask, but like, tell me what you want.”

He nods to himself as he says it, licking his bottom lip and pressing the fabric of your panties in yet again. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to do what he wants right now though, definitely not. He just figures you know your body far better than he does, and he’d rather not make assumptions and embarrass himself when you could just ask him or better, guide him. Who is he to assume you want his fingers right now anyway?

“I’ve never…” You start, swallowing your words as your brain goes back to focusing on his fingers momentarily. “I haven’t–”

He knows what you’re trying to say, so he attempts to make it a bit easier for you. 

“Do you want me to pull your panties to the side?” 

You sigh with a nod, looking at him and allowing him to guide you through telling him what you want.

“Do you want me to touch you?” 

You nod again, pushing your head back against the mattress out of frustration that you, for some reason, can’t find the words to just tell him yourself. 

He listens to your body though, more than your weak nods and frustrated sighs. The way your legs shake when he asks, the way you react to the air hitting your folds when he does push your panties to the side. He can’t bear to look down yet though, because he knows for a fact that if he were to pull back and look at you in full, he’d no longer be asking you what you want. He’d be embarrassing for sure. 

You can feel his fingers now sliding through your folds though, bare pussy out and on display but not yet being looked at, only being felt. And arguably, all you can do right now is feel too, as he leans forward to kiss you in this silent moment. 

His fingers continue to explore as he kisses you, collecting all of your arousal and swirling it around your clit before sliding back down and prodding at your entrance. You make a sound at that, kissing him a little harder than before when he lets out a hum.

“Hm?” He hums against your lips, and you nod to him. 

There, he dips a finger in only slightly. Your arms reach around his neck at the feeling and pull him closer to you. To the point that you can feel him struggle to angle his hands right to slide in deeper, but you pay no mind to it. At least not until you kiss the fucking daylights out of him.

That, you do. Kissing him with full-force and making a show of how turned on you are for him. He feels it, with or without your kiss bruising him. The wetness on the tip of his finger only becomes wetter, and when you release your grip around his neck, he still doesn’t leave the kiss.

He goes back to gently kissing you, focusing more on his fingers than what his tongue is doing. He slides that same finger in all the way now, feeling your walls clench almost instantly and beg for more. Chuckling at the feeling, he fucks his finger into you experimentally before pulling them out and adjusting two fingers at your entrance. 

“Hm?” He hums again, and you nod again.

So, two fingers slide in and you’re releasing a soft moan against his lips. Already out of breath from focusing so hard on how he feels when he touches you. Your lips fall slack just to catch that lost breath, and he doesn’t argue, going right back to that spot on your neck to kiss as he picks up rhythm with his fingers. Effectively fucking you open with them as you cling to him.

You hate to say you didn’t pay much attention to his hands until now. Having not noticed how deep just those two digits reach inside of you, and good fucking lord does he know how to use them too. Curling them up at just the right moment to have your legs shaking. 

Never have your legs fucking shook for a man. This only happens with the g-spot stimulating toys. God, you open your eyes to look at the ceiling in thought, and it has you wondering if he even knows he’s doing it. 

“Keep doing that–” you urge him, and he hums at you finally at least trying to tell him what you want. 

He finally lifts from your neck to look at you, now placing his weight back on that one free arm that had been toying with the ends of your hair this entire time, and he’s fucking floored. Even if he pictured you before with those toys, none of those images came close to this. And it’s just his fingers? No where near the size of your toys, no where near as expensive, or warm…or alive.

Oh. You want to feel someone who wants you. 

“I’ll do anything you want.” He says, doing exactly as you asked except a little faster, still hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly that you’re moaning out now. 

He tunes in entirely to the sounds you’re making, the faces you’re making, and the way your pussy clenches around just those two fingers. He is aching at this point, pulling back from hovering over you to sit now between your legs, fingers still keeping pace, and sliding his other hand down his briefs. 

You don’t notice at first, too enthralled by the feeling of his curling fingers inside of you, but when you do–

“God,” You moan, rolling your eyes at the image of him out of breath, both hands working to pleasure both of you. “Come here.”

He listens, already pulling his hand away from himself but keeping his fingers in you, in a daze as he takes his original position of hovering over you.

“No, I mean, come here.” You say, looking at him as you reach between your bodies and pull his fingers out of you, then reach to grab between his legs. 

He immediately moans at the feeling, his hips pressing harshly into your grip with a whine as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes just to feel it. 

