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summary: two lifelong friends who have always seen each other as platonic suddenly notice sparks. What was once familiarity turns into an awkward, thrilling tension as they both wrestle with the terrifying question: risk the friendship or ignore the chemistry?
word count: 2396
warnings: smut! Lap Sex. Clit Play. Unprotected Sex. Cream pie. After care. Tension. This man should just be a walking warning label.
author's note: Hello, it's been a while since I wrote anything smut related, so bare with me. This is plot with minimal smut. The new season of JJK has inspired me to write for one of my favorite lawyers. Female Reader!
You had known Higuruma Hiromi long before the world carved its darkness into him.
Back when he was still a defense attorney with a secondhand briefcase and an inconvenient conscience.
You met in a courthouse hallway where the lights were fluorescent lights humming overhead, stacks of files threatening to fall from your arms. Once they fell from your arms, you rapidly tried to pick up every single paper, with him lending you a hand. He muttered something dry about “organizational malpractice” in which you couldn’t help but laugh. That caused him to look at you with a confused look, like he wasn’t used to being laughed with.
From that interaction, everything became easy.
Late night in his cramped office, sleeves rolled up, papers scattered like fallen leaves. You’d bring him coffee and breakfast when he would forget to eat. He’d walk you to your car without ever making it seem like a grand gesture.
You quickly became the person that he didn’t feel like he needed to argue with and the one person that he didn’t have to impress.
You started to learn the small things.
The way that he would adjust his tie when he was irritated but trying to stay polite.
The way he went dangerously quiet when a case weighed too heavily on him.
The way his voice softened when he said your name.
Years have passed, you’re sitting cross-legged on his living room floor, case files pushed aside in favor of takeout cartons and low conversations. His apartment is dim, lit only by a lamp that casts a warm, cozy color.
Something feels different. You’ve been here a hundred times.
Could it be because he isn’t talking?
Higuruma always talks when he is thinking. He dissects. Analyze. Constructs arguments against invisible opponents. But tonight he’s quiet, watching you in a way that makes your skin tight.
“What?” you ask, nudging his shin with your foot.
His gaze doesn’t move.
“You’ve been staring,” you say, trying for lightness. “It’s unnerving.”
“I’m thinking,” he replies.
“That’s rarely comforting.”
A small breath leaves him, almost a laugh, but his eyes stay locked on yours. And suddenly you’re hyperaware of everything.
The space between you.
The way your knees are nearly touching.
The faint scent of his cologne.
The rise and fall of his chest.
It wasn’t like this before.
Or maybe it was, and you were just better at pretending.
—--
The first crack had been weeks ago.
You were walking side by side after a long day, your shoulder brushing his with each step. It had always been normal. Casual contact. Familiar.
But that day, when your fingers accidentally laced for half a second, neither of you pulled away immediately.
The world didn’t stop.
But something shifted.
You started noticing him.
Not as your best friend. Not as your safe place.
As a man.
The curve of his mouth when he was concentrating.
The strength in his hands when he gestured mid-argument.
The way his voice dropped low and steady when he was serious.
It was disorienting.
Because this was Higuruma. Your constant. Your certainty.
You weren’t supposed to want him.
—--
Back in his apartment, the air feels heavier than it should.
“You ever wonder,” he says carefully, like he’s approaching a fragile witness, “if two people mistake comfort for something else?”
You freeze.
“Define something else.”
His jaw tightens. That micro-expression you know too well. The one that appears when he’s about to say something that matters.
“Attraction.”
The word lands between you like a gavel strike.
You swallow.
“And if it’s not a mistake?”
The silence stretches.
His gaze drops briefly, not evasive, just thoughtful, before returning to yours with clarity.
“You’re my best friend,” he says, voice steady but lower now. “You’re the one person I don’t have to brace myself around. I can’t afford to lose that.”
The honesty makes your chest ache.
“And what if,” you whisper, “we’re already risking it by pretending this isn’t happening?”
He leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. He does that when logic fails him. When emotion threatens to override reason.
You watch his throat move as he swallows.
“You’ve felt it too,” he says.
Your heart pounds loud enough that you’re certain he can hear it. “Yes.”
The admission feels like stepping off a ledge.
He shifts closer without realizing it. Or maybe he does.
Your knees brush. Neither of you moves.
The contact is small. Barely there. But it feels electric, like every nerve under your skin suddenly woke up.
“If I misread this,” he says quietly, “I lose you.”
“You won’t,” you reply immediately.
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“No,” you admit. “But I can guarantee that ignoring it won’t make it disappear.”
His eyes darken slightly, not with anger, but with something heavier. Something that’s been building for months without permission.
“You know what scares me?” he murmurs.
“What?”
“That I’ve started thinking about you differently. And once you see someone that way…” He exhales slowly. “You can’t unsee it.”
Your pulse stutters.“How differently?”
His gaze flickers to your mouth.
The movement is subtle. Almost involuntary. But you catch it.
And suddenly the room feels much smaller.
“I notice things I shouldn’t,” he admits. “The way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. The way you lean closer when you’re laughing. The way your hand fits in mine.”
Your breath comes shallow.
“I’ve noticed things too,” you confess. “The way your voice changes when you’re worried about me. The way you stand is just slightly closer than necessary. The way you hesitate before letting go.”
The truth hangs raw between you.
He’s not defensive. Not analytical.
Just… vulnerable.
“I need to ask you something,” he says after a long moment.
“Okay.”
“If I kiss you,” he says, controlled but strained at the edges, “does that destroy us… or does it reveal something that’s been here longer than we’ve admitted?”
Your heart feels like it might break through your ribs.
You could laugh it off. Protect what you have.
But you’re tired of pretending the tension isn’t there. Tired of lying to yourself.
“You’re a lawyer,” you murmur softly. “You like evidence.”
A flicker of want crosses his face.
“Then test the theory.”
For once, Hiromi Higuruma hesitates. Not because he’s unsure of you. Because he’s terrified of how much this means.
He moves slowly, giving you every second to change your mind. His hand lifts, fingers hovering near your jaw as if asking silent permission.
You lean into his touch. That’s all the confirmation he needs.
When his lips finally meet yours, it isn’t rushed.
It’s careful.
Soft.
Almost reverent.
