summary: henry's curious about you, and he doesn't realize you both reside on a similar playing field.
tags: sub!henry, bottom!henry, brat!henry, f!reader, powers, reader HAS powers!, fight for dominance, fighting with powers, we're a badass, rough sex, oral sex (receiving v), pegging, anal sex, praise/degradation, hair pulling, spanking, brat taming
word count: 4750
“You’re the one mystery I have yet to solve,” Henry starts, appearing out of almost thin air, startling you as you were washing the dishes. You drop a plate into the sink, and it breaks cleanly into two.
“Everyone else is frustrating—yes—but I know how to figure them out,” he continues, making himself visible in your kitchen as he steps out of the shadows, making his way closer to you with every step he takes.
The sky outside was pitch black, with not a star in sight. There was no sound in your apartment except for your TV in the other room and your faucet running.
You put your hands on the counter next to the sink, not turning to face him.
You still say nothing.
“I can’t figure you out,” he says, the shadow of his figure growing as he approaches behind you.
You grip the counter harder. Your knuckles start to turn white.
“You’re going to tell me why that is,” he states in a commanding voice, turning you around with his powers to look at him.
Your breath quickens, and you hope that to him it appears as nothing but pure fear.
It is not fear. This is adrenaline. You know he won’t get far.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deny, keeping a neutral face and tone. Your voice doesn’t shake.
Henry narrows his eyes, now standing only a few inches in front of you. He looks at you as if he were trying to figure you out by your eyes alone.
“Bullshit,” Henry hisses, his eyebrows furrowing more as every second passes.
You raise your eyebrows, not cowering at his intense stare.
This confuses him. He tilts his head back slightly, taken aback.
He exhales noisily through his nose, showing his frustration.
Then, his eyes begin to roll back and close.
Your head starts to pound, and you figure out what he is attempting to do relatively quickly.
“Ow,” you deadpan, massaging your temples with your fingers.
Henry’s eyes snap open, and he looks at you with an even more confused look. He looks you up and down.
“What the—”
“Sit down,” you order, yanking him with your powers to sit on the couch in your living room, which was not far from your kitchen.
You walk to the couch and stand in front of him, where he is sitting and looking at you with a mix of extreme anger and confusion that remains on his face from before, only growing.
“You couldn’t just mind your own business, could you?” you jeer, taking in his deep scowl. You chuckle.
“I haven’t fucked with your plans, have I? You’ve killed some of my friends, you’re apparently wanting to completely end this world—or something incredibly sad and dramatic—yet I have stayed in my own lane,” you sneer, crouching the slightest bit so that you are eye level with him.
“So tell me, why is your nose in my business, Henry?” you ask, prompting an answer from him.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he threatens, his eyes growing angrier and bloodshot. You laugh at this.
“You’re the one who can’t figure me out,” you remind him, an amused grin taking over your lips.
Henry’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His breathing quickens, and something close to a whimper escapes his lips.
His intimidating front cracks open for a split second—so quick that it could easily be missed.
You raise an eyebrow, standing up tall again.
“Cat got your tongue?” you taunt.
Henry has had enough.
He yanks you backwards with his powers, pinning you against the wall. You chuckle, panting as you are caught off guard.
He starts walking toward you, and you tilt your head to the right in a snap, looking at his knee. With your powers, you cause him to trip and fall onto the ground in front of you.
Henry looks at you, and he is so angry that steam could be coming out of his ears. He tries to lift you with his powers, but you fight back with almost no effort, staying on the ground.
Your jaw ticks, annoyed.
“If you stop, I will stop too,” you tell him. Henry frowns.
“Tell me what you’re up to,” he says through his teeth, still trying to move you with his powers and failing. You press your lips into a straight line, shaking your head.
You pull Henry back to sit down on the couch again with your powers, catching him off guard again. He stops trying to move you with his powers and winces in pain, holding his hand close to his chest after he lands on it.
“Henry,” your voice cuts through the room, causing him to blink a few times. “Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.” Your voice has a hardened edge to it, but still a gentle undertone.
“Why not?” he asks, more genuinely than you are expecting.
Henry’s scowl is replaced with a poor attempt at a poker face, with notes of confusion and… fear?
You start to walk towards the couch again, very slowly.
“I know how to use my words,” you say, simply. “Do you know how to use your words, Henry?”
Henry’s nostrils flare, frustrated with this line of questioning. “Of course I know how to use my words.”
You click your tongue, standing in front of him now as you shake your head in disapproval.
“Are you sure about that?” you press further, standing tall as he looks up at you once again.
His scowl returns, and he tilts his head back, trying to move you again with his powers. You chuckle, pushing him so that he is completely backed into the couch with your powers.
He groans, sharp pain stabbing his head.
“Henry,” you say in a warning voice, lifting his chin with your powers so that he is looking at you again. “Stop. Don’t make me ask you again.”
Henry exhales shakily, reluctantly nodding. Tears collect in his eyes, not daring to fall.
“Okay,” he whispers, looking away from you as he tries to school his breathing back to normal. You nod, satisfied, taking a step back to give him a little space.
Henry looks a little shocked at himself for giving in so quickly. For surrendering.
He is used to being the one making people surrender to him. Not the other way around.
“Do you want some water?” you offer, as if everything were completely normal again. Confusion washes over Henry’s face for a moment before being taken over by exhaustion.
“I—sure,” he replies, brushing the wrinkles down that had formed on the front of his shirt.
Something close to a smile grazes your face, and you gesture with your head for him to follow you into the kitchen. He looks to the ground, clearly contemplating whether he should or not, before ultimately deciding to follow you.
He stands awkwardly near the exit of the kitchen, his hands folded together in front of him. He watches you as you grab a cup from the cupboard and as you fill it with water.
You look over to him, catching his gaze on you before he snaps his head to look away, a light blush dusting his cheeks.
You bite back a smile, finding it kind of… adorable?
You turn off the faucet and hold it out, raising your eyebrows as a prompt for him to come closer to you to grab it.
He comes to grab it, and his fingers brush yours as he does, and a slight shiver trickles down his spine.
That was unexpected.
Henry takes a sip of the water and lets out a small, relaxed sigh as he does.
“Have you calmed down, now?” you ask him, hopping to sit on the counter behind you. Henry hums.
“Who are you?” he interrogates, ignoring your question, hiding his face a little behind the cup of water subconsciously.
“I’m nobody important,” you answer with a shrug, hopping off the counter and opening the fridge. You grab a can of soda, cracking it open immediately and taking a big gulp.
Henry stands closer to you now, holding his cup of water as if it were the one thing grounding him to this planet.
“Nobody important,” he echoes back to you, completely unconvinced.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” you ask, hopping back onto the counter and setting your soda to the side of you.
“You stopped my powers from working on you,” he says, almost impressed. “You have powers.”
“Did you think you and the lab kids were the only ones, Henry? Really?” You sigh, swinging your legs as you sit on the counter.
“Are you not from the lab?” he wonders, standing feet away from you now.
“No. I’m not,” she answers plainly, picking up her drink again and taking another long gulp.
“Then where are you f—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snaps, causing Henry to flinch slightly. She bites her lip, debating whether she should feel bad about it or not.
Henry leans his side against the counter, looking at her as if he were trying to figure something out again.
“Okay,” he says, leaving it alone. Your eyes furrow, surprised.
“Did I scare you into submission or something? What is this?” you joke, laughing nervously as you now notice how close he is to you.
Henry’s breath catches in his throat involuntarily, and he tries to pass it off as clearing his throat.
His attempt at concealing it has failed. You definitely noticed.
A sly smirk takes over your lips.
“Fascinating,” you remark, looking at him with more interest now. “I have, haven’t I?” you say with a breathy laugh, not believing the sight before you.
Henry Creel was nervous.
Because of you.
You scan him, head to toe, and find another thing you were not expecting.
A tent in his pants.
Your eyes stop the scan, zoning in on his crotch, and he notices after a brief second.
Henry scrambles to grab a plate, to cover how hard all of this made him, but you catch his wrists with your hand.
“You’re hard,” you observe, cocking an eyebrow. Henry lets out a huff, trying to move to grab a plate again. You’re stronger than him, so he ends up just wiggling around for a moment.
His face grows a deep shade of red.
But he also looks… confused?
As if he’s never felt something like this before.
You squint your eyes, deep in thought. You realize he probably has never felt anything like this before.
You feel a pang of empathy hit, but decide to put it aside for another time.
“Say something, Henry,” you whisper, a little more gentle towards him than you were expecting from yourself.
He looks away, his whole expression filled with embarrassment.
“I’m—I don’t know what to say. I came to threaten you, and now I’m hard? How pathetic does that sound?” he says, shaking his head. He won’t look at you.
“Pretty pathetic,” you put bluntly, and he frowns deeply. “But…” you start, grabbing his chin, making him look into your eyes.
Then, you start to sink to your knees in front of him.
His lips part and his eyebrows knit together at the sight, fighting back a moan.
“I have a thing for pathetic men,” you finish, now on your knees in front of him, looking up at him. Henry’s chest rises and falls faster, and he bites his lip, not able to find the confidence he usually has within himself to say anything.
“I really have broken you, haven’t I?” you ask, inching your face closer to the bulge in his brown slacks. Henry’s breath hitches, loud this time.
There was no denying he was enjoying this.
You smirk, your hot breath reflecting onto you from his pants.
“Tell me what you want from me, Henry,” you say, gentle but firm. Henry puts his hands on the counter, keeping himself balanced.
“I—you. Please,” he croaks, looking as if he was still conflicted with himself.
“Nuh uh. Be more specific,” you press, shaking your head. Henry sighs.
“Don’t make me say it,” he almost whines, shaking his head. You click your tongue, pulling your face away from him and crossing your arms.
“You came here to kill me. I had to tame your ass,” you point out, annoyed. “And you think I’m just going to suck your dick without you begging me for it? Hilarious,” you finish with a humorless chuckle, fixing your hair as you watch him take in what you’ve just said.
Henry’s eyes open wide, and he immediately sports a small scowl on his face. The tent in his pants has not gone away. If anything, it has just twitched.
“Who are you?” he hisses, pressing once again. You roll your eyes.
“Okay, I might be on my knees in front of you, but that does not mean that you’re in charge here,” you say, standing up and shoving him from where he was standing, pressing down on his shoulders so that he is now the one on his knees. “Since you seemed to think so, this is much better.”
Henry bows his head slightly as he’s on his knees, as if a wave of something had immediately taken over him.
“Look at me,” you instruct him, signaling with your finger for him to come closer. He scoots closer, looking up at you immediately.
He’s gone.
“Do you want to taste me?” you ask, hands on your hips. Henry’s breath stutters, and the tips of his ears turn a bright red.
He doesn’t answer—just sits there with a guilty look on his face.
“So, do you want me just to stand here all night instead? Get your knees nice and bruised with no good explanation?” you wonder, stepping closer to him.
You lift his chin, making him look directly up at you.
Henry tries to school his expression, but desperately fails.
“Do you want to be rewarded, Henry?” you ask, tracing your finger along his jawline, feeling him shiver as you do.
“Please,” he whispers, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. “I want to taste you.”
You grin, running your hands through his hair with a satisfied hum.
“Good boy. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you purr, unzipping your jeans and pulling them off. Henry watches your every move, his hungry expression growing more obvious.
“I’m not a good—,” he starts, cutting himself off with a groan. “I’m not a good boy,” he tries again.