“Pull it out.” You continue, slowly becoming more and more comfortable telling him what you want. 

Just watching him do what you ask is insanely hot. The way he pulls his cock out seems so natural to him, you suddenly imagine what he must look like all alone while getting himself off. Thankfully though, he’s not all alone right now, he’s with you, and you intend to be getting him off. 

You look at him, between his legs, and then back at him once more before grabbing it again and practically pulling his hips to you by the cock. He groans all the same at it though, and only holds his breath when he feels your legs spread further and essentially press his cock between your folds and hold it there from the head. 

“Grind.” You say, still holding your hand in place to keep the pressure against him, which also puts pressure against your clit when he does grind up.

You both shiver at it, and he still looks down at you, fucking smiling through his sighs of relief regarding the new sensations you’re offering. 

“You’re actually fucking perfect.” He compliments, fucking his hips up and coating his cock with the dripping of your needy cunt. 

Out of everything he’s ever said to you up to this point, out of everything he’s fucking done to you, that’s the one thing that has you spiralling into a world of fire. It makes you feel so warm, especially with the head of his cock bumping your clit. He has barely gotten any friction and he is still calling you perfect? Sign you the fuck up, forever, actually. 

“Don’t be stupid,” You start, waving him off between moans and gripping his shoulders.

He grinds up harder at your words though, now propping himself up on his elbows and grabbing your face on both sides. 

“You, don’t be stupid.” He says clearly, pointing his thrusts directly at your clit and moaning only slightly as he looks at you.

You swear, at that moment he could see your entire life. Everything about you. Everything you love and hate. The way he doesn’t look through you but at you? 

“You’re actually insane.” You laugh, crumbling to his pointed gaze and thrusts, your legs automatically shooting up to wrap around his waist. 

He seems proud of being called insane right now. Mostly because he can come up with at least fifty reasons as to why this is anything but insanity, but he remains quiet at the feeling of your legs squeezing around him. 

Such a girl was looking for mundane sex toys to have normal sex with? Lucky you, this is his fucking favorite. Plain ‘ol missionary? Check. Legs squeezing around him, almost pulling him in? Check. Looking directly at the face of the person he wants to make feel good? Check. 

You barely notice his lack of control by this point, the closeness alone feels like you’re already having sex but you realize you’re entirely empty still. This is fine though, until it’s not.

When does it not become fine? When his confident moans turn to soft sighs, and you notice his arms shaking a bit to hold his weight above you, and when his eyes go dead staring at you. You can tell he’s focused entirely on the feeling between the two of you, doing nothing more than aggressive yet…weak grinds? 

“Jay,” You say, slightly out of breath. 

“Hm?” He responds half-heartedly, releasing his weight from one elbow and dropping his head between your neck and shoulder.

“Fuck me.”

It’s like you can feel the switch in his head go from losing sanity to gaining it back in an instant at those words. He felt like he was pleasuring himself against you for so long, with so much friction between your hand and his abdomen constantly pressing into it. He could have gotten off from this, if you wanted him to anyway. It would have been an intense orgasm after working up for so long too, but now? 

He doesn’t even say anything, he doesn’t even move his head from between your neck and shoulder. Instead, you feel him expertly adjust his hips and press in without much trouble. He finds exactly where he belongs so fucking fast that is has you spinning and clenching immediately. 

“Shit,” He drones out with a long sigh, slowly sinking his cock into you. “You’re throbbing.” 

You chuckle, because yeah. You definitely are, but so is he. You can feel his thick length spreading you open inch by inch, until he’s fully planted into you and twitching. Then he doesn’t move again.

“This alone could do me in,” He chuckles against your neck, breathing in a deep sigh and attaching his teeth to your lower ear lobe. “Honestly, I can't believe I didn’t already cum  just from having my fingers in you.”

You’re both flattered and shocked by this comment, before you can even think to respond he’s talking again.

“You’re so tight, so wet.” He soothes himself through the feeling of your walls clenching around him by explaining how good your pussy feels, not yet wanting to move and just wanting to feel what your body does to him on its own. “It’s so hard not to move right now.”

“Please,” You manage to get out, struggling to focus on just one thing with the way he’s talking and the way he sits so perfectly inside of you. “Please, move.”

And he does, instantly. Pulling out and sliding back in so easily that the slapping sound is muted entirely by the matching moan you both release. You can feel his voice vibrating against your neck, and you can imagine he might be able to feel yours through your pulsing walls, because it feels like every sound, touch, and sensation is sent straight there for him to enjoy. 