Like he’s handling something precious.
For a split second, the world narrows to the warmth of his mouth and the steady pressure of his hand against your cheek. You respond instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
And something in him breaks.
Not control but restraint.
The kiss deepens, not reckless, not overwhelming. Just years of suppressed tension finally permitted to exist. It feels less like a spark and more like something that’s been quietly burning all along.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. His breathing is uneven, and you realize yours is too.
“Well,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. “That complicates things.”
You can’t help the small, breathless laugh that escapes you.
“Or clarifies them.”
He studies you like you’re a verdict he’s afraid to read.
Then something settles in his expression.
Not fear.
Decision.
“If we do this,” he says quietly, “we don’t pretend it’s casual. I don’t know how to give you half of anything.”
Your chest tightens.
“I don’t want half.”
His thumb brushes lightly against your cheek.
“We’ll have to relearn each other,” he says. “There’s risk.”
“There always was,” you reply.
A pause.
Then, softer: “I’d rather risk it with you than wonder what could’ve been.”
His lips curve, not into a smirk or teasing.
Just genuine warmth.
“You’re aware,” he says dryly, “that we’re going to be insufferable.”
“Completely.”
But his hand slides into yours, fingers lacing with a familiarity that now feels charged with new meaning.
And this time, when your knees touch, neither of you pretends it’s accidental.
The fear is still there.
But as he leans in again, you realize something important:
You weren’t losing a friendship. You were letting it evolve.
And somehow, that feels less like falling… and more like coming home.
—----
Higuruma Hiromi doesn’t rush it, but there’s a new gravity in the way his hand settles at your waist. Pressing his lips against yours, deepening the shared kiss. It’s not possessive. It’s grounding. Like he’s confirming you’re real.
Your fingers are still twisted in his shirt when he pulls back just enough to look at you. His breathing is controlled, but only barely. You can see the restraint there, the careful calculation behind his eyes.
He’s thinking again.
Always thinking.
And yet he doesn’t step away.
“That,” he says quietly, voice lower than usual, “was a mistake.”
Your stomach drops.
Then his thumb brushes against the edge of your jaw, slow, deliberate.
“Because now I know exactly what I’ve been denying.”
The air feels thin.
“You regret it?” you ask, barely above a whisper.
“No,” he says, steady and honest. “That’s the problem.”
Your pulse pounds so loudly it feels impossible that he can’t hear it.
He doesn’t touch you anywhere inappropriately. Doesn’t cross a line.
But the restraint is louder than anything reckless could be.
His hand slides from your waist to your lower back, still safe but intimate enough that it makes your breath hitch.
You slide your hands up his chest slowly, giving him every opportunity to stop you.
He doesn’t.
His breath grows heavier, composure thinning thread by thread.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says quietly.
Your fingers curl lightly at his collar.
“Then show me.”
His control slips just enough.
He kisses you again, deeper this time, slower as if he was starved for you. His hands move towards your thighs as he moves you towards his lap.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours again. His breathing is uneven now, the polished lawyer's composure cracked open.
“I need you” he whispers against your lips as he moves your skirt up to your hips.
You move your hands, unbuttoning his shirt and taking off his jacket. Exposing his chest to you as you pull away, admiring a part that you’ve never seen from him.
“I’m all yours.” There's a small pause in between as you lean towards him, kissing the back of his ear. “and don’t hold back,” you whisper against his skin.
His hands wandered up from your waist to your breast, groping them as he gently massaged them, as you let out a soft moan, tilting your head back.
His lips instantly placed on your neck as he placed soft, gentle kisses.
Your hands rush to his pants, setting his cock free. Stroking him a few times before he pushed your hand away.
You were not expecting him to be this big; you were aroused and scared at the same time. Thinking, how are you going to take him.
He guides your hips while he moves your underwear to the side as he teases his cock against your entrance.
“Please, no more teasing.” There was a small whine in your tone as he pushed you down onto his cock.
You both let out a moan in unison following a “fuck” he breathed near your ear as you begin to roll your hips, wanting to fully take him inside of you.
You were fully in control as he was mainly mesmorized with how tight your pussy was around his cock.
He began to thrust into you, adding that friction that you so craved from him.
At first, he was soft and tender with his thrust, but they rapidly moved to rough and deep thrusts, making you lose control of your hips rolling.
His thrusts became possessive and hungry as if he was craving you for the longest time. You rocked on his lap, crying out as his cock brushed just in the right spot.
You couldn’t help but become a mess on his lap, letting out incoherent moans of pleasure with a mixture of whimpers.
“I should have fucked this pretty pussy of yours a long time ago” he says in an incoherent tone, out of breath.
One of his hands travels down towards your clit as he presses firmly, making a circular motion with two fingers against it.
You were chasing this pleasure with unselfconscious greed, wanting more from him as you climax. Tightening around him, which makes him cum inside you, filling you up completely.
You both are out of breath as his arms wrap around you, holding you against him.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah…” your face is flushed, still coming down from the high that you felt. Trying to hide your face in the crook of his neck.
“Hey, look at me baby” he places his hand on your face, cupping your cheek. “You did so good” his voice was soft and tender. Something you were not expecting to hear from him.
He takes off his button-up shirt and wraps it around you as he carefully pulls out of you. “Let me get you some water,” he reaches towards the water bottle, placing one of his hands on your back, and handing you the water bottle.
Without a second doubt, you take a couple of sips as he leans in, kissing your forehead, “good girl”.
“You know you don’t have to do this right?” There was a pause. “Take care of me”
“I know I don’t have too but I want to take care of you.” he grabs the throw blanket as he moves you next to him, laying both of you on the couch as he helps you settle on top of him.
“I’ll always take care of you. I got you no matter what,” he covers you with the blanket as he then wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him.
You both stay like that for a while as he rubs his hand up and down your back, running his fingers through your hair, stroking your arms, and kissing your head occasionally.
summary- Reuniting after your near-death experience sparked a mutual, desperate fear of ever letting the other out of sight again.
word count-1540
warnings- Fear of losing a loved one.
author’s note- Hello! I’m back from being away for so long… again. I missed posting on here, so here you go something that was on my mind for a very long time that I had to write it down.