The words fall flat.
You tilt your head, confused.
“You’re not?” you question. “So… you’re saying that you don’t want this?” you follow up, pulling lightly at the sides of your panties, releasing them with a snap.
Henry’s nostrils flare in frustration, and he almost chokes on his own spit.
“I didn’t say that,” he says, his voice wavering a little.
You think for a moment before you pull down your panties, revealing your soaked pussy to him. Henry’s eyes burn holes into you, and he stares at you like a man dying of thirst.
“Please,” he pleads, the word coming out of his mouth easier than he thought it would. His eyes fight between looking up at you and down at your cunt.
You gesture with your hand for him to come closer, and he obeys immediately. You point at yourself, raising your eyebrows. Henry nods, immediately latching his mouth onto your pussy.
He licks up and down, finding your clit with ease and circling it with his tongue. You let out a moan, your back arching as you push into his mouth further. He hums affirmatively, understanding your request, and the vibration of his voice makes your entire body tremble in pleasure.
He sucks and licks harder, and is clearly enjoying every moment of it.
He wanted to taste you. He wanted to see how you looked when he touched you.
“Henry, fuck, good boy. You’re doing so good,” you say, running your fingers through his hair as he continues, letting your nails press down on his scalp.
Henry lets out a groan onto you as he closes his eyes, taking in the praise.
You can feel it—yourself inching towards the finish line.
You don’t want to cum yet.
You pull Henry off by his hair, leaving him confused. The entire bottom half of his face is shining in the light from devouring you.
“Is everything alr—,” he starts to ask, but is swiftly cut off by you saying...
“I want to fuck you,” you state, your lips are red from biting down on them.
Henry frowns, still on his knees and looking up at you. “I’ve never… I don’t,” he trails off, looking a little nervous. You nod, tracing his jawline with your finger.
“I had a feeling, baby. I know. But… does the idea excite you at all?” you wonder, brushing your fingers through his hair again. “Would you let me if I told you I know how to make it feel good?”
Henry looks to the floor, eyebrows scrunched as he thinks hard. You give him a little while to think, and eventually he looks back up.
“Would you tell anyone?” he asks you.
“Will you get your nose out of my business?” you ask, in response. Henry shrugs.
“I can’t promise that,” he answers with a grimace. You snort.
“You’re so fucking dumb,” you say sharply. “Why would I promise to keep something secret for you if you can’t promise to just butt out of my business? You’ve already seen that I’m more powerful than you, and that I stay out of your business.” Henry sighs, growing frustrated.
“If people knew—”
“Yes, Henry. If people knew, it’d suck for both of us. I’m friends with your enemies, but individually? I can turn a blind eye. I know firsthand what has turned you into whatever fucked up version of yourself that you’ve become, and I don’t want to mess with it,” you explain, kneeling to be level with him.
“The Mind Flayer isn’t something I’d like to mess with again,” you whisper.
Henry tilts his head, confused, before blaring hot pain shoots through him. His expression turns into one of pure anguish, and he falls to the ground, clutching his head.
You sigh.
“Okay, stop. Sorry that I brought it up,” you say to what you immediately guess is the Mind Flayer making a grand appearance. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. Just leave him alone for now.”
After a brief moment, Henry’s expression of pain turns into one of confused relief. He sits up, eyeing you as if you’re the most mysterious thing he has ever seen.
“What was that?” he asks, hissing through his teeth as he attempts to sit up. He fails the first time, falling back onto his face, before successfully getting back up.
“Your good friend, my old friend, the details don’t matter right now. The more you think about the details, the more likely whatever just happened will happen again, so I’d recommend you stop. I want to get back to what we were talking about,” you say, standing up again. “I know how to get that pretty head of yours blank, if you’ll let me.”
Henry looks as if he’s going to think about it more before he shakes his head at himself and then looks up at you with a look that could only be described as pure desperation.
“Yeah. I’ll let you,” he says. “Please fuck me.”
You smile at this before standing and walking over to your bedroom, signaling for him to follow.
When you get to your room, you open a drawer. In this drawer, you pull out your strap-on, a condom, and some lube.
Henry walks in slowly, his legs weak. He stands there awkwardly, before you start to walk towards him.
“Take your clothes off,” you command. Henry nods, scrambling to take off every article of clothing on him.
Once he does, and is stark naked, you finally see his hard, aching cock bounce against his stomach.
“Lie on the bed for me. Ass up,” you say, snapping your fingers. He nods, continuing to follow your instructions.
“I’m going to finger you first. It’s going to feel weird at first, okay? It will feel good, though, I promise,” you reassure him. You put the harness on and put a condom on the strapped-on dildo. Then, you snap the cap off the bottle of lube, coating your fingers.
You kneel on the bed and press one finger in slowly, and his breath catches in his throat.
You work him up to two fingers, and by this point, he’s a writhing mess on the bed.
“Oh my god, Henry. You’re so close already, aren’t you, baby?” you say, curling your fingers deeper each time.
He can’t hold back his moans anymore. He lets out a whimper.
A whimper.
“Ohh, the sounds you’re making. You like this, don’t you?” you ask, pulling out your fingers slowly and grinning, a mischievous glint in your eyes. He sighs his face into the closest pillow on the bed and groans.
“Does someone want to be fucked with my strap?” you coo, rubbing your hand up and down his back, and on his ass.
No response.
Whack.
Your hand comes down on Henry’s right ass cheek.
Henry is taken aback, and lets out the loudest whine he has probably let out in his entire life.
“Henry. Use your words,” you warn, massaging the spot where you struck him.
Henry hesitates before he responds with a groan into a pillow again.
“Are you trying to be a brat right now?” you ask, almost another warning.
Henry doesn’t respond again, just sinks further into the mattress.
Whack.
You smack his left cheek this time.
“Henry,” you warn him one last time. He lifts his head from the pillow and his breathing is uneven, and you can see the sweat dripping down his forehead.
“Please fuck me with your strap. Please,” he pleads.
You smirk, reaching over to the lube and squirting a dollop onto your hand before stroking the dildo.
You line up the tip with his hole before slowly sinking into him.
Henry lets out a stuttered moan, his face ghosting over the pillow he had his face in previously.
“Fuck,” he breathes, adjusting to the new feeling.
“I’m going to give you a second. Tell me when I can move, okay, honey?” you say, finally bottoming out after a few seconds. He nods slowly.
Henry’s eyes squeeze shut as he focuses on the new feeling inside of him. His lips part the slightest bit as his breath stutters.
After a moment, Henry’s eyes relax a bit more.
Then…
“Okay. You can move,” he speaks up, his voice groggy. “Please, move,” he asks now, more of a request this time.
You pull the slightest bit out, before slamming back into him.
Taken aback, he lets out a loud moan.
“Shit,” Henry curses, his voice high and strained.
You smirk, doing exactly what you just did again.
The reaction from him remains similar.
“I figured you’d like it rough,” you say, developing a steady rhythm in your thrusts. “You needed to be tamed, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t—fuck,” he starts to protest, interrupted by you tugging on his hair.
You didn’t say anything. Didn’t scold him. Didn’t ask him for more.
You didn’t have to.
Your hand in his hair was enough.
“Okay, yes. I did. I do need to be tamed. I do,” he pants, leaning into your thrusts.
You run your nails from your free hand along his back, leaving a few red lines to remind him
of what happened.
“Good boy. Are you close already, Henry?” you praise and ask. You reach down, brushing your fingers along the length of him.
Henry lets out one of his whines, nodding fast, pressing his length into your hand as he does.
You chuckle, amused.
You stop your thrusts and rub your hands along his back.
“Tsk, you’re more of an idiot than I thought you were if you think I’m going to let you cum this fast,” you say, shaking your head in disapproval. Henry lets out a long exhale mixed with a whine, letting his face fall back into the pillow. You pull out of him slowly, and he groans, trying to lean into it as you remove it.
You stand up and walk toward your drawer and open it up again, pulling out a small purple remote, which matches the dildo you have on the harness.
Henry turns his head, still lying on the pillow, observing you.
“What is that?” he asks. You smirk, pressing the power button.
However, your smirk falters because you forgot the vibration would hit your clit first. You fall back onto the bed, hands first.
Henry snorts at this, laughing into the pillow. You laugh with him, before crawling fully back onto the bed, turning off the vibrator.
You shut him up fast by smacking his ass one last time, before lining up with his entrance, pushing back inside of him. His laughing stops immediately, and is turned swiftly into moans.
After a minute or two of fucking him with a steady rhythm, you reach for the remote and turn the vibrator back on. You groan, rubbing your clit harder against the strap-on.
Henry lets out a guttural sound, then a high-pitched cry comes from him as you press deeper and harder into him, your thrusts becoming more and more uneven as you chase your own release.
“Do you want to cum, Henry?” you ask, breathless. Henry groans, humming affirmatively. “Uh uh. Yes or no,” you reprimand, scratching along his back.
“Yes. Yes. Please, ma’am, may I cum?” he begs, half muffled into the pillow. You bite your lip, thinking for a moment, before realizing you have no more fight left in you.
You were going to cum any second.
“Fine, baby. Let go for me,” you say, reaching down and stroking his throbbing cock.
It doesn’t take long at all. In fact, almost as soon as you start touching him, he starts to fall over the edge.
Spurts of his warm cum cover his chest and your blankets and pillows. He sighs, twitching aggressively as he lets out every last drop. Once he is spent, you turn off the vibrator.
You don’t want to overstimulate him by thrusting into him once more, so you pull out of him slowly and carefully, before taking the strap-on off and lying on the bed next to him, beginning to touch yourself.
Nothing is gentle about the way you’re circling your clit, you’re chasing a release that was almost there seconds ago. Henry lazily looks at you from where he was still lying down, and he frowns, stumbling as he uses his arm to prop himself up and crawl over to between your legs.
His mouth, covered in drool, latches onto your pussy, and he looks up to you—silently giving permission. You thread your fingers through his hair before tugging, using his face to bring you to your release. You release on his face, riding through your orgasm.
You exhale shakily, brushing your sweaty hair out of your face and removing your hand from Henry’s hair. Henry sits up, wiping his face slowly, before lying beside you.
He was arguably more of a mess than you. He had a few tear marks on your pillows and on his face; his hair was a mess, and he was covered in his own release.
“I can’t believe I just fucked you,” you remark, covering your eyes with your hand. Henry bites back a tired grin.
“I can’t believe I just got fucked by you,” Henry replies. He retrieves his clothes with his powers, a flick of the wrist, still lying down. You grab your clothes and a clean towel with your powers. You grab a water bottle next to you, wetting the towel a little before you wipe between your legs. After you’re done, you give the towel to Henry for him to wipe himself off.
“Nap now, shower and leave after,” you say, short and simple. Henry nods, wiping off the blankets and pillows the best he can before wiping himself off.
You both fall asleep, he sleeping facing the ceiling, and you turn onto your side.
——————
notes: hellooooooo!! forgive me, i'm relatively new to writing smut, and theres prob many errors in this, buuuut this was gr8 practice and uhm sub henry of course! I have a bunch of other works I need to work on or continue #FORGIVEME but heres a oneshot for now (if y'all want me to continue...... i'll consider it
not every1 likes sub henry so if u don't like it just please leave u don't have to read <3
(18+) would anyone.... be receptive.... if I posted a bratty sub!henry oneshot.... where we have powers....... and then peg him.... lmk (I have one that is literally so close to being done)
small snippet (not of the smut part)
---------------
You start to walk towards the couch again, very slowly.