It doesn’t stop either. Both of you shamelessly moaning at the feeling of him snapping his hips into you at perfect speed, with a perfect voice, and a perfect hand moving up to grip your chest. 

He’s practically blanketing you with his body, your legs holding him in this spot, his hair still finding a way to tickle your cheek with each thrust in. It’s so fucking much. It’s so good, and so…comfortable.

You’re comfortable. So comfortable you don’t even feel the need to rub your clit, you don’t want to chase the orgasm, you just want to feel him. And apparently, he’s still on the same page with you. 

When he lifts his head, kissing the bottom of your chin and then your lower lip, still the two of you are groaning at each deep thrust in, but he manages to talk through it, somehow.

“Don’t stop,” he says, despite you barely doing anything. “Keep doing that.” He continues as his thrusts pick up pace. 

Only now do you realize that you were doing something. Without noticing, your hands were nearly tearing his back apart. Not literally, but your nails may have dug in a few times. Normally, once you notice doing that, you would stop because normally men don’t want the trace of another woman on him. Jay though, he’s in love with the idea that you’ll leave a mark. 

Obsessed with the sting of it, really, loving the idea of going to his night-job tomorrow and staring at all of the toys that don’t offer you a back to hold onto like this. 

You do as he asks much like he does for you, gripping him so tightly that your nails have no choice but to leave half-moon shapes on his skin. Each thrust drags your fingers up, down, up down, and with each thrust it somehow feels deeper, harder, hotter.

When he releases your chest from his other hand and puts it back to your cheek, caressing much like he has each time he’s focused on kissing you, you think you’re a fucking goner. 

As expected, he kisses you at that moment and thrusts once, hard, before holding himself there.

“I’m really close,” He whispers apologetically between kisses, “tell me how to get you there with me.”

You smile when he kisses you again instead of letting you answer, but you fall into it much like he does and you opt to grab that hand on your cheek and guide it to your clit. 

Instantly, he’s rubbing harsh and sloppy circles around it, and you reward him for the perfect work of his fingers yet again with your fingernails digging into his back. He softly moans at that, and you swallow it up all too easily. 

Tensing your muscles, his fingers on your clit work you up so quickly that you barely warn him of your oncoming orgasm, even as his cock sits leaking and heavy inside of you. You don’t even know how to tell him, all you can do is frantically moan out shortly.

“I’m–” 

Instantly his hips are back at work, barely even thrusting but instead remaining buried into you for the most part. He pulls out an inch and slams back in, wanting your orgasm to get him off more than his own movements. And fuck, it does.

The way you clench when you reach your high, slack lips against his own, he releases at what he could argue is the best possible time. Your tenses muscles work him up perfectly, gently massaging his cock as he releases in full without too much overstimulation. 

And you. You have never gotten off with a man staying mostly still inside of you. Actually, you’ve only gotten off that way with toys because nothing beats getting off while completely full. Jay really is something, or, someone. 

The two of you release together, and his lips fall slack just like yours do. The kissing turned to that of desperate, orgasm-fogged moans into the other’s mouth. For some reason, it was incredibly hot to you that you both reacted that way. So insanely drunk on the other that nothing felt embarrassing.

Even the way his fingers moved on your clit through your orgasm, he somehow knew when to go and when to stop. 

Even now, as your orgasm tapers off, you are so blissfully aware that you want to immediately fall asleep even with him inside of you. Jay is polite though, and gently pulls out with a small apology of the mess. 

When he looks at you, looking so sleepy under him, maybe it translates to him too and he instantly yawns but tries to be strong for both of you.

“We should clean up.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

There wasn’t even a question in your head when he slept over that night. He didn’t even hint at leaving. Nor did he hint the morning after as you groggily opened your computer for your daily work. 

He did hint that he would miss you when he eventually had to go to his own house and get ready for an evening at the sex-shop. He also hinted a few times at feeling like, when he looked at you, you weren’t a brand new person in his life. Part of you wonders if that’s because maybe you want to be permanent in his life from now on.

Later that night, he came back. Bright eyes and a stinging back.

For some reason, you feel it’s safe to say that neither of you can stand being apart for too long. So yeah, maybe this is what a normal relationship is like. If, you know, you were in a relationship with him.