You sit on the grass, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to catch your breath. Your heart feels like it’s going to jump straight out of your ribs. You stare at the truck in front of you, now sporting a hole big enough for Demogorgons to pass through.
Not even five seconds ago, the kids that you swore to protect from Vecna…Henry… whoever the fuck his name is… were taken by his puppets.
Why did I freeze up?
Why couldn’t I be able to utilize my weapon to protect these kids?
You almost died after the kids were taken. If it wasn’t for that mysterious force that made the Demogorgon explode, you wouldn’t be alive.
In those final moments, the only thing that crossed your mind was: I hope Steve doesn’t blame himself for my death.
Who would have thought that in your last seconds, you’d be thinking of Steve?
Your thoughts are interrupted as Robin sits next to you. “Did you see what happened with that Demogorgon? El must have done something,” she says rapidly, still breathless from the chaos.
“We are very lucky to have her… I don’t know if we could have survived that”
She lies back on the grass, bracing her head with her hands. “You doing okay? You froze up there for a second.”
You look at her briefly before staring back at the truck, nodding slowly. “I’m okay. I don’t know why I froze.”
A silence settles between you. For as long as Robin has known you, she’s known not to push you to speak before you're ready.
“I think I was just overwhelmed,” you finally admit. “Wanting to protect the kids... and you, and Murphy.”
She places a hand on your knee to comfort you. “What matters is that we are miraculously alive,” she says in a soft, caring tone.
A small smile appears on your lips as you take a deep breath. “You have a point.” A soft chuckle escapes you. “The last thing I thought about was how I hoped Steve wouldn’t blame himself for my death.” You lie down too, looking up at the few stars visible in the sky.
“We both know he would,” Robin says. “Even if you communicated with him via Ouija board telling him it wasn’t his fault.”
Her comment makes you both laugh, erasing the tension for a brief moment.
“We should go to the WSQK to meet the others,” Robin says, standing up and offering you her hand.
You take it and pull yourself up, beginning the walk toward the station.
I hope Steve is okay. I don’t know what I’d do if I never saw him again.
You stood by the window, eyes straining against the darkness in hopes that he would finally appear. It had been hours since you arrived at the radio station, and the silence of the building was deafening.
Your thoughts raced, and your heart felt heavy with a grief you couldn't quite name.
The moment the headlights cut through the gloom and that familiar van pulled up, your breath hitched. You recognized that hair, the messy, iconic silhouette you loved so much.
Without a word to the others, you turned and bolted, rushing down the stairs and throwing the door open to the night air.
Steve saw you immediately. Even from a distance, you could see the shimmer of tears in his eyes as he broke into a run.
You collided. The impact nearly knocked the wind out of you, but his arms were there, wrapping around you with a desperate, crushing strength. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hitching against your skin.
"You're okay... you're okay," he whispered, the words trembling. He wasn't just telling you. He was pleading with reality, reassuring himself that you were actually there and warm in his arms.
The paralyzing tension that had consumed your body since the woods finally shattered.
He pulled back just an inch, resting his forehead against yours. You both closed your eyes, breathing in the same air, the rest of the world fading into the background.
"I'm right here, Steve. I'm not going anywhere," you promised. Your voice was small, cracked with the realization of just how close you had come to never saying those words again.
He didn't let go. Instead, he tucked a stray hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek as if he were memorizing your face all over again. "Don't ever do that to me again," he murmured, his forehead still pressed to yours. "Please don’t ever leave me."
——-
Ever since you and Steve acknowledged that you were both alive . You and Steve had become practically inseparable. If you went to talk strategy with Nancy, he was a shadow at your shoulder. If you went to grab a coffee, he was right there.
You didn't mind it, you felt as though if you blinked, he might vanish. It was clear he felt exactly the same way.
Once the crew gathered to finalize the plan, Hopper began dividing everyone into tactical groups.
“You'll stay here at the station with Max and Vickie," Hopper said, looking directly at you. "In case anything goes sideways, they need someone capable to watch their backs."
You nodded, ready to accept the task, but Steve immediately crossed his arms, shaking his head. "No. No way. I’m not leaving her side."
Hopper gave him a weary, confused look, his eyes toggling between the two of you. "Steve, the other team needs you. You’re one of the best fighters we’ve got." He pointed to the glass board where the names were scrawled in dry-erase marker.
Steve didn’t argue further. He just took a sharp breath and stormed out of the room. You followed him immediately, the heavy door swinging shut behind you.
“Steve! Where are you going?”
"I can't leave you," he said, skidding to a halt and spinning to face you. His eyes were wide, filled with a raw, vibrating kind of terror. "The thought that this might be the last time I see you... I can't. I won't do it."
You reached out, taking his hand in yours to ground him. "This plan has to work, Steve. And I know how to defend myself. I’ll be safe here."
"You always say that," he snapped, his voice rising with a mix of anger and grief. "You always put yourself in the line of fire. One of these days, you’re going to get hurt, and I’m going to be miles away. I’ll spend the rest of my life blaming myself for not being there, for not protecting you better."
You took a step back, your own expression hardening. "Steve, I am not a helpless kid. I know how to protect myself and the people around me. You—"
"Robin told me you froze."
The hallway went dead silent. The words hung in the air like a physical weight.
“That was one time," you whispered, your voice tight.
"One time where you almost died," he shot back, his voice cracking.
"But I’m still here, aren't I?"
The anger seemed to drain out of him all at once, replaced by a hollow exhaustion. He stepped toward you, his hand trembling slightly as he reached up to caress your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin as if he were checking to make sure you were still real.
"I just need you to be okay," he murmured, his gaze dropping to yours, pleading. "Please. For me. Just... be careful."
"I will be," you whispered, leaning into his palm. "I promise."
Steve’s hand lingered on your face, his thumb tracing your jawline as if he were trying to memorize the sensation of your skin. You realized then that his overprotectiveness wasn't about a lack of faith in your skills. It was about the sheer terror of a world where you weren't in it.
The desperation in his eyes finally broke. Before you could say another word, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted of salt and lingering adrenaline. It wasn’t the perfect, cinematic kiss you might have imagined. It was frantic and heavy with the fear of "goodbye." His other hand came up to cup your neck, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the entire world just by holding you.
You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him against you as if you could keep him there forever. You didn't want to let go, you wanted this moment to freeze, where he was safe and the world wasn't ending.