“I know how to use my words,” you say, simply. “Do you know how to use your words, Henry?”
Henry’s nostrils flare, frustrated with this line of questioning. “Of course I know how to use my words.”
You click your tongue, standing in front of him now as you shake your head in disapproval.
“Are you sure about that?” you press further, standing tall as he looks up at you once again.
His scowl returns, and he tilts his head back, trying to move you again with his powers. You chuckle, pushing him so that he is completely backed into the couch with your powers.
He groans, sharp pain stabbing his head.
“Henry,” you say in a warning voice, lifting his chin with your powers so that he is looking at you again. “Stop. Don’t make me ask you again.”
(18+) would anyone.... be receptive.... if I posted a bratty sub!henry oneshot.... where we have powers....... and then peg him.... lmk (I have one that is literally so close to being done)
Ballet Director Theo Deschamps x Lighting Director Jane Warfield (f!reader)
Prompt: Theo is a prestigious but stuck-up ballet director who travels the world and directs ballet shows, and does classes occasionally. Jane is an experienced lighting director.
tags: slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, fucking gregory (not actually)(yet), age gap (jane between 22-27, theo 37 like jamie), jane loves theo's rings, making out but not yet smut, sexual tension goes crazy, author doesn't know what they're talking about
word count: 4086
CHAPTERS 1+2
CH3
Theo approaches the stage door and notices someone, noticeably younger, standing at the door hunched into their coat—likely to keep warm.
Theo furrows his eyebrows, looking at the girl. “Are you waiting for someone?” he wonders, putting his hand in his pocket to grab his keycard. The girl turns around, smiling nervously at Theo.
“Oh, yeah. Jane. She was going to let me in, I just called her to let her know I was here,” she explains, her nose a bright red.
“You’re her intern, I presume?” Theo asks, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. The girl nods, pressing her lips together. Theo clicks his tongue. “Ah. I’ll just let you in myself then. No need for you to freeze, right?”
The girl laughs, agreeing. Theo taps his keycard on the reader and opens the door, allowing the girl to go in first before entering himself and shutting the door behind him.
“Priya, I was just about to come get you! Oh—Theo, please don’t tell me you’ve been harassing my intern,” Jane says with a groan, pulling the girl in for a brief hug. Theo chuckles, pulling off his coat and holding it against himself with one arm, half folded.
“Believe it or not, I am a generally nice person. I just have my moments,” Theo replies with fake offense, walking towards the stage and taking off his hat. Jane snorts.
“Okay,” Jane says in a sing-song voice, leading Priya into the lighting booth. Theo smiles to himself and then pulls his hair into a bun, mentally getting himself ready for the long day ahead of him.
-
Theo is sat on the stage, legs crossed as he scans the stage, writing something down on one of the pages in his binder, then leaning back to contemplate. He stands up, marking a few choreography choices he just wrote down, and then stands where he is for a few moments—deep in thought.
“Point your feet,” a voice says suddenly, pulling Theo out of his thoughts. Jane, who steps onto the stage, smirks as she approaches him. Theo squints, pressing his lips together into a straight line.
“I was,” Theo says, a disgusted look on his face. Jane shrugs, walking toward a part of the stage and looking up at a light.
Jane laughs, covering her mouth. “Okay, yeah, I don’t care.” Theo huffs and looks back at his clipboard, checking to see if his notes made sense.
“Priya, can you turn 29 to blue?” Jane suddenly shouts, causing Theo to snap his head towards her instinctively. Jane looks to Theo and notices his expression being slightly cracked open by something more genuine, and frowns.
“I’m sorry, I should have warned you I was going to yell,” Jane says apologetically. “I also… could have used the walkies. I don’t actually know why I yelled that.” she says, finding the situation funny but also feels a little bad. Theo shakes his head, a smile growing on his face as he starts to pull out some of the papers on his clipboard to organize, to put into his choreography notes binder.
The light turns blue and Jane grimaces. “Augh. Ew,” she groans, putting her hands on her hips. Theo looks up, looking at the light.
“Is there something wrong with it?” Theo asks, pausing, organizing his notes and looking at Jane, and then to the light.
“What’s wrong with it is that I need Gregory to come back to fix something with another light,” Jane answers, grabbing her walkie. “Can you do red now?”
The light turns to red. The red is noticeably different, Theo notices.
“Does this mean I need to relocate my rehearsal to somewhere else today?” Theo asks, sighing. He stacks his notes and puts them in the folder he has in his binder for Swan Lake.
Jane shakes her head, putting her index finger on her bottom lip, tracing the edge of it—a habit.
“No, I don’t think Gregory is working today. I know it’s not too hard of a fix, and it's not the end of the world if he comes in tomorrow,” she answers, walking towards the edge of the stage, closer to Theo. “Are you going to miss your favorite light technician?” she teases. Theo rolls his eyes.
“He’s infuriating,” Theo says, very matter-of-fact. Jane hums.
“He is,” she affirms, sitting at the end of the stage—letting her legs dangle off the edge. The hum of the heat in the building is the only thing that can be heard for a moment. Theo sucks in a breath, before deciding to sit on the edge of the stage too, a respectable distance away from her.
“You have your hair down today,” Theo points out, looking closer at her hair. Jane nods, suddenly becoming very aware of it and brushing a confused strand of hair back to its place.
“I don’t usually like to have my hair down when I’m working, but I only brought one hair tie on accident. It broke earlier,” she explains, tucking her hair behind her ears.
“Ah. Well, it looks very pretty,” Theo says, catching her eyes and refusing to break eye contact—making sure she knows he means it.
A dusting of pink takes over Jane’s cheeks at the compliment, and she tries to bite back a smile as best as she can. “Thank you.”
Theo nods, looking away, beginning to fidget with one of his rings. Jane’s eyes drift down to look at them, and Theo is toying with one ring in particular—pulling it on and off again. Jane unconsciously pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down, as she watches his fingers move.
Theo then pulls off the ring completely, and starts to trace it with his finger in a circular motion. Jane’s pupils dilate as she continues to look, her lips parting as she grows more flushed.
Theo suddenly looks over to Jane, and she immediately looks away, clearing her throat. Theo chuckles low, a knowing smirk on his face.
“I’m going to go on my lunch,” Jane states, standing up and fixing her black shirt that had risen up slightly, revealing a bit of her stomach. Theo watches her.
“Would you like some company?” Theo asks with a cheeky grin, still seated—and definitely pushing the boundaries with flirting now.
Jane smiles, amused, and steps closer to him. She looks down at him and shakes her head. “You wish.”
Theo looks up at her through his eyelashes, raising his eyebrows. “Maybe I do,” he says, tilting his head. Jane almost loses her composure at the sight of him looking up at her. Almost.
“Hm,” she hums, stepping so close to him that the tip of her shoes almost touch his thighs. “I’ll think about letting you come with me next time, how’s that?” she asks, adjusting her necklace.
Theo smiles, satisfied with her answer—nodding. He doesn’t say anything.
“You have to be nice, though,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. Theo snorts, turning toward Jane, pulling his knees close to his chest. Her feet are now across from his—almost touching his worn out ballet slippers.
“I can be nice to you,” Theo insists.
“Not just to me,” Jane adds, a mischievous glint flickering in her eyes. Theo furrows his eyebrows, face twisting with disgust.
“Oh—really? Even to Gregory?” Theo asks, as if he was just told he had to eat a food he really didn’t like.
“What happened to you ‘generally being considered a nice person’, Theo?” Jane retorts, crossing her arms behind her back and leaning forward a little. Theo frowns.
“I a—” he begins, but Jane looks at him expectantly, raising her eyebrows— unimpressed. “You’re infuriating,” he says, with a grin he didn’t expect to be there. He was enjoying this banter more than he thought he would.
Jane shrugs, beginning to walk backwards, towards the stairs that lead off the stage.
“Be nicer and I might let you come to lunch with me one of these days, deal?” Jane asks, nothing too sarcastic or playful in her tone this time.
Theo sighs and nods. “I’ll try. No promises.”
Jane chuckles, almost to the light booth. “See, but I’m not the one who will miss out if you don’t. I’m perfectly content having lunch on my own,” she says loud enough so that he can hear her, but not shouting. “Tell Alina to report to me at the end of the day!” she says, stopping at the light booth.
Theo groans, leaning his head back. “Using one of my dancers against me? Now this is just getting excessive, darling,” he complains, standing up. Jane laughs, opening the door of the light booth and shutting it behind her, not saying a word in response.
Theo grabs his water bottle and takes a sip from it, unable to wipe the smile off of his face.
-
The dancers have all left, and the sun has long set—not that anyone would be able to see that from inside of the venue.
“Hello,” Theo says gently, not wanting to startle Jane this time. She looks over to him and smiles.
“Hi! What's up?” she asks, taking off a pair of headphones she had on and placing them beside her.
“Has your intern gone home?” Theo wonders, grabbing the chair next to Jane and sitting down on it, leaning his elbow on the table and gently resting his chin on his hand.
Jane nods, humming affirmatively. “Priya is only here until 5pm most days, but when dress rehearsals and the show hit she’ll be with me the whole time,” she explains, sitting with her legs crossed on the chair. “And she won’t be here tomorrow—but neither will your dancers. I will only be here for a bit to help Gregory, but if you want to go over a few things real quick after he fixes the light, I can stay a little longer.”
“That would be nice. I don’t have too far of a commute, so I could come whenever you please,” Theo says, pulling out his phone to check his calendar.
While Theo is looking at his phone, the corner of Jane’s lips curl upwards for a moment at the accidental double entendre that Theo had just made. She has a dirty mind, she supposes.
“Could I have your phone number?” Theo asks, looking up from his phone. Jane coughs.
“What?” she sputters, taking out her phone. Theo chuckles. “Oh—for—yes. Sorry. Um. Give me your phone, I’ll put it in.” she says, reaching out her hand. Theo reaches over with his phone and their fingers brush together for a second, causing Theo to momentarily forget how to breathe.
While she is putting her number into his phone, his eyes linger on her. He notices how she bites her bottom lip when she’s focused, and how beautifully the light from the phone twinkles in her eyes. When she is done, she reaches back over with his phone in her hand. This time, she drops his phone in his hand and she lets her fingers brush over the palm of his hand. His hand twitches a little bit at the contact.
“Alina told me you were good today,” she speaks up, a slight smirk on her lips.
“She said I was good?” Theo questions, grimacing. Jane’s smirk grows.
“No, no, she said you were nicer today. I just think good is a better word for it. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” she asks, a teasing edge to her tone.
“No,” Theo deadpans, unamused. Jane shrugs, running her hands through her hair.
“So you don’t want to join me for lunch tomorrow?” she follows up, raising her eyebrows. Theo presses his lips together into a straight line and inhales deeply, contemplating for a few seconds.
“I never said that,” he answers, his voice a little hoarse.
“Hm. Okay,” she says, spinning her chair slightly so that she could grab her laptop. “I’ll text you, then.”
Theo nods, standing up. He suddenly found himself to be a little nervous—the tips of his ears were turning red.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Theo says quickly, rushing out of the light booth. Jane smirks to herself.
-
CH 4
Jane walks up onto the stage, meeting Gregory below where the light he just fixed is.