Ironically enough, only a few days later that relationship is established in the form of a new car battery and a bottle of lube that he bought for you. 

Not that you need it. (The lube.)

[spiderbeam]

lando + 22😇

22. falling asleep on the other’s shoulder

pairing: best friend!reader x lando norris

“HEY, LANDO, HAVE YOU SEEN WHERE I LEFT MY—”

Oscar looks up at the sudden shushing noise, brows pulled together. His forehead creases, mouth parting to respond —because, yeah, rude— before his eyes land on his teammate. The confusion and slight offense vanish in a blink, the corner of lips curving upwards.

He chuckles, to which Lando responds with a low ‘shut up’. Oscar can’t help smiling, biting his bottom lip to try and hide it. “Don’t you look comfortable?”

Lando sits on the McLaren couch with his legs outstretched over a glass table. He looks surprisingly comfortable— given the fact that you’re resting your head on his shoulder, leaning most of your weight against him. Your eyelids flutter in your sleep.

“Mate, what part of shut up are you not getting?” Lando hisses, glancing briefly at you as he feels you shift against him.

Oscar tilts his head at you. “Has she been out long?” he asks, this time in a whisper.

Lando’s jaw twitches. He sighs, nodding his head only slightly. “An hour, I think.”

“You’ve been there for an hour?” Oscar’s voice rises, and Lando’s glare sharpens. He grimaces.

“Told me she’s in exam season. Has been pulling all-nighters for a while.” Lando’s glare drops as he glances down at your sleeping frame. His eyes soften, and Oscar would comment on it, if he wasn’t already toeing the line between Lando’s good and bad graces. “It’s been intense.”

Oscar hums, but he’s not really focused so much on what Lando is saying, but more so how he’s saying it. Because, sure, he’s seen many sides to Lando. Competitive on the track. Funny and supporting behind the scenes. Flirtatious with girls at clubs and parties. This side doesn’t feel new, but it feels… different. A certain softness only reserved for a select few. He wonders if either of you are aware of it.

“Anyways, we were watching my Drive to Survive episode, but she started nodding off like halfway into it.” You shift, muttering a incoherent, barely audible mumble. Lando’s voice quiets. “She deserves a little sleep.”

Oscar is asking the question before he can think better of it. “Isn’t your shoulder tired, like, at all?”

Lando shrugs. “I can’t really feel it anymore.”

Oscar’s eyes widen just a fraction. He doesn’t think Lando’s reading the situation as he is. “So, just to recap, you’ve been sitting there with her, not moving, not making a sound, for a whole hour?”

Lando’s nose scrunches. “Why are you making it sound so weird? It’s fine,” he responds defensively. His jaw ticks, annoyance rippling off him in waves. “Could you get out? You’re gonna wake her up.”

You move on the couch, nose brushing against Lando’s exposed neck. Lando freezes for a fraction of a second. Oscar bites his lips down to prevent the laugh that threatens to escape him.

They both hear you inhale deeply, exhale.

“You guys are shit at whispering,” you mumble, voice sleep-ridden. It takes you a couple of seconds to come to your senses. You blink a few times, lifting your head away from Lando’s shoulder. And even now that you’re awake, Oscar can see what his teammate had been talking about. Your eyelids look heavy, the bags beneath your eyes more prominent.

Lando tilts his head, lips pressed apologetically. “Sorry for waking you up,” he says quietly, softly.

“S’okay.” You don’t seem to register the tenderness to Lando’s voice— or maybe you are simply far too used to it. “Do you have the time? I should’ve gotten started with my research paper a while ago, but maybe it’s not too bad if I just—” you stop, as if finally catching up with your thoughts. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Lando lies, and when Oscar meets his gaze, he shoots him a look.

“Oscar?”

You’re staring up at him, expectantly. Oscar swallows. “I— uh, I just came in.”

“See?” Lando says. “You can afford a few minutes of sleep.” When that doesn’t seem to convince you, he adds, “You said your professor is a Red Bull fan, right?”

“I’m not bribing my professor.”

Lando rolls his eyes, but he has that half-smile that brightens up his face. There’s nothing happening, and yet Oscar suddenly feels like he’s intruding on something private.

He clears his throat. “Right. Uh, well,” he watches as both of you turn his attention to him— Lando more reluctantly than you. Oscar throws his thumb over his shoulder. “I was about to head out, so…”

That seems to wake you up, if only a little. You blink a few more times. “Could you drop me off on your way?”