When he finally pulled away, he didn't go far, keeping his lips just inches from yours. "You hold onto that promise," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You don't break it."
With one final, lingering look, Steve finally let go. He turned back toward the door, his posture rigid as he prepared to step back into that room he dreaded. He continued to hold onto your hand once again, never wanting to let you go until he has too.
The plan was in motion.
Now, all that was left was to survive long enough to find your way back to him.
summary: After launching his new ice cream, Charles had another flavour that was made just for you.
warning: smut!! aphrodisiac, p in v, breeding kink
A few days ago, Charles had officially launched his new ice cream brand ‘Lec’ with five different flavours. Hosting a party as well for his guests. But obviously before they got to try his ice cream, you did. His girlfriend always came first and to your surprise, Vanillove was your favourite.
You were back home from work, feeling stressed out when you notice an ice cream tub sitting on the table. Red? Charles never launched this. You furrowed your eyebrows as you called out for him, “Charles?” Suddenly you felt a pair of arms wrapped around your waist as the sound of the french accent rings through your ear. “Good evening, mon ange.”
His chest pressed against your back as he kisses the back of your neck, making you giggle quietly.
“What is that?” You gesture to the ice cream on the table and he replied with a grin, “Just a gift for my beautiful girlfriend.” You knew Charles liked spoiling you with gifts, no matter what it was.
You held the tub of ice cream up as you say in confusion, “It’s red. You never launched this.”
“That’s because i didn’t. It’s a treat just for you and i to share, mon coeur.”
“Love Potion. Really?” A giggle escaped your looks as you read out the name he gave the ice cream and he just gave you a sly smile. If only you knew.
Both of you share bites of the ice cream together, the first bite was blissful, it tasted like raspberry with a hint of vanilla, bits of chocolate inside that you seemed to enjoy. Charles was glancing at you every now and then as if he was searching for a reaction.
And with each bite you took, you felt your mind fluttering. You placed the spoon down and so did Charles when he notices the aphrodisiac starting to kick in.
“You okay, y/n?” He knew damn well what he was doing, seeing how he started rubbing your thigh slowly to tease you.
You mumbled incoherently before you ask, “What’s in the ice cream?”
“Just raspberries and choc-“
“I know but..” You trail off, your gaze staring at Charles’s lips, you felt heat starting to grow inside of you. You didn’t know what was happening but all you thought about was how you wanted Charles to bend you over and fuck you. For him to cum inside of you. And before you knew it, you moved on top of Charles, your lips on his as you start to kiss him.
He grips your ass as he rolls his hips against yours and you could feel his cock beneath his jeans. Your fingers move to his hair, running through them as you bit down on his lip hard, making him groan.
It’s been months without sex since you were both so busy with work. Every time when Charles had persuaded you for sex, you would start pushing him away with excuses like ‘I have work to get done.’ or ‘I have a meeting.’ He needed to get you distracted, away from work.
Never would he ever thought the recipe would work. A recipe he found online that could increase your sex drive, arousing you in just 10 minutes. He definitely owed his team a lot.
He then lifted you up from the couch to the table, laying you down before moving down to kiss your breasts, sucking on one of your nipples.
“More, Charles.”
The single word sent blood running to his cock and without a second, he slides his jeans down, lining his cock to your pussy before sliding in.
You let out a shaky breath at the sensation before he starts thrusting his hips against yours. The table shaking with each thrust.
Your fingers dug into his biceps when you felt his cock deeper and deeper inside of you, his hand pressed down onto your stomach as he felt himself inside of you.
“Feel that, mon ange? Feel how deep i’m inside of you?”
You nod with a whimper. You wanted him to fill you up with his cum, you wanted to see it drip down your leg as you walk. “I wanna feel you cum inside of me, Charles. Knock me up with a child.”
Charles groans at your words, cumming inside of you. You let out a cry and you arched your back, his load filling you up. His body falls on top of yours as he catches his breath. He kisses your sweaty cheek, his cock still buried inside of you. With you in his arms, you fell asleep right away from the ice cream that Charles had made for you.
He chuckled softly as you pass out in his arms, seeing how soft and angelic you were while sleeping and he looks at the tub of ice cream which was left on the coffee table by the both of you, his smile widening.
summary: There is a new Defensive of Darrk Arts professor and something about you has captivated his attention
word count: 1635
warnings: age gap (all characters are 18+), taboo romance, teacher-student relationship, tension?, obsessive traits, Somewhat of a cliffhanger
author's note: Hello, it's been a while since I wrote anything, so bare with me. This has been a one shot that has been lingering in my brain and I'm excited for it to finally be out. Can we talk about how beautiful Tom Hughes is???? Italian Translation: Falena - Moth
Pansy caught up to you as you walked down the hallway, holding your books close to your chest. “Have you seen the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?” There was an eager tone in her voice, as if she was excited to share the news with you.
Looking over at her, you weren’t too excited, nor did you care about the professor, it was just another class to have to pass. You shook your head as you rolled your eyes. “I have not, nor do I care if there is a new professor.”
She smirked as she looked over at you, playfully bumping into you, which made you hold your books tighter. “You’ll change your mind once you see him.”
Walking into the classroom, you look around, trying to find the professor, but he is nowhere to be seen. Great impression for your first day, huh? You make your way to your seat, place your books on the desk, and take a seat, bringing your backpack onto your lap. You take out a notebook and a pen and set them down on the desk before putting your books away in your bag.
“Hello, class. My name is Professor Riddle, and I will be your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” He said in a deep, honeyed tone as he walked towards the front of the class.
You place your attention towards him, noticing all of his features. His black hair fell in short curls, his face was beautifully structured as if it were a statue, and his strong features fell into perfect places. His eyes were ever so calculating in a marine blue as they looked around the room.
His gaze ends up on you, with curiosity evident as he crosses his arms and tilts his head. Tom looked at you as if he was trying to figure you out, and somehow, something about you piqued his interest.
Though he quickly started teaching the class, he continued to steal glances at you throughout the entire hour, his gaze often lingering on you.
You weren’t stressed about your potion exam the next day, but you still wanted to be prepared if something unexpected happened.