“It wasn’t too bad of a fix—it just needed a new DMX like you thought. I’m glad I brought some of the pricier replacements I had, because even though a lot of this shit hasn’t been replaced in years, these somehow looked about a decade old and lasted up until now. At least in this one. I have a feeling some of the other ones may begin to act up soon, though, if they follow the trend,” Gregory explains, stepping off of the ladder. Jane nods, crossing her arms and looking up at the light.
“Should we replace them, then?” Jane wonders. Gregory sucks on his teeth, nodding.
“Maybe. Either way, it does seem like the spotlights can wait,” Gregory says, tapping his hand on the ladder as he scans all of the lights again.
“And I’m guessing that's going to run us a couple grand?” Jane asks, looking to the ground as she takes a moment to run more numbers in her head. Gregory nods again. Jane sighs, brushing a piece of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. “Do you think they’ll be good for this run, at least?” Gregory shrugs.
“Could be,” he answers. “No way of knowing, though.”
“My issue is that this production does have room in the budget for things like this, but Theo will lose his mind if we interrupt more of his rehearsal time for lighting issues this soon before the show,” she rants. “But at the same time, Theo will also lose his mind if a light craps out on us during a performance. There’s no winning,” she adds, pacing slowly.
“I could check all of the lights out today and note if there are any that urgently need to be replaced?” Gregory offers, raising his eyebrows. “Are you here for another production after, or just this one?” he asks, pulling out his phone to check the time.
“That’d be nice actually, if you could,” Jane replies, looking at some of the lights herself. “And no, I’m off to London for another job after this one.” Gregory hums, an unreadable look on his face as he begins to move his ladder, deciding on a light to begin on. Jane notices, and her eyebrows twitch, slightly confused.
“What?” she prompts.
“Theo’s studio is back in London. Are you doing another one of his productions?” Gregory inquires, settling on a light to begin with. Jane’s expression turns into one of surprise and intrigue.
“Now that I think about it, I’m not too sure. I haven’t checked too much into the details yet. This one is with a studio called the Black Ravens?” she says. Gregory chuckles.
“That’d be his studio,” he says with a smug grin, beginning to step up onto the ladder.
Jane huffs. “Of course it is.” Gregory opens up the light, inspecting it.
“Is it okay if Theo and I run through some cues soon? Will that interrupt you?” Jane asks, starting to walk backwards.
“Soon, yes. Interrupt me, yes,” he says shortly into the light. He pulls his head out to turn towards Jane. “Give me two hours, I’ll probably have all of these lights looked at.” She nods, walking off the stage.
“I’ll be back in two hours, then,” she says, walking towards the light booth.
She sits down, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her black jeans, opening Theo’s contact. She had texted herself on Theo’s phone yesterday, so that she would also have his number.
JANE: Still want to join me for lunch?
The response is almost immediate.
THEO: Yes, I’d like that very much. Where were you thinking? x
JANE: no clue. I have about 2 hours to kill
THEO: Oh? Why so long? x
JANE: Gregory is looking at some of the lights rn
THEO: Is there something else wrong?
JANE: I can tell you more about it when we’re eating. i’m hungry.
THEO: Fair enough.
THEO: I’ve heard the new spot down the street from work is delightful. X
JANE: Rina’s?
THEO: Yes.
JANE: it is very good! I went there once with a few of my friends about a month ago
JANE: Pricey though
THEO: I’m paying. x
THEO: I’d like to remind you that I am the one who invited myself to begin with.
THEO: The least I could do is cover the cost. x
JANE: Well one thing I won’t do is say no to a man paying for my food
THEO: Haha, good. X
JANE: Can you pick me up? I’d walk, but it’s cold...
THEO: You beat me to it. I was going to offer. Xx
THEO: It’s below freezing.
JANE: welcome to New York
THEO: I’m quite familiar with the state by now. X
THEO: How about I tell you a bit about that in 10 minutes when I get there? xx
JANE: call me when you get here!!
THEO: I’ll come and get you. x
-
Jane knew that Theo was coming in to get her, but she did not expect the sight of him that she was met with.
Theo’s hair was down—for once not a mess from freshly removing it from being pinned up all day. He wore a single silver skull earring on his left ear, and he was in a comfortable but flattering white-gray knit sweater, and artificially worn out jeans that were a bit baggy on him.
Three gentle knocks on the doorframe are heard, before Theo steps in, holding his coat in his arms.
“Hey you,” Jane says with a relaxed smile, looking Theo up and down with less shame than Theo would have ever expected her to. His cheeks flush a little.
“You look cozy,” Theo comments, leaning back on the wall next to him as he stands close to her. Instead of her all black attire, she opted for a much more comfortable look today.
“I could say the same thing to you,” she replies, gesturing to his outfit. Theo bites his bottom lip, attempting to hold back a smile.
“It’s started snowing outside,” he mentions. Jane grimaces.
“Ugh,” she groans, standing from her chair to grab her coat.
“Not a fan of snow, are we?” Theo wonders, genuinely curious. Jane presses her lips together and shakes her head.
“I grew up on the east coast. I’ve gotten sick of it,” she begins to explain.
“I love snow,” Theo says with a shrug. Jane narrows her eyes, biting her lip.
“Do you shovel?” she asks, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows. Theo hums, caught off guard by the question.
“No,” he answers cautiously. Jane snorts.
“Well, then of course you like snow,” she says, rolling her eyes as a smile breaks out onto her face.
“I’m not following,” Theo says curiously.
“Theo. I hate shoveling,” Jane states with a disgusted look on her face, standing up and grabbing her jacket and putting it on. Theo nods.
“Fair enough,” Theo replies, standing up as well. “Shall we?” he asks, nodding towards the door. Jane nods, starting to make her way out, and Theo follows her lead to his car.
—
“It smells nice in here,” Jane comments when Theo opens his own door as she is buckling herself into the passenger seat of Theo’s car. Theo sits down in the driver’s seat, shutting his door and letting out a pleased, breathy laugh at her comment.
“Thank you, darling,” he expresses, buckling himself in. Jane nods to him, a small ‘your welcome’.
It is still snowing, but not heavily, so Theo turns up the heat in the car with a knob on his right.
“Would you like your seat warmer on?” Theo asks, biting his bottom lip as he waits patiently for an answer from her.
“You have a seat warmer in your car,” she echoes with disbelief written on her face.
“I do,” he chortles, nodding. “I’m turning it on for you. Unless you would prefer your arse cold.”
Jane shakes her head, a slight dusting of pink taking over her cheeks.
“I do prefer my ass warm,” she says, looking in the other direction her face grows even more red.
Theo raises his eyebrows, tilting his head.
“That turned you on? Really?” Theo observes boldly, completely knocking the air out of Jane’s lungs as he says it. “Of all things?” he adds, looking at her with intrigue.
“Um,” she starts, her eyebrows furrowing as she is deep in thought. Nothing but the sound of their breathing, and the wind outside of the car can be heard for a few seconds.
Jane finally looks up, and turns to look at Theo. She has more confidence in her demeanor than just seconds before.
“What if it did?” she wonders—testing the boundaries. Theo smirks, pleased. He leans a little closer to her, his elbow resting on the center console, a subtle movement.
“Does it?” he asks, his voice low. His eyes scan her face, going back and forth from her eyes to her lips.
This time, she doesn’t fight to break eye contact. She keeps it. Effortlessly. The change of confidence from Jane surprises Theo, and he’s the one who has to turn away to fight back a blush this time.
“Not that, no,” Jane replies, turning her body slightly in the seat to face him. A flicker of confusion takes over Theo’s face, but is quickly masked by an understanding nod. He opens his mouth to speak, but Jane beats him to it.
“You do, though,” she adds, catching his eyes again.
Theo lets out a shaky exhale and leans his face in, meeting his forehead with Jane’s. Jane looks up at him through her eyelashes.
“Fuck,” he whispers onto her lips. He opens his mouth to speak, but Jane cuts him off again.
“Kiss me,” she instructs, her voice quiet but certain.
Without a moment to spare, Theo’s lips press against hers. He lets out a groan into the kiss, threading his fingers through her hair.
Quickly, he realises that his rings were going to get caught in her hair. He adjusts his position slightly, pulling back from the kiss for a moment before resuming—taking off his rings with one hand as he continues to kiss her.
Jane pulls back this time and looks at his hands, frowning.
“You’re taking them off?” she protests. Theo looks to his rings, and then back to her—a mischievous smile taking over his face.
“They were going to get caught in your hair, darling,” he explains, placing his rings into one of the cupholders in between them. Reaching back up, he brushes his hand on her arm, trailing to her shoulder. “I quite like when your hair is down.” Jane frowns again, capturing him back in for a heated kiss. Theo chuckles into the kiss, but then is cut off by the sound of his own whine when Jane nibbles on his bottom lip. He doesn’t pull back—he lets himself get even more lost in her.
They continue to kiss, and the sound of Jane’s shoe squeaking against the car floor startles them both, pulling them away from each other.
“Ugh,” Jane groans, looking at her shoe as if it had just committed murder. Theo licks his lips, wiping the sides of his lips to remove any lipstick that may have transferred onto his lips.
“As much as I would love to continue this, I remember you telling me how hungry you were not that long ago,” Theo reminds her, grabbing his rings from the cupholder and putting them back on one by one. “And I don’t think you were talking about anything other than food.”
Jane chuckles, looking into one of the side mirrors to fix her hair.
“You’re right, I wasn’t.” She looks over to him and notices he is putting his rings back on, and turns away a little too fast. Theo notices again, and a braver smile overtakes his lips.
“Ah. You like my rings, don’t you?” he asks, putting on the last ring as he does.
“Shut up. Just drive,” Jane dismisses, her lips curling upward the tiniest bit.
“Bossy,” he comments, starting the car and putting it in reverse, pulling out of the parking lot.
-----
notes: hiii thank u for reading <3 forgive any errors!! if its not clear I have a hc for jane and i'm making her more me by the min LOL also if its not clear I know Nothin ab lighting lowkey but wtv.
I was going to schedule to post this tomorrow but nah
Ballet Director Theo Deschamps x Lighting Director Jane Warfield (f!reader)
Prompt: Theo is a prestigious but stuck-up ballet director who travels the world and directs ballet shows, and does classes occasionally. Jane is an experienced lighting director.
tags: slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, fucking gregory (not actually)(yet), age gap (jane between 22-27, theo 37 like jamie)
word count: 2509
NEXT CHAPTER
CH1
“Plié, leap and—Amber what the fuck was that?” Theo snaps, pushing a loose strand of blonde hair that fell out of his bun. “Your feet were flexed. In what world is that okay?”
Amber groans and hunches over, touching her pointe-shoe clad toes. “It isn’t okay. I’m sorry.”
Theo nods, pressing his lips together and sighing. “Hm.”
“Okay everyone, let’s take a quick five minute break. Sip some water, eat something quick, I don’t care. I know that it is Friday and it’s late, but we still have an hour left of today’s rehearsal. You’ve all worked hard to be here, I worked hard to be here, let’s not waste it,” Theo says, picking up his blue water bottle off the floor and taking a long gulp after.
Everybody begins to stagger out, the sounds of the pointe shoes clanking against the stage can be heard until everybody walks out.
Theo scrunches his eyebrows together and looks off the stage, towards the light booth.
“Is anybody up there? The past twenty minutes the lights have stayed the exact same. Could we run through some of the cues we have?” Theo bellows, beginning to walk off the stage and approach the booth.
A door opens. “Sorry, I was briefing somebody on the issues we have with light 43. They’re going to get that fixed for us before next Thursday,” a woman explains. Her hair is bright red and tied back into a ponytail, and she’s wearing a black tee shirt and slacks. She has a walkie talkie attached to her belt, along with a yellow clearance badge.
Theo finally reaches the booth and stands across from the woman, nodding. He leans against the wall and toys with the cap of his water bottle.
“Is that the one that keeps flickering?” Theo asks. The woman nods.
“Yeah. We’ve had issues with it for a while, but no show ambitious enough to motivate the venue to give us funding for it,” she replies, walking back into the booth and moving a clipboard aside. “Now, we just have to hope Gregory doesn’t fuck us over.”
Theo’s face twists in disgust, standing in the doorway. “Why on earth would you ask Gregory to fix something? I don’t even know how he still has a job.” The woman chuckles, shaking her head.
“I agree, but you’re the one who hired him back for this job, no? Or at least the stage manager did, but he would have had to run that past you. Aren’t you Theo?” The woman asks, a smirk plastered on her face. Theo scoffs.
“No, I told Ben specifically not to hire him back. I’m going to need to have a chat with him later,” Theo mutters, checking his watch. “I’m going to get back to work now. Please try to actually do your job this time, darling,” Theo says with a slight bite to his tone as he begins to walk out.
“I am doing my job, but thanks for the helpful tip!” The woman shouts back, rolling her eyes.
—
“Gregory, are you almost finished? My dancers can’t do their job with a ladder right in the middle of the stage, mate,” Theo inquires, craning his neck to look up at Gregory. Gregory pulls his face away from inside of the light to face Theo.
“Ah, I don’t know. Could be another few hours. There’s a wiring issue, among… other things,” Gregory answers with a shrug. Theo laughs humorlessly.
“Could you perhaps finish it another time?” Theo presses, growing more impatient. Gregory inhales through his teeth and shakes his head.
“I’ve got a schedule for this shit, man. Besides, Jane told me to get it done as soon as I could,” Gregory says, returning to work on the wiring inside of the light. Theo presses his fingers against his temples, taking a deep breath.
“Who’s Jane? And why did you ask her, and not me?” Theo asks, crossing his arms. Gregory looks away from the light again and his face scrunches up in confusion.
“Uhh… the lighting director and designer for your show?” Gregory says, as if it were obvious. “Do you really not know the name of your own lighting director? Yikes.”
Theo snickers, straightening his posture. “I know the names of my lighting directors,” he mutters defensively. “Usually,” he adds.
“She’s the director and designer, with significant experience in both. People with that level of experience are hard to find; you usually have one person for each role. She has an intern working with her this time,” Gregory explains, adjusting the magnifying safety glasses he has on and returning to his work.
“Do I look like I care or have the time to hear the ins and outs of lighting jobs? Because I don’t. And my dancers are going to be here in twenty minutes, could you please finish up some other time, or before then?” Theo urges. Gregory raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.
“No can do. Sorry, man. The deeper I get into it, the more I find wrong with it,” Gregory says slowly, smoldering a wire.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Theo hisses to himself, grabbing blue marking tape out of his bag and scanning the stage, narrowing his eyes.
“Do we have a problem down here, guys?” the woman—who we now know is called Jane—says loudly as she approaches the stage. There’s a loud ‘beep’ from her walkie talkie, but she turns the volume down as she walks up the steps.
“Yes we do, actually. You told Gregory now would be a good time to work on the lights?” Theo accuses, pulling a small strip of the blue tape and ripping it off.
“No, I didn’t tell him now would be a good time, I just told him to come in as soon as possible. Apparently, that happens to be right now,” Jane replies, standing across from Theo and putting her hands on her hips. Theo sighs, walking to one area of the stage and putting the piece of tape down, marking a spot.
“But you have our rehearsal schedule, and didn’t think to schedule around it,” he retorts, pulling another piece of tape from the roll. Jane’s face contorts, taken aback.
“What I thought, is that you might want this light fixed as soon as possible so that we can polish our lighting cues,” Jane says back, attempting to maintain a professional tone.
“Rehearsal time is significantly more important than lighting time, I’d argue,” Theo says, walking to another area of the stage to place the tape down. Jane takes a few steps in his direction, but keeps her distance.
“I would have known that if you had communicated it to me before today,” Jane says back with a shrug, turning back to begin walking away.
"Thank god. You guys are loud. It's distracting," Gregory says suddenly into the light. Jane and Theo look at each other before simultaneously giving Gregory a pointed look.
.
–
CH2
The sun set hours ago, and rehearsal has just ended. Gregory finished up the work on the light with thirty minutes of the dancer’s rehearsal time to spare, and Theo took advantage of that time. Dancers file out, putting on heavy coats to shield them from the chilly winter air.
After everybody files out, it leaves Theo on the stage and Jane in the lighting booth. Theo furrows his eyebrows and hops off of the edge of the stage, ending up in the doorway of the booth.
“Could we maybe run through the Act II cues before we leave?” Theo asks, startling Jane with her presence. She has a set of headphones on, listening to music as she copies down what she did today into her notes.
“Fuck,” Jane says, flinching and taking off her headphones quickly. Theo chuckles, playing with one of his rings.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you,” Theo says apologetically, taking another step into the booth.
“Ah, it’s fine,” Jane says while taking a deep breath, blushing a little with embarrassment. “Take a seat.” Jane waves her hand, gesturing to the black chair that was next to her. Theo takes the invitation and sits.
“You want to run through Act II?” Jane follows up, turning back to face the light board. Theo nods, adjusting his wool sweater slightly as he gets fully settled in a seated position.
“Yes, if that’s alright. There’s one particular scene where I’m hoping we can get right. Not that all of the other ones aren’t important, but—,” Theo trails off, taking his hair out of the bun that he had it in throughout the entirety of the day, ruffling his hair to return it as close to its normal state as possible.
“You think I’m going to mess your show up?” Jane accuses, raising her eyebrows at Theo. Theo snorts, shaking his head.
“I mean it’s a big production, and you’re just one person with an intern. You’re bound to have at least one hiccup, right?” Theo replies, with a slightly smug grin fighting to fully grow on his lips. Jane shakes her head, looking to the floor as her jaw tenses with a tight smile.
“You’re unbelievable,” Jane says with a defeated sigh, adding a few more notes to finish up what she had started. “Your reputation really does not precede you,” she adds quietly.
“What? Is my reputation bad?” Theo asks, face twisting in confusion. Jane smirks.
“Well, you’re known as someone who’s difficult to work with. And rude,” Jane tells him, closing her notebook and grabbing the physical copy of the cue list and setting it on her lap. “Other people say it—not me—but I am starting to get what they mean.”
Theo furrows his eyebrows, running his fingers through his hair again. “Why would they say that?” he asks. Jane looks at him with a blank stare.
“Why would they say that,” Jane echoes with disbelief laced into her tone. “There’s no way you just asked me that.” Theo raises his eyebrows, prying for an answer.
“In every single conversation I have had with you, you have managed to belittle or condescend me,” Jane explains, turning to face Theo and wringing her hands together. Theo raises an eyebrow.
“I have not—” Jane looks at him pointedly. Theo grimaces. “Hm. I suppose you’re right.”
Jane smiles. “I know.” Theo chuckles, rubbing his chin with his hand.
There’s a moment where neither of them speak, and Jane presses some of the buttons on the light board to start a scene. The lights turn from a plain warm yellow to a very dim dark blue.
“Thank you,” Theo speaks up suddenly, looking at the stage through the window and then back to Jane. Jane scrunches her eyebrows in confusion.
“For… the blackout?” Jane questions, turning her head to face Theo while still having her body facing the board. Theo laughs quietly, shaking his head.
“No, not that,” Theo says, a small genuine smile stuck on his face. “For being honest with me. It’s refreshing. Not a lot of people are honest with me,” he expresses, still somehow maintaining eye contact.
The statement catches Jane off guard, and she inhales sharply, breaking eye contact with him and blinking slowly to process what she just heard. After a moment, she schools her expression and turns her head back to the board.
“A lot more people might be honest with you if you didn’t insult them to the point of being scared to say anything,” Jane suggests, changing to the next scene on the light board, squinting to look closer and check that everything was correct. Theo sinks deeper into the chair, pressing his lips into a straight line.
“You’re scary,” Theo comments with an amused glint in his eyes. Jane rolls her eyes, not humoring his comment, and turns to the next scene.
“Is this the one you don’t want me to… hiccup?” Jane asks, pointing to the lights and then to the cue. Theo moves his head closer to the window, looks at the lights, and then moves close to the light board and Jane to get a closer look.
“Have you ever done any lighting for anything?” Jane wonders, studying his interested expression as he scans the board. Her eyes trail from his face to his hair, which still had a bump in it from the bun he had in all day. She notices how his hair is a lighter, more artificial blonde towards the end, and darker blonde towards the roots. She notices how she can sort of feel the warmth of his body close to her.
Theo’s voice pulls her from her slight trance. “Mmm, no. One of my mates from school when I was younger did, though. I always thought it looked like too much of a headache,” he answers, leaning back again and turning back to face her, then looking back at the lights.
“It’s perfect. Could we perhaps try the transition to the next one, though?” Theo asks, returning back to the topic at hand. Jane nods, pausing a moment before swiftly turning to the next scene, looking to him for his opinion. Theo nods in approval, sitting straight again in his chair.
“Is there any way you could make sure you have this part marked as ‘Very Important’ so you or your intern don’t screw it up?” Theo inquires, gesturing to her clipboard. Jane snorts.
“I already had it marked. You are not the first director to tell me that this scene in Swan Lake is important. I remember these things,” Jane says, pointing to the big, red, bold mark on the part he was talking about. Theo raises his eyebrows, impressed.
“You’ve done lighting for Swan Lake before?” Theo asks, bewildered. Jane nods, changing the scene back to a blackout.
“This will be my third time. Probably the most insufferable time, though,” she answers, a teasing inflection in her tone. Jane turns off the lights and unplugs the light board. She stands up and organizes all of the papers she has taken out and puts them away in a cubby she has for them.
Theo observes her movements and focuses on her arms for probably a little too long, snapping his eyes to hers when she looks to him, completely ready to leave in a heavy winter coat, hat, and scarf.
“I have to head out, it’s late. You should go, too. You have to be back early tomorrow, right?” Jane asks, leaning down to grab her bag. For a split second, Theo lets his gaze drop to her ass, and he internally smacks himself.
Theo clears his throat and nods, standing up quickly and walking to the doorway. “Ah, yes I will be back early tomorrow. You’re right, I should go,” he stands awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do with himself for a moment. Jane notices the awkwardness and chuckles, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“Goodnight, Theo,” she says, with a surprisingly warm smile—something unfamiliar to Theo.
He smiles back, gently—but genuinely.
“Goodnight, Jane.”
-----
notes: thank u for reading :D this is also posted to AO3, I just hadn't gotten to it yet here lmao. i'll post ch3+4 tmrw on here! I am still working on other chapters, shit has been crazy and I also am working on other stories.
for those wondering... I am still working on my other fics. I have just been very busy!!
tags: degrading/praise (heavy on degrading), brat!jane x brat tamer!theo, mean dom!theo x sub!jane, f!reader, oral (giving, some recieving but not yet), p in v, unprotected sex (minus ... magic), hair pulling, rough sex, pw little plot lowkey, aftercare, enemies to...??? — (wc: 2696)
overview: jane and theo have been fighting for the spot on the black ravens, but theo's noticed something.
—-—-—-—-—-—-
Jane knew she had to duel the arrogant Theo Deschamps for the spot in the Black Ravens tomorrow—but what she didn’t expect was a knock on the door to her house at 10 pm.
Least of all did she expect the person behind the door to be him.
Jane frowns, folding her arms as she gets immediate goosebumps from the breeze of chilly air entering her home. She is wearing a pink tank top and a pair of grey sweatpants, her hair down and messy. “I was trying to sleep.”
Theo, with his hands in his jacket pockets, chuckles.
“There’s no use getting good sleep, darling. I’m going to take that spot from you whether you expect me to or not,” he says with a shrug, leaning against her door frame.
“You’re not,” Jane groans, rubbing her eyes as she lets out a deep exhale.
“We’ll see, then,” Theo hums, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Are you going to invite me in?” he asks, gesturing into her home. Jane furrows her eyebrows.
“Why would I let you in, Theo?” she prompts, raising her eyebrows.
“You’re shivering,” he answers, pointing to her body that was starting to shake.
“I can close this door without letting you in,” Jane retorts. Theo clicks his tongue, shrugging with a small nod of his head.
“You could,” Theo agrees. Jane nods, unsure of what to say in response, looking into the other direction.
Theo studies her. Her every breath, her every move, her every sound.
“But that’s not what you want, now is it?” he adds boldly, standing completely straight now. Jane’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“What?” she asks, acting completely clueless. Theo chuckles, amused. Knowing.
“I saw how you looked at me earlier when you thought I wasn’t looking, Jane,” Theo states, his voice growing lower. He steps inside, closing the door behind him.
“I’ve seen how you look at me when I’m insulting you,” he says. He takes off his jacket, appearing completely content and relaxed as he does. “It’s funny actually—I never even intended to incite such a reaction from you.”
Jane backs up as Theo inches closer to her, eventually hitting her back on a wall as he towers over her.
“I don’t know what you're tal—,” she starts.
“I never would have pegged you for a liar,” Theo cuts her off, watching as Jane’s breath catches in her throat. He chuckles, running his index finger from her jawline to her collarbone, then returning to her neck.
“Try that again,” he instructs, lifting her chin with his finger. Jane lets out a careful whine, looking him in the eyes to try to get a read on him.
“I’m no—.”
“Jane,” he warns, his eyes darkening. “What did I just tell you?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
Jane opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Her face flushes, and she attempts to look away. Her attempts fail because Theo pulls her face back to look at him the second she tries to turn away.
Theo studies Jane again—taking in how her pupils were dilating, how she was hardly able to contain herself, but was fighting with every bone in her body to. Theo smirks, enjoying every second of this.
“Fuck. You really are a slut, aren’t you?” Theo says, moving his hand to rub his thumb up and down the front of her neck, resting his other fingers on the side of her neck. Testing. Not pressing down. Not yet, at least.
Jane shivers.
“Get on your knees for me,” Theo commands, pressing his fingers harder into the side of her neck for a second before guiding her down by her neck to her knees.
Once Jane is on her knees, she looks up at him, waiting. Theo chuckles, stroking her cheek.
“Awww. You’re so eager for me to fill that pretty mouth of yours, aren’t you?” Theo asks, lifting her chin with his finger. Jane huffs, frustrated with herself for giving in so easily.
Jane lifts her hands to his belt, but Theo immediately grabs her wrists with one of his hands, raising them above her head and raising her eyebrows.
“Ah ah ah. Did I say you could touch me?” Theo reprimands, shaking his head in disapproval. Jane frowns.
“You didn’t, but—”
“That was a yes or no question, darling,” Theo’s voice cuts hers off, as sharp as a butcher knife.
Heat rushes to Jane’s core, and she gently presses her thighs together—trying to seek some relief.
“No,” Jane replies, bowing her head slightly. Theo uses his free hand to lift her chin again, rougher this time.
“Correct,” Theo hums approvingly. Theo releases her wrists and her chin, moving to his belt and undoing it.
He pulls down his pants and underwear in one motion, and his cock bounces against his stomach, hard and twitching.
“Open,” Theo instructs, pulling on her chin. Jane whines, opening her mouth and looking up at him through her lashes.
Theo wastes no time—he grabs her hair and pulls her to his aching cock, pushing into her mouth slowly.
Jane moans, sending vibrations onto Theo, causing him to push himself even deeper into her mouth.
He sets a slow rhythm, fucking her mouth gently, and Jane starts to press her thighs together and rock her hips, trying to relieve some of the pressure from between her thighs.
Theo notices once her hips rock, and he chuckles darkly, pulling her off of him by her hair.
“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” Theo purrs, rubbing the spot on the bottom of her head that he had pulled her from.
Jane pants, catching her breath as she wipes the side of her mouth and her chin.
“I want to taste you,” Theo states, looking her in the eyes with a glint of desperation making its way through. Jane whimpers and nods frantically, letting Theo push her back onto her couch, falling onto it.
Theo lets out a feral groan as she opens her legs with no instruction, looking at him with nothing but pure need.
“I can see you through those leggings. Living on the wild side, are we?” he wonders, firmly pressing his fingers on her pussy through her leggings. He rubs a circle around her clit through the fabric before lifting his fingers to his mouth, tasting her.
Jane laughs nervously, blushing as she tries to hide her face again. “I was home alone and didn’t have anything to—oh shit,” she is rudely interrupted by Theo ripping open her leggings and circling her clit with no barriers this time. “Fuck, I—”
“I will replace them. Or maybe I won't. Depends on if you’re good for me.” Theo lifts her legs, draping them over each of his shoulders.
“God, you’re soaked, my pretty little whore. You really like it when I treat you this way.”
“I—” Jane tries to protest, but is cut off by the sound of her own whine as Theo slides two fingers into her, pumping in and out slowly.
“Stop fucking lying, Jane,” he growls as he curls his fingers inside of her, looking into her eyes, looking at her in such an intense way that he hopes is communicating to her not to look away from him. “You’re going to learn very quickly that you don’t lie to me.”
Jane’s whole body starts to tremble as she grows closer to release. Jane starts to close her eyes, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as Theo keeps working his fingers inside of her.
Then, Theo pulls his fingers out. Jane looks at him with frustration and desperation, and Theo chuckles, and this fuels her anger.
“Theo, what the fuck is wrong with you?” she pants, brushing her hair out of her face. Theo shrugs, a more-than-amused smile plastered on his lips.
“I decided I’m going to taste you fully another time,” he says, placing a gentle kiss on her core, savoring her taste. Jane frowns.
“Aww, don’t worry, my needy little thing. I’m not saying never. Maybe, later tonight, I will. All I’m saying is that you need to be a good girl to be rewarded, do you understand?” Theo explains gently, pulling Jane’s legs off his shoulders and standing up, stroking himself unabashedly, eyeing her reaction with a grin as he does.
Jane sighs and nods, closing her legs. She looks up at Theo, and she looks positively ruined. Her lips were red, her eyes red, and her hair was incredibly messy now.
“Now, I want you to show me where your bedroom is. If you’d like…” Theo says, beginning to trail off at the end.
Jane realizes after a moment that he was subtly reminding her again that his mean front right now is not reality, and that he will stop immediately if she wants him to.
She grins softly at this, the security she already felt with him strengthening.
Jane grabs his hand, leading him to her bedroom. She sits on the bed, awaiting instruction.
Theo grabs her chin, leaning down for a gentle kiss. He sucks on her bottom lip, biting it enough to elicit a sharp inhale from Jane.
After a minute, he then starts kissing across her cheek, and then he nibbles on her ear, making sure all of his moans are directed right into her right ear. She shivers with full force now, her thighs pressing together as she does. He groans into her ear again and pinches her nipples with his fingers.
“I want to kiss all down this pretty body of yours, and then I want to fuck you so hard that you see stars. I want to fill you up. I want you to cum around my cock, and to scream my name,” he whispers to her in her ear.
The sheer vulgarity in his statement makes her lose it.
“Theo, please,” she whines, fully letting all of her self-control go out the window. Theo smiles, and Jane can feel his smile grow on her cheek. He pulls away from her ear, looking down at her now.
“Lie down on the bed for me, darling,” he says, crossing his hands behind his back as he waits.
She immediately complies, lying down on her back.
“Legs open,” he instructs, walking closer to her on the side of the bed. She bites her lip, opening her legs to reveal her dripping core to him again, ready for him.
Jane waits patiently for him to speak again, saying nothing.
“Are you going to be good for me now?” he questions, refusing to join her on the bed until she answers.
Jane frowns, realizing there is no use in pressing his buttons again—even if it is part of the fun.
“Yes,” she says quietly, her voice hoarse. Theo hums, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“Not quite, my love. I want you to say it,” he insists, raising his eyebrows.
Jane has to fight the urge to be a brat again, but as he fully coaxes her into submission, it becomes easier.
“I will be good for you,” she finally gives in. “I promise I will be so good—Theo, please just fuck me.”
“Good fucking girl,” Theo praises, crawling on the bed and towering over her.
He desperately, as if he were a starving man, kisses down her body. He looks up at her occasionally, seeing her reaction fueling him more.
Theo starts at her neck, taking his time as he moves down to her breasts. He spends a little extra time there, considering how responsive Jane is to every brush of a finger. He kisses down her torso, down her thighs, and then back up her thighs again. He presses a few kisses once again on her pussy, unable to resist the urge to taste her.
Theo looks up to her.
“Are you ready for me?” he asks Jane.
Before she can even finish nodding, Theo is pressing himself inside of her.
“Oh, look at that. You took me so easily. How pathetic,” he says with a mocking chuckle, biting his bottom lip and letting out a low groan as he pushes all the way in.
He gives Jane a moment to adjust, watching her face twist in pleasure, it growing more as he talks to her.
“Ah. Now I can feel what my words do to you,” he comments in a lower tone, a blissful smile taking over his face. He pulls out for a second before pushing himself back in, harder than the first time. Jane cries out, her hands reach to cover her face.
Theo rolls his hips, frowning. “No, Jane. Look at me when I’m fucking you,” he demands, his thrusts now starting a slow rhythm. Jane almost hiccups and nods, letting Theo pin her wrists above her head.
“You’ve wanted this a while, haven’t you?” When she doesn’t respond, he continues. “If I had known every single one of my jabs got you this worked up, I would have come over sooner.” Jane’s moans grow louder, and she starts to squeeze him harder.
“Fuck, Jane,” Theo groans. “You’re going to think of me every time you cum, from now on. Every time you touch yourself, I want you to think about how good my cock feels inside of you. I want you to think of how much you love it when I am rough with you. You love it when I use you.”
Jane lets out a frantic string of ‘mhm’s. Her eyes start to close after fighting to keep them open for so long.
“You’re almost there, my pathetic doll. Good girl,” he says, his thrusts growing faster yet still steady.
“Cum for me, darling.”
Immediately, to her surprise, the minute he speaks those words, she explodes. Her walls pulse, tightening around his cock. He fucks her through it, kissing her neck as he continues to fuck her with a fast, steady rhythm.
“You’re so good. So good for me, sweetheart. Fuck,” Theo pants in her ear. “I’m going to cum inside of you,” he states, moving back to look at Jane in her eyes as his thrusts quicken.
Her moans grow louder again, as she continues to orgasm on his cock, his hips stutter, and he releases himself inside of her, pressing himself as deep as possible inside her as he does.
They stay there for a moment, taking in the pleasure that was just had.
Theo pulls out gently and stands up. He walks into the bathroom, finds a clean washcloth, wets it a little with water from the sink, and walks over to Jane.
“Can I clean you up, or would you rather do it on your own?” Theo asks, his demeanor a little more nervous than it had been when he had first arrived at Jane’s house. Jane smiles weakly, still blissed out.
“You can,” she croaks, wiping her face with her hands for any drool, sweat, or tears. Theo nods, coming over and wiping lightly down her body, before moving to her crotch, gently wiping the mess that had been made between both of their fluids.
“We can properly shower after, but I have a feeling a nap is warranted after this, yes?” he asks, still cleaning her off. The action was incredibly intimate. Not the action of aftercare, but the action of cleaning her off himself.
It was an action that just friends, let alone enemies, don’t do.
An action that only people more than friends do.
“I’m going to go and get you a glass of water,” Theo insists, walking to the kitchen. He grabs a water bottle he spots instead, and also snags a small bag of pretzels that he finds.
He walks back into the bedroom, handing both to Jane. She’s half asleep and takes one pretzel and eats it, taking a sip of water to follow it. Theo nods, satisfied.
“Can I… nap with you?” he asks, the nervousness back. Jane nods, patting next to her on the bed and turning onto her side, inviting him to spoon her.
They’d talk later, they both think to themselves.
Sleep now.
-----
notes: I have Never written smut like fully in my life (ik shocking) so LMK HOW THIS IS LMAO. I have more things like on the way but i'm NERVOUSS LMAO
Additional Tags: Mental Health, Therapy, Paranoia, Therapist x Patient, Explicit Sex (in future chapters), Teasing, Manipulation, SLOW BURN
3.8K
Session Three
She shouldn’t have come back. She was only meant to come for one session. And now it’s two weeks since their first meeting, but her feet led her back there anyway.
The thought followed beside her as she made her way down the short corridor to the office, pacing beside her like a warning she refused to hear.
The receptionist didn’t really talk to her this time, like she had the last two occasions when she saw Y/N walk in before she sat down. Just a quick direction pointing to the hallway, and a small, knowing smile. “He’s expecting you.”
Of course he was.
Dr Creel didn’t rise when she opened the door and welcomed herself inside the office. He didn’t have to. The space around him already felt arranged - deliberate and controlled, just like everything else about him.
“You came.” He said quietly. Not surprised, and not grateful. Just certain. “Close the door.” Not a command, not quite anyway.
She hesitated - just long enough for him to notice, and then shut it. The soft click of the door feeling louder than usual.
He gestured toward the chair angling towards his, opposite him. “You look tense.”
“I’m not.”
He watched his patient walk across the room, a pattern she was starting to notice - he keeps his eyes on her at almost all times.
Their first session had been clinical.. neutral. But, the second session, the last time she was there in that office. It was different.
She tried not to think about it, about the way Henry stepped closer when she’d stood up to leave. About the warmth of his palm pressing against the small of her back as he guided her out the door.
It was light. Professional. Barely anything.
That’s what she told herself in the car aftward. Therapists touched patients sometimes. It’s a reassuring gesture, grounding.. normal. Except, he hadn’t needed to guide her. She knew how to walk through a doorway. And his hand stayed a second longer than necessary.
Hadn’t it?
She’d played it so many times in her head now that the memory felt unreliable, and in some versions it was nothing. In others it felt deliberate. Predatory.
What kind of person overanalyses a hand on their back? The paranoid kind. You’ve been so deprived of physical touch you just want something to maybe be there.
Y/N dismissed herself quickly in her own mind, sitting down and smoothing out her skirt in a motion she hoped looked casual, but it was out of habit.
She was wearing her clothes slightly different than what she usually did for work, somewhere she had to come straight from to Dr Henry Creel’s. She didn’t have time between her work and the appointment to change.
She wore a soft silk blouse, structured enough to hold its shape, but then enough to move when she did. The collar sat neatly at her throat, modest and professional, though she left the top two buttons undone - not deliberately provocative, just breathable, and certainly not for him.
Her skirt a different one to the longer one she usually wore, but still appropriate. It was plain black, high waisted and tailored. It skimmed her hips before falling cleanly a few inches above the knees. Conservative, and office appropriate.
The fingers of his right hand traced lightly over the fabric of the armchair as he watched her sit, studying her like a problem he intended to solve. And he noticed.
“I see you’ve adjusted the way you present yourself.” He spoke mildly, but with no hesitation.
“I dressed the way I usually do for work.” She stilled a little, heat blossoming to her cheeks almost instantly.
“Yes,” he replied. “You did.” The faintest pause. “Except, last time your presentation was more guarded. This time, you’ve gone for structure.”
Y/N scoffed a little, her eyes rolling ever so slightly, anxiety throbbing in her chest. “And what is that even supposed to mean?” Playing it off, as if she just threw the outfit on blindly.
His fingers lifted from the armrest, relaxed and gesturing lightly towards her waist - eyes following too. “The tailored lines. The high waist.. it’s deliberate.”
“It’s just a skirt.” She insisted, trying to move on.
“It’s armour.” He corrected, almost unbothered.
“You’re reading way too much into it.” Her jaw tightened, a small puff of harsh air exiting her nostrils.
“Am I?” His eyes briefly flickered to the collar of her blouse. “You’ve left the top two buttons undone.”
Now the heat really was rising in her neck before she could stop it.
“That’s normal.”
“It is.” He agreed with a smooth tone. “But not for you. Which makes this interesting.”
The atmosphere changed, not because of what he said. But how he said it. She underestimated his observational skill set.
He casually adjusted himself in the chair to get more comfortable, as if the exchange meant nothing.
“I pay attention to details. It’s my job.” He said lightly. But the way his gaze briefly returned to the precise line where her blouse disappeared into her skirt made her feel something else entirely. But he dismissed himself quickly, moving on.
“You debated coming, again.” He observed.
“That’s an assumption.”
“It’s a correct one.” He promptly chimed in.
“You’re the one who told me to come back.” She muttered under her breath.
As usual, he let the silence stretch. He was good at that, he let in press in - let it force her to fill it. It was a tactic, and she knew it was a tactic.
“You implied in our last session that I had avoidance issues.” She finally gave in with a sigh, even though she knew it was true. Though, she didn’t like admitting it. “I don’t like unresolved implications.”
“So you came back to resolve them.” A single eyebrow rose above the rim of his glasses again.
“I came back because I guess..” Y/N spoke through gritted teeth, “I don’t respond well to being told I won’t.”
There it was - the real reason.
“You don’t like being predicted.” Henry said, gaze sharpening slightly and interest flickering beneath the calm exterior.
“I don’t like being managed.” She corrected.
“Yet, you returned after I insisted.” He let the words hang between them, not raising his voice a notch or leaning foward. Just stating what he knew as fact.
She felt something heavy on her chest - irritation, she told herself. Not something else.
“You didn’t insist,” Y/N huffed, “You merely told me what you wanted.”
“I told you to come back.”
“You don’t get to decide what I do.” She pushed back.
A pause.
“And yet.” He suddenly spoke softer, eyes staying on hers but head tilting ever so slightly. He folded one leg over the other. Relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world.
Her breathing became shallow, and she became acutely aware of the space between them. How far apart their chairs were. Of how easily the distance could be closed. Y/N hated that she even thought that.
“Tell me what bothered you last time.” No notebook yet.
“Nothing bothered me.” She stiffened.
“Your breathing changed when we were by the door.”
“That’s called standing too close to someone.” She hissed back, that same tendency to bite back rose again. She knew she was defenseless.
“Ah.” That small sound, thoughtful, maybe even a little pleased - made something coil in her stomach. “When I touched you,” he said so casually, “you flinched.”
“No, I didn’t.” Her heart gave an unwelcome jolt.
“Your shoulders had tightened as well.”
Replaying the memory in her head again, she almost felt his phantom touch on her again.
“I think you’re misremembering.” Her pulse thudded in her ears.
“Am I?” His hands came together, folding in his lap.
“It was a professional gesture,” she could hear the defensiveness in her own voice, “you guide clients out the door. That’s normal. Why would I flinch at that?”
“Yes.” He agreed all too easily, but he didn’t break eye contact with her. That was the problem. He kept making everything feel like it was a test she hadn’t agreed to take.
She shifted in her seat, crossing her arms - and immediately untangling them because it felt too obvious. He noticed, of course he noticed.
“I’m curious. Why did that small touch stay with you?” He continued lightly.
“I didn’t say it did.” Suspicion laced in her tone.
“You’re thinking about it now.”
Y/N’s throat tightened. He wasn’t wrong. She had absolutely thought about it. Not because it was inappropriate, but because of how aware she felt of it afterward. Of her skin. Of the exact place his hand rested on her back. Of the way her body reacted before she could control herself not to. She hated she didn’t know exactly what her reaction implied.
“I notice things all the time,” she muttered quietly, “it’s not the same as-“
“As wanting it?” That stupid habit to finish her sentences.
“Okay, I did not say that.” Eyes widening, creating more space between them as she leaned back in the sofa chair with brief confusion.
“No, you didn’t.” He exhaled as he stood up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit trousers. The air immediately felt thinner. He broke eye contact, hands holding each other behind his back - taking patient steps to the wall of cracked leather books.
Henry lifted his right hand, letting his index finger trace along one of the shelves collecting dust on the tip.
“I’d like to try something different today.” His tone turning deliberately clinical. Detached. “Another exercise, different from last time.”
“What kind of exercise?” Her breath faltered, watching him casually take attention to the sun faded spines of the books.
“One that focuses on psychological response.” He didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t need to. Her body had immediately become hyper aware.
He steadily turned to face her, taking his time to approach her chair - and she suddenly felt vulnerable. Though, he gave her every opportunity to object. She didn’t. That feeling unsettled her more than if she had.
He let his feet take him behind her seat, stopping there. Not touching, not yet.
“In our last session,” Henry started to speak in a lower, quieter tone, “you weren’t sure whether you imagined intention, or purpose.” His words were neutral, but his proximity wasn’t.
“And today,” his voice falling rougher at the edges again, “we’ll clarify the difference between imagination and reaction.”
Y/N’s pulse quickened, not sure what he was planning on doing. She told herself it was irritation.
Only irritation.
“Stay still.” He murmured. When he leaned down and closer to her, the space between uncertainty and her awareness felt dangerously small. She sat rigidly, once again aware of everything - her exposed line of her neck, the way her hair fell down the back of the chair, the vulnerable curve of her ear.
“Remember, this exercise is about your response.” She felt the warmth of his breath just pricking the edge of her ear, triggering goosebumps over her thighs. “You have a habit of anticipating sensation.” The low rumble of his voice echoing over her shoulder.
“I want to observe how your body reacts.” His fingers came to rest lightly on the top of the edges of the chair, one hand of either side of her shoulders. Not on her.
“Don’t move.” He murmured. So close to the shell of her ear, but not touching. “Look at you. You’re already reacting..” He cooed softly.
The words were clinical, but his delivery was not in the slightest. She swallowed, trying not to make it obvious - eyes fixed straight in front of her.
His lips hovered a fraction from her skin as he continued, voice dropping a notch lower now - textured. Roughened at the edges that felt dangerously close to a growl.
“Your pulse changed the moment I stepped behind you.” The sound of his voice vibrated directly against her ear.
Y/N took a sharp breath in but not loud enough to hear, shoulders tightening.
“There..” He muttered. One hand behind her shifted slightly, fingertips just grazing the fabric on her shoulder - not gripping, just a whisper of contact and grounding her in her place.
“I’ve barely touched you.” He spoke in a low whisper, the faintest scrape of his lower lip brushed against the outer curve of her ear. It was subtle. Plausible. But, it was contact.
“And yet,” he paused, letting out a restrained breath against her skin, “you’re preparing for it.”
His lips pressed gently against her ear.
Not a kiss, but not lingering. It was just enough to feel the weight of it. And, her breath caught sharply for a second time, but loud enough in the silence of the room. He didn’t pull away at the response. Instead, he remained so close that when he spoke again - his voice was felt more than heard.
Her thighs ever so slightly started to tremor.
“Y/N.. you’re trembling.” That low, almost growling undercurrent threading through his tone as he continued a whisper. “You can tell yourself this is something I’m doing. That I’m the one creating this response.”
His thumb traced a slow and barely perceptible line along the back of her shoulder, controlled and deliberate.
“But you walked in here, knowing that I would probably stand this close to you again.” The manipulation grew subtly, announcing an implied but quiet ownership.
“You wanted to see if you’d react again.” His lips brushed her ear once more as he exhaled. “And you have.”
He let a pause stretch again, his lips still just about touching her ear - his presence enclosing without fully restraining her.
“Now,” he remained in his place, but his voice smoothened back into something deceptively calm, “tell me what you’re feeling.”
Her throat felt tight, biting at the inside of her mouth while her chest continued to rise and fall. Henry’s gaze momentarily landed on the gap between the buttons of her blouse that pulled tight across her breasts, and then back on the edge of her twisted expression.
“I.. feel aware.” She hesitated, fingers twisting in her lap.
“Of?”
“You.” The word came out rougher than she intended, forcing her hands still. His breath warmed her ear again, but he didn’t speak.
“My chest feels tight.” She continued quietly. “My pulse isn’t.. steady.” A slight shift behind her, adjusting. Listening.
“And?” He prompted, pushing for more.
“It’s not fear,” Her voice was unsteady, matching her body’s reaction despite her effort to keep it neutral. There was silence, and he didn’t react outwardly - but she felt something change. A stillness that almost felt like satisfaction.
“Go on.” That soft voice announced its presence again. She kept her eyes fixed ahead, refusing to close them.
“It’s anticipation..” the word felt dangerous on her tongue, “I don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do.”
That was safe. That sounded resistant.
What she didn’t say is that she liked the fact of not knowing what he could do.
“You like the uncertainty.” He corrected, lips brushing again as he exhaled.
“I didn’t say that.” Her breath hitched.
“You didn’t have to.” That faintest scrape of his lower lip lingered once more before he finally straightened. It wasn’t too quick, but the sudden absence of him felt cold - and air rushed back into the space around her.
The loss of contact on her ear was immediate. Sharp. Y/N didn’t move at first, she told herself she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to let him see how desperate she was to have him back up against her. Her fingers twitched in her lap.
Slowly, almost involuntarily, she began to turn her head as if she could reclaim the sensation again without admitting she wanted it out loud.
She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the need on her face.
“Don’t you dare look at me.” His voice shot through the air, low and commanding. He didn’t raise his voice, it was just certain.
She froze, not out of humiliation, but something else. Something else that was tightening in her stomach.
There was a faint sound of a drawer sliding open, fabric shifting. She felt his presence edge closer again, unhurried. The sense of him behind her felt heavier now, more charged.
What is he planning to do?
“This, is when we really start to see results.”
She felt the air move around her as she realised he was lifting his hands to either side of her head. A strip of fabric brushed brushed her cheek before settling over her eyes. She naturally closed them, and everything was dark, immediate and complete.
He tied it against the back of her head, firmly but not too tight - his knuckles grazing the back of her neck in the process.
Her breathing deepened, and the uncertainty that lingered in the air had her trying to steady her trembling thighs.
“You’ll focus on what you feel.” He instructed. “And nothing else.”
Y/N was too full of running thoughts in her mind to speak, knowing that if she did, it would probably be a mess of words that didn’t make sense. So she simply nodded once.
Henry’s hands didn’t rush. They traced the air above her shoulders, but not touching. It was close enough that she felt the promise of it, the heat from his fingertips cutting through the fabric of her blouse.
She could hear the stretch of his suit ever so subtly leaning over her from behind, as finally, the tips of his fingers brushed lightly along her arm.
Her body reacted before her mind could analyze it. A subtle arch towards him she hoped he didn’t notice.
“Interesting. Heightened response.” He murmured softly as if he was collecting data.
His fingers lifted and ghosted again over to her chest, letting them dance gently over the curve of her it. Not grabbing, or claiming, just letting his hand glide over her. The pads of his fingers skimmed slowly from the right side to the left, mapping the shape of her through the fabric.
She felt his face right beside hers now - over her shoulder as he watched intently.
Her body betrayed her immediately. Her skin tightened, and she could feel herself pressing against the padding of her bra.
Is it noticeable? Can he see it? Can he see right through me?
The rise and fall of her breathing felt less steady, less controlled as her hips shifted in the seat. This was unbearable.
“Still.” He reminded her. But, his free hand followed by his arm crept over her left shoulder from the back now - fingers starting to slowly curl around her throat.
His right hand kept tracing the same movements again, slower this time - circling over her peaked nipple on the right side, deliberately testing.
Her back arched in the chair, almost imperceptibly as his left hand brushed up from her throat and caught her jaw between his fingers - tilting her face toward his without force. It was just enough to expose more of her.
Y/N couldn’t help but for her lips to part, a quiet whimper slipping out before she could restrain it. Heat pooled low in her stomach, spreading outward down her thighs in slow waves.
He moved his face even closer, mouth hovering above hers as his eyes gleamed in interest, looking down at her. Her pulse fluttered wildly in her throat, showing any sign of neediness she was hoping to conceal.
“Elevated pulse. Increased respiration.” Henry watched over her, whispering, it was like he was getting off on collecting facts and figures.
Then, his lips just pressed there.
Not rough, but intentional. A simple, claiming kiss that stayed long enough for her knees to soften. Once again, making a small sound against his lips that she hadn’t meant to.
And - he pulled back, withdrawing his hands from her jaw and chest, leaving her suspended in the absence of sensation. But, she felt her need for him claw up her spine, the urge to beg him not to stop.
“Interesting.” Carefully, and almost tenderly, he slid his fingers beneath the soft fabric - the material loosens, brushing against her eyelids. He lifts it slowly, not in a rush. Light spilt across her face as the blindfold was risen, her eyes adjusting to the sudden yellow glow of the lamp in the office.
Henry’s hands lifted the blindfold completely, his steps taking him back to the drawer he took it from before tucking it away again from wherever he kept it behind her.
Despite everything, he stepped back around her chair and took no time returning back to his seat with infuriating composure. As he sat, he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and clearing his throat as though they had just completed a standard clinical assessment.
Y/N tried regulating her breathing before bringing her face back up to meet his gaze. When she did, his expression was unaffected and neutral - observant and professional again.
“Thank you for your compliance.” He spoke up, as if she had just discussed an issue with him in HR at an office job, as if he didn’t just have his mouth pressed up against her. She folded her hands tightly to hide the trembling he pointed out just moments before.
“That concludes our session today.” He said, glancing at the clock on the far wall. They hadn’t even taken up their time yet, he was cutting her off. The abruptness of it made his patient furrow her eyebrows, blinking.
That’s it? Am I completely overreacting to what’s just happened? Did I just imagine that?
“I just-“ She hesitated and regathered her thoughts. “It felt unfinished.”
Did that sound too desperate?
He leaned back in his chair against the embedded cushion, studying her with the same unsettling calm.
“Well, you don’t like to leave things unresolved.” There was no smile, but a hint of intention. “You said so yourself. Unfinished things have a way of bringing people back here.”
Y/N averted her gaze, eyebrows knitting together, looking at the squat table between them - head jerking just a bit to the side in frustration with pursed lips. She stood, grounding herself in the structure of her skirt as she pressed her hands to run down the fabric, trying to regain the control she had walked in wearing.
When she got to the door, she hesitated, waiting for something. She wasn’t sure what she felt this time. Confused? And this time he didn’t move from his seat, nor did he even touch his notebook the whole session. Instead, he just simply watched.
“Same time next week.” He called out. It felt inevitable, he was taking control.
She opened the door, pulse still thready.
“Yes.” And she hated how easily the word came, shutting the door behind her and leaving her unanswered question behind trapped in Henry’s office.
————————————————————-
Thanks for reading chapter three! Lmk if the layout is making it harder to read, like if the paragraphs need to be spaced out more!
Please forgive any mistakes or weird sentences, I wrote this over two real exhausted nights and my brother ain’t here to help me proof read 👎🏻
a/n: jamie is coming to phoenix fan fusion in june and i so badly want to go 😫 also my bestie abandoned me and leaves me alone a lot (she lives far away and is a couple hours ahead of me) so if anyone plays DBD, add me, my name is HueyFreeman42 and im usually on late at night MST but also on during the day sometimes
. . .
Y/N woke up to the sound of furious scribbling.
Not soft scribbling, either. Nancy Wheeler scribbling. Sharp, aggressive pen strokes across paper, like she was personally offended by every sentence she’d written five minutes earlier.
The dorm room was still gray with early morning, the kind of winter light that made everything look colder than it was. Nancy sat at her desk in her robe, one leg tucked under her, hair half pinned back in a way that meant she’d been up for a while. Her newspaper draft was spread out in front of her in loose pages, red pen flying over the margins.
Without looking up, Nancy said, “Morning.”
Then she kept editing.
Y/N blinked into the quiet.
For a second, she just lay there under her blanket, staring at Nancy’s back.
That was it?
No smile. No weirdly formal birthday speech. No dramatic “rise and shine.” Just… morning.
Y/N’s eyebrows pulled together.
She turned her head slowly toward the wall calendar pinned beside Nancy’s desk, eyes narrowing as she searched the date even though she already knew it.
Today.
It was definitely today.
Her birthday.
Y/N pushed herself up, hair a mess, sleep still heavy in her limbs, and stretched her arms over her head. The room smelled like ink, coffee, and paper, basically Nancy in scent form.
Nancy kept scribbling.
Y/N watched her for another beat, then asked carefully, “Is there… something you want to say to me?”
Nancy glanced over at her at last.
Her eyes flicked to Y/N’s face, and she said, completely deadpan, “You have drool on your chin.”
Y/N stared.
Nancy capped the pen for a second, leaned back in her chair, and added, “Did you dream about Creel again? Is that why you’re drooling?”
Y/N’s mouth fell open. “Nancy.”
“What?” Nancy asked, looking unfairly innocent. “I’m just trying to understand the moisture situation.”
Y/N wiped at her chin automatically, then realized she was being played with and glared. “You’re annoying.”
Nancy gave a tiny shrug and picked her pen back up. “That’s not new.”
Y/N kept staring at her.
Nancy kept editing.
The silence stretched just long enough to start hurting.
A small, stupid