Oscar finds himself nodding. “Yeah, sure, where do—”

“I’ll drive you.”

Both you and Oscar turn to Lando. He’s already standing up as he’s saying it, as if the decision has already been agreed upon. He barely spares Oscar a glance as he tilts his head back at you, as if telling you to follow.

“But Oscar’s already leaving. I don’t wanna be a bother—”

“I’m done for the day too,” Lando shrugs, and Oscar knows that to be a lie. “C’mon,” he juts his head towards the door. “We can get one of those teas you like on the way.”

Any skepticism you would’ve usually shown is nowhere to be found. And though Oscar can tell you want to protest, you relent.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

And as Oscar leaves out the main doors with the two of you, he pretends not to notice you reaching for Lando’s hand— just like he pretends not to notice Lando’s smile.

a/n: i’m writing this after procrastinating on studying so yeah. this was very self-indulgent. en fin. reblogs are always appreciated <3

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited)² retired simon has nowhere to go, so you offer. [ one, two]

it took a lot of convincing to get him to your little apartment, like trying to move a massive brick wall with a feather. however, in the end, he gave in— not that he had much of a say in the matter, considering the fact that the two of you were already at your home amidst arguing (which, to be fair, was predominantly one-sided as he persistently uttered 'no' in response to all your counterarguments).

in all honesty, you couldn't quite figure out why you were so insistent on having a stranger, especially a strange man, stay with you in your much too tiny apartment. perhaps it was your festive december spirit, the idea of someone being alone during this time of year just didn't sit right with you. besides it was just for the night, then you could take him to the shelter.

he’d been quiet as you set up everything for him, he was imposing, tall, and somewhat scary (primarily due to his skull mask and his overall silent demeanor). but strangely enough, you didn't feel unsafe with him, despite the fact that you probably should have. after all, he was a man, and he undoubtedly outweighed you by at least 100 pounds. killing you and getting away with it would be easy for him. and, why the hell were you contemplating this now, instead of when you first picked him up from the side of the street?

perhaps it was the way he carried himself, with a sense of calm and control that was almost hypnotic. or maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to pierce through you, yet held a hint of sadness that made you feel a strange sense of empathy toward him. whatever the reason, you found yourself drawn to him.

as you finished setting up the couch, you couldn't help but steal glances at him, trying to decipher his thoughts and emotions. but his expression remained unreadable, his mask hiding any hint of vulnerability or emotion. it was both frustrating and intriguing, making you wonder what secrets lay hidden behind that skull mask.

“um, so the shower is just down the hall, oh! feel free to look through the fridge for something,” you smile awkwardly at the tall man and gesture to your room door, “if you need anything just let me know.” his gaze remains fixated upon the makeshift bed you have prepared, adorned with a spare comforter of a soft, faded hue resembling baby blue, adorned with delicate flowers which sprawls across the expanse of your pull-out sofa.

simon, ever the brooding man, says a small, stiff thank you; ready for you to leave him alone you're sure. wiping your sweaty palms on your denim-clad thighs, you gently press your lips together and affirmatively bob your head. “alright, well, goodnight simon.” without waiting for a response, that you were sure you weren't going to get, you scuttle off to your bedroom, swiftly closing the door and attempting to lock it as quietly as possible. however, the resounding click makes you think he’s heard it.

letting out a weary sigh you slide down your door, reaching into your pocket to retrieve your phone. with a gentle motion, you begin to skim through your contacts and find your best friend. it rings once, twice before she picks up with a tired hello.

“if i die tonight, i love you.”

you catch the faint sound of her perplexed murmur, followed by the gentle click of her bedside lamp over the phone. it was late, far too late for you to have disturbed her with a call, you knew that— should’ve called your sister or something.

“have you been drinking?”

you give a slight eye roll before curling your legs up to your chest. “no, not yet. anyways, i think i might've done something very dumb," you admit, trailing off as you nervously nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the soft flesh give way under your teeth. your friend lets out a quiet grunt. “well? spit it out.”

“so, i picked up a homeless guy on the side of the road and offered him a ride to the shelter but instead i brought him to my apartment and now he’s in my living room, about to sleep on my couch,” you utter quickly— and she's silent for a moment, it's a loud silence, one that makes your heart beat quickly in your chest. you run a hand down your face and take a deep breath, sighing heavily. “say something.” your voice is filled with a mix of impatience and anxiety.

“what the hell is wrong with you?