As you review your notes on the latest potions being tested, your thoughts drift away. Suddenly, you find yourself daydreaming about Tom. You knew having these thoughts about him was wrong, but you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was. His deep blue eyes and chiseled jawline left you breathless.
Trying to push these thoughts away, your mind kept reverting to how he said your name. It sounded like he was reading from a poetry book, with a hint of admiration and warmth in his voice.
Standing up from your desk, you feel the need to take a break and clear your mind. You make your way to the door of your dorm and start to head outside. The cool breeze hits your face, and you take a deep breath.
Walking towards the courtyard, you noticed someone sitting on one of the benches reading a book. You were intrigued by how they delicately put down the book as they pulled a cigarette box out of their pockets and put it in their mouth.
You couldn’t tell the features of this person, and you wondered if they were new or someone you had never seen before. As you walked towards them, his features became more apparent, and you noticed it was Tom.
Fuck
Out of all the people to approach, you are approaching the one person you have been trying to avoid having inappropriate thoughts about.
“Good evening, Miss.” he looks up at you, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and placing it between his index finger and middle finger as he notices you approaching him. “Did you need something?”
You shook your head as you held your hands together. “No, just wondering who was out here at these hours. I should get going- “
“I noticed you were struggling in today's class. I can tutor you so you can understand the material better,” he interrupted. He stood up and immediately towered over you. Looking up at him, you hadn’t noticed his height until he stood so close to you.
Him telling you that you were struggling made you upset. Why was he noticing that? Why didn’t he tell me he noticed that during class? All these thoughts were going through your mind as you furrowed your brows and gave him a crooked smile. “I wasn’t struggling,” you scoffed. "Don’t make assumptions about me if you don’t know me. Have a good evening,” you snapped at him as you began to walk away, crossing your arms together.
He started to follow you as he forcefully grabbed your arm, pulling you back and turning you to face him. “Don’t ever speak to me like that ever again.” That soft, honeyed tone disappeared as his voice turned harsh. His eyes narrowed as he tried to intimidate you, but you looked at him with a poker face.
You moved your arm away from his grasp. “What will you do? Fail me?”
“Precisely that,” he says, placing his hands in his coat pockets. A sinister smirk appears on his face.
Your eyes burned with frustration and anger as you stared at him silently. This wasn't how you envisioned your first out-of-class interaction with him. You had hoped for a more cordial and friendly exchange, but instead, you found yourself clenching your fists and biting your tongue.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence and asked, "May I go now?" Your voice was cold and clipped, betraying the anger and disappointment that you felt.
He stepped closer to you, closing the gap between the two of you as he placed his middle finger underneath your chin with his index finger and thumb, tilting your head up, making you look at him as he smirked “You look so delicious when you are angry, Falena.”
“Fuck off, Riddle,” he harshly lets go of your face as he chuckles.
He starts to walk away from you and stops for a second. “I’ll see you around, Falena.”
----
Over the course of the following weeks, you found yourself struggling in class. It seemed like Tom had it out for you, as he was particularly harsh towards you. He gave you assignments that were much more challenging, and he even tested you on spelling that most students had never even heard of before.
There were days when you would lay in bed, feeling thoroughly discouraged and wanting to skip class altogether. But you knew that if you did that, you would be giving him the satisfaction of winning whatever little game he had placed between you.
You had to recollect yourself before knocking on his office door. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on it. Surprised, he answered quickly, “I was expecting you.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you into the office, closing the door.
“I’m not staying long.” You rapidly moved your hand away from his as you crossed your arms together. “What the fuck is your problem? What are you trying to prove with all of the shit that you’ve been doing?” You sounded agitated as you stepped back as you wanted to keep your distance between you and him.
“You are my problem,” he snapped as he closed the gap between you two. “I don’t know what it is from the moment I saw you. You are all I think about. You have invaded every single sense of mine. Whatever you are doing, make it stop.” He looked desperate, wanting answers you could not give him.
Your eyes widen as you shake your head, looking at him confused. “That doesn’t mean you get to make my life a living hell.”
“You already make mine feel that way.”
You felt confused and angry. You wanted to open that door and run back to your dorm, close the door, and never get out. Instead, you stood there breathing the same air as the person who has made it difficult to be around.
He takes a deep breath as he places his hand on your cheek. His gaze softens as his thumb grazes over your cheek. “I shouldn’t be feeling this way towards you. But I can’t help it. You are just so perfect.” That honeyed, deep voice comes back, and geez, how addicting it is listening to it.
You placed your hand on top of his as you leaned into his cold touch. Closing your eyes, you realize something that made you pull his hand away from your face.
“We shouldn’t be doing, Tom,” you whispered as you looked up at him, biting your lip. You take a couple of steps back as you place your hand on the doorknob. You wanted him to stop you from leaving, so why was he standing there staring at you as if he was starved from a touch that he has been craving.
He reaches out for you but stops as he flexes his hand on the side of his leg. “Whether you like it or not, falena, you belong to me.”
“I belong to no one. Goodnight, Tom.” You turn around as you open the door, leaving his office before he can respond.
Walking back to your dorm, you could still feel his hand on your face, as if it were tattooed on your skin.
What did I get myself into? A sigh escapes your lips as you lay down on your bed, staring at the ceiling.
Summary: Your partner, Commander Mills, is being called away on a mission. One last snuggle before he leaves.
Word Count: 543
Tags: pet names (moonlight), fluff
Author’s Note: We don’t know anything about Commander Mills yet, but I’m taking the head canon from the trailer and running with it.
—————
Commander Mills, please report to the flight deck at 0800.
Mills groaned, pulling the pillow over his head. He didn’t want to leave on this particular mission. It was for too long, too far away, and he was leaving you behind.
You hated when he left. The vastness of space was too large to even comprehend with him gone. He grounded you, holding your feet on the ground when your anxiety threatened to drag you off into the atmosphere. He was your gravity, your north star, and without him the universe felt endless and empty. You rolled over, curling up against his bare, broad chest. “Don’t go…” you mumbled into his collarbone.
“I have to…you know that. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Mills kissed the top of your head, the rough scratch of his facial hair on your forehead sent goosebumps down your spine. “You know I’ll come right back to you. I always do.” Mills had commanded a ship for many years, he was good at his job. Meeting you, someone who needed softness and warmth, changed him. He often needed to remind himself that you were not his flight team - you didn’t need him as a disciplinarian, or a leader. You needed him as a partner, an equal. He relaxed his shoulders, pulling you closer to him. This wasn’t the time for Commander Mills. Just Mills.
“But..what if…” you look up at him, doe eyed, and before you can finish, he interrupts.
“No buts, moonlight. I will always come back to you.”
Mills reached over to the bedside table, fumbling for his watch. His hands were not made for delicate work, so you offered yours to assist him in putting on the timepiece, laying a gentle kiss at the clasp once you had finished. Your fingers danced between the freckles and moles that littered his chest like constellations. “Remind me again, when I miss you…where do I look?”
He chuckled, you were so strong and brave when you needed to be. Nothing made him happier than taking care of you, however. “Find the brightest star in the night sky, and then close your eyes. Even when your eyes are closed, you’ll still be able to see it. Just like how I’m always with you. And before long, I’ll return. I promise.” You sigh. You knew this. You’d gone through this routine with him numerous times.
Mills rolled out of bed, heading into the bathroom to clean up and get dressed. You pulled the blankets up and around you, pulling the soft fabric to your nose. Your eyes fluttered closed, breathing in the scent of his sleeping form, committing it to memory.
Commander Mills, please report to the flight deck.
The sound of the intercom echoed in your ears. The bathroom door opened, revealing Mills in his uniform. He looked so handsome. Your eyes prickled with tears as you removed yourself from the warmth of the bedsheets, padding on bare feet over to him. On tiptoes, you threw your arms around his shoulders and kissed him, your lips pressing into his every ounce of faith you had in him returning to you.
“Promise me? One more time?”
“I promise you, moonlight. I’ll always come back to you.”
Date Night with the boys. Steven is anxious, per usual, and Marc is confident and macho. How does your dinner date go?
Preferred (Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader)
Note: This could have been really cute and funny aaaaand yet I sort of got carried away with the angst 😇 Enjoy!
Word Count: 2,556
You chewed the sides of your nails anxiously as you waited for the train to arrive, the taste of hand sanitiser flooding your tongue and making you cringe at the bitter taste. You tucked your hands in your jacket pockets, tapping your feet and looking up at the arrivals board - 2 minutes.
Finally, the tube arrived, hot and sweaty from being underground you bustled into the carriage along with all the other commuters. You were promptly shoved into someone’s back in the rush, as they looked over their shoulder you flashed a look of apology at them. You were on your way over to Steven’s place and you couldn’t get out of your head, unaware of your surroundings as you daydreamed about seeing him.
Your relationship was not the most conventional thing in existence, there were three of you but only two bodies. Not exactly the easiest thing to explain to your mum when she asks you about the new guy you’re seeing.
Steven and you had met on an after-hours night tour of the museum. He’d been helping out as a volunteer, you in attendance as a guest, and you’d gravitated towards him due to the happy enthusiastic sound of his voice, his beaming smile and the way he shyly bounced on his heels anytime anyone asked him a question. You had to be close to him, your face lit up when he paid attention to you and it was hard for him to ignore. So for the rest of the night he found a way to always end up near you, something that very quickly was noticed by you.
It was also pretty easy to see how he looked at you, admiring and like you were the best thing he’d ever seen. It was almost like he was… inexperienced, not aware that he should tone down his gawking just a little bit. But a man like that, so kind, intelligent and handsome couldn’t possibly be without attachment? He had to have someone waiting on him. Later you learned that was both true and false.
You blushed when you caught him staring after you talked overly passionately about a specific exhibit, like he was stunned by you. You couldn’t remember the last someone had looked at you like that, if it had ever even happened.
Safe to say Steven Grant was the best first date you’d ever had, difficult at first cause you’d never had to be the forward one or the one making the moves. It was a new dynamic that you fell into quite easily, Steven was an easy one to want to be around and you found the more you coaxed him out of his shell the more wonderfulness you saw. He’d walked you home, all the way home in fact despite you insisting he didn’t have to get the tube 20 minutes out of his way just to get you home. But he’d insisted he was a gentleman, and as a reward for his romantic gesture you’d leaned in to kiss him as you both stood awkwardly outside your door.
As you’d leaned in he’d instantly started talking, rambling really, and you shied back suddenly hyper aware that he may not have wanted to kiss you. But when he saw the sad look on your face, he inwardly balked at himself.
“God I’m such a knob” he’d muttered under his breath, when you looked at his words he’d leant forward and pressed his lips to yours. It was messy and rushed but it still made something squirm happily inside you. His hand had rested on your shoulder, before cupping your face as he pulled back, “Sorry love” he blushed. You tilted your face down and kissed the palm of his hand, “Don’t ever be sorry for kissing me Steven”
Now 6 months in here you were, heading over for a dinner date night where Steven had insisted, he was going to cook for you. You weren’t even sure he knew how but the chance to spend time with him was always one you would take.
--------------------
You rapped your knuckles against the wooden door of Number 502. Playing anxiously with the hem of your jacket sleeve.
The door opened wide and Steven stood there, smile instant when he saw you. His eyes roamed down a little bit, spying the green dress you’d put on special, “Wow! Look at you” he gasped in awe.
“Shush” you teased, stepping into the flat, kissing him on the cheek as you passed. The warmth of his flat was always a welcome greeting to you, something about the jagged chaos felt more and more homely the longer you spent here.
He closed the door and followed you, “Nah… you look amazin’” he insisted.
“Well when you said dinner I wanted to make sure I dressed up a little bit you know?” you said, always admiring his ramshackle flat. It was lined with books and artifacts and you always felt like you found something new every time you laid eyes on the place. You didn’t know if that was more Marcs doing or Stevens; you often wondered who was more inclined to pull which books from the shelves and who was more likely to neatly put them away in their respective places or leave them strewn in wonky piles on the floor.
“Hey Gus” you whispered, tapping lightly on the glass on his tank.
Steven talked enthusiastically about his day as you walked slowly around the flat, shrugging off your jacket and laying it over the back of a chair.
You drifted towards his messy, unmade bed. A place you’d spent many nights, cosy and lustful memories flooded you at the sight. You smiled, fingers sliding cautiously over the cord wrapped around his bed post. Usually, he hid these when you came round, but your thoughts were pulled back to his stories of the day and you’d decided he mustn’t have had time.
“You know, you don’t have to hide your kinky side around me” you joked, eyeing the haphazardly hidden ankle cuff wrapped around his bed post.
You heard him gasp sharply, “Shit!” he rushed to your side and frantically tucked them under the duvet, “I’m sorry I… shit! That… you know why… I just….”
Slipping your arms around his waist, and leaning your cheek against his back, you squeezed him to calm his panic, “I was joking Steven, it’s alright. I know exactly why”
He huffed an awkward laugh, “Right, yeah”
You squeezed him again and he turned in your arms, “Dinners ready” he added shyly, looking down at you.
------------------------------
Dinner passed quickly and easily as you sailed through comfortable natural conversation; your tastebuds surprised at the culinary skills displayed on your plate this evening. As with most things you wondered if those were Steven’s memories or Marcs, sometimes the constant self-questioning filled you with anxiety. That you couldn’t just let something be without the voice in the back of your mind wondering.
That thought led you to asking about Marc, something you didn’t do often, but you hadn’t seen him in a while and you wondered if they were on good terms as of late.
Stevens face dropped and your heart leapt anxiously at the thought that he could be experiencing such a painful torment in falling out with someone who lived within him.
“I don’t want to talk about him with you” he said, voice quiet and reserved. You squinted in confusion, that wasn’t the response you were expecting.
You leaned your elbows on the table, watching his face intently, “Why not?”
“I don’t like talking to him about you so I guess… vice versa” he shrugged, avoiding your eyes, “Honestly, I don’t like him around you love, he makes me nervous. I just feel like he’s gunna take you from me or somethin’”
Your eyes went wide, “That’s not going to happen Steven” you replied plainly.
“I guess I just presumed you’d prefer him ya know?” Steven stood up from the table; you could feel tears stinging your eyes at the thought he felt that way. Always putting himself second, you learned over time that was a natural reaction for him because he wasn’t “the original” but he was real enough to you.
Your chest tightened with the anxiety that this was never going to be easy, something was always going to be ‘off’ about your relationship because you shared his mind with another. Another that was vastly different, lived a whole other life, was married. Your stomach twisted, heavy with food.
“So, the less time he spends around you the better” he added, standing at your side momentarily.
You watched, a little dumbstruck, as he picked up the plates and took them to the sink. You stood up now, hands fidgeting in front of you as you tried to think of what to say.
“I don’t prefer him Steven” you replied plainly, “I don’t prefer him one bit”
Steven suddenly turned and followed you like a lost puppy as you anxiously paced, “But you like him, right? And that’s alright love, I get it! He’s handsome and… macho or somethin’ ya know? But just… you know… don’t fall in love with him or nothin’”
He tried to make his tone sound jokey but you could tell by the way his words shook that he was more than serious in his fear.
You sighed, toying with the pages of a book that was left out on the desk, “It’s complicated, you know that, but you’re the one I want. You’re the one I met! I don’t want to replace you with anyone but you can’t expect me not to have a connection with a person who is literally a part of you”
“Wait… wait!” Steven protested suddenly, you turned back to face him startled at his sudden panic and you watched, with recognition, the way his face changed.
“Hi Marc” you chuckled sadly; his grumpy furrowed brow always amused you. However, one evening not that long ago, you’d spent the evening with just Marc and you’d learned why he always seemed like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Steven had felt it would be better hearing it from Marc.
“So, you prefer the nerd huh?” Marc sat down on the bed as you shrugged in response. It was amazing the change in him, he looked more in control of his body, sure and steadfast. It was an air of confidence and comfortability Steven didn’t have, it was intimidating to you almost and you felt the energy in the room change around him. He smiled knowingly and patted the bed, asking you to sit with him. Plonking down next to him you avoided his eye contact.
“Nerds are more my type. Mercenaries tend to be the ones I avoid, you know, as a general rule” You dug your elbow into his side jovially and he sighed. Tucking his arm around your shoulders he pulled you into his body till your head rested on his shoulder, “This is complicated” you whispered sadly.
Even his body felt different to touch, like it became harder and more defensive against the world around him. Shoulders pulled back against the heaviness they felt, against the memories he built Steven shaped walls around.
“Yeah, it is” he said, he sounded deeply tired and it made your chest ache, “I guess I just wanted you to be able to say it to my face as well as his”
You peeked up at him, sitting up a little bit. You nodded in response, “Thank you, I had no idea it bothered him so much”
“I bother him” Marc said, it wasn’t a sad thought you could tell but one that seemed to make sense to him. Like he was resigned that now Steven knew the truth, Marc would always be an element of bitterness for him despite their reconciliation.
His face was the same in so many ways and different in so many others. What always struck you is the same ability you had to get lost in his eyes no matter who you found yourself talking too. Eyes that had seen the darkest things, things you couldn’t imagine, sometimes without even knowing it. You couldn’t imagine the torment it took to split yourself into multiple people, the fear or the pain it would take was a crushing thought. Lost in your thoughts you brushed a curl of his hair off his face, a gesture you often did with Steven, and instantly flinched back when he responded differently than Steven would. He titled just slightly away from your touch, for all intents and purposes you were being intimate with a married man and that sudden realisation buzzed harshly across your skin.
“Sorry” you rolled your eyes at yourself, chastising yourself. Marcs smile was small and reserved, “It’s alright, you care about him” he noted matter of factly.
There was a weighted silence for a minute or two, the two of you just wordlessly speaking as you looked into each other’s eyes. It wasn’t comfortable but it also wasn’t uncomfortable… it just was.
Marc was something different and every time he was here you were filled with a longing for Steven to come back and a simultaneous guilt towards Marc at the fact your brain, body and soul simply shut him out the minute you knew of his existence. A part of you cared for him, loved him in your own way, but he was more the friend that came along with the man you wanted rather than some kind of twisted love triangle.
“Just remember, when you want a real man I’ll be right here” he tapped his temple and smirked cockily. You pushed at his chest rolling your eyes, “Stop that right now!”
He got up from the bed as you kept talking, “I like both of you but Stevens more… my type” You shrugged, Marc smiled and nodded. You saw Stevens face appear in the relaxation of Marcs, no longer harsh lines and furrowed brow. His eyes were wide and his bright smile instantly got wider when he saw you looking back at him.
“Really?” he asked, hands fidgeting at his sides. You stood up, stepping into the curve of his body, running your hands up his arms and giggling at the way he audibly gulped. Nodding you titled your chin up, inviting him to kiss you.
His lips were tentative, a shy kiss that relaxed as you brought your arms up around his shoulders. You hugged yourself too him, swaying into him as he relaxed and pulled you closer by your waist.
“You’re brilliant” you sighed happily into his lips, fingertips playing with the little curls at the back of his neck.
He smiled and kissed you once more, “Nah, you’re the brilliant one. You’re amazin’!” he gushed; cheeks topped with a soft pink at his brazen admittance.
Now you brushed the curl that fell onto his forehead back with confidence, cupping his face and kissing his lips again. Unable to hold back from showing him just how much you treasured him, to wash away the tiny voice of doubt.
Steven leant back and let his eyes roam across your face, eyebrows pulled up in amazement that you were here for him, “Thank you for letting me be the preferred one”
summary: after a while that you had left Charlie, you wanted to write him a letter for him to have closure or maybe you wanted the closure?
word count: 1275
warnings: angst, mentions of an affair, secret relationship, not truly a happy ending
author's note: italics is the letter being written.
I wasn't sure how to start this, as this is a letter that I never planned on writing. I never thought that I would write a letter and send it to you in a small envelope with a 5-cent sticker in the corner. I didn't want to leave things the way they were either.
Hopefully, this brings you a bit of closure. I don't expect you to call me or look for me after reading this letter. This is just simply something that needed to be said on my part instead of just leaving things out in the air.
New York was supposed to be the place where I escaped, from the small little town I was in. I wanted to experience something new, make memories that I'm going to look back on when I'm 50, and it would be filled with laughter, love, and sometimes even trying to remember the memories of that one time that I blackout. Instead of being drunk by cherry on top whiskey. I was drunk in love with you. Every time I would look back at the memories that we had made in these past couple of months. A wave of emotions would be upon me. They were the most amazing, wonderful memories, but they were also heartbreaking.
I loved the way you treated me, you made me feel so loved, so cared for, if I were to ask for anything, no matter what the cost would be, you would not hesitate to give it to me in a snap of a finger. Whenever there would be days when I wanted to stay curled up in my bed, you were always there to keep me company. There was not a single day when I didn't feel loved in your presence.
Regardless of the nice things you would buy me, the kind words that would escape your lips, I was still your little secret that you wanted to keep hidden. I'm not blaming you for the way that I'm feeling. This is also my fault. I was messing around with a married man, and it should not take me by surprise that I would have been hidden from your wife. I'm not saying that I regret the time we spent together. I loved every minute, regardless of the situation. But I wanted more than what was being given. I wanted you to scream at the top of your lungs SHE IS MINE. I wanted you to hold my hand in front of others. I wanted people to know about us being together. Those were little girl dreams that were prone never to happen, nor expected to happen while we were together.
You were trying so hard to keep your tears in, not wanting tears to fall onto the paper that you were writing. As you continued to write the letter, tears started to run down your cheeks. Every little memory that you had with Charlie would flash before your eyes. They felt like it just had happened just yesterday and not months ago.
With every single tear that would roll down your cheek, you had to pause and get up from your comfortable couch to take a walk to distract yourself. Even though you kept thinking about what you wanted to write next during that walk. With the amount of writing you had been doing, it felt like you were rambling. Also, you needed to close a chapter that was supposed to end a long time ago.
You didn't want to finish the letter. You wanted to rip it up into small little pieces and burn it, not let him read it. You kept telling yourself that he shouldn't know about how you felt during that relationship. Deep down, you were also writing this letter because you needed closure. You go back to the couch you were sitting on and pick up the paper and pen again. You pressed the pen onto the paper, spacing out again, not knowing how to continue where you left off. You let the pen linger, and it left a small black dot on the paper.
Someone that had something very similar. When it comes to Exit Ghost, I'm aware that I brought in a fresh perspective and new experiences to the plays that you brought to life. You craved for a person who had a similar point of view. Getting that internship there was the best thing that had ever happened to me in a while. Not even a week after being there, I already felt like I was part of a family. I was welcomed there immediately. I was never left out of any conversation, event, or even inside jokes. Only being there for a couple of days, it had already felt like I had been there for years. I will always hold onto the memories that I have made in that theater. I loved working there, from the plays that I would help put my input into the people that made it worth it waking up at seven in the morning. I would like to believe that I almost stayed because of the people.
The reason why I didn't stay was that I wouldn't be able to bare seeing you. I think that being your dirty little secret got to me. I didn't like being in it anymore. It was not something that I deserved, even though there would be moments where you have told me where you gave me everything that I ever wanted, but you didn't. I don't think you ever knew what I wanted, which was completely okay. I didn't expect you to know what I wanted. I deserved better than that, so I left without telling anyone but mainly you.
You got tired of writing; your hand felt like it would fall off. The tears that were running down your cheek finally dried up. No matter where the letter ended, it never felt complete. You didn't know what else to add to it.
Folding the letter and putting it in an envelope made you unsure about sending it. It felt like you had just opened a door that would never close if you were to send this letter to Charlie. It had been weeks since you stopped going to Exit Ghost and blocked his number. It felt pointless for you to send him a letter after a while of not speaking to him. You thought he would understand, but deep down, you knew that he would not, especially since you left without saying a word.
You placed the envelope on the kitchen counter. At the same time, you debated whether to send it or not. At least it was written now, right? All those bottled up feelings were now on a piece of paper that might get sent off to Charlie. It helped you understand how you felt towards him and what had happened.
Putting on your favorite comfort show, "The Office," you space out, not wanting to focus on the emotions that you had just spilled. When you start to think about how you are Charlie met. Regardless of the age gap between you two, you two instantly clicked. You two could talk to each other about anything and would understand what was being said. As if you and he were two peas in a pot.
Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear that you have received a message. You looked at your phone and noticed the unknown number.
(917) 321-4567: Hello
(917) 321-4567: This is Charlie. I got a new number, and I have been thinking about you, and I think we should talk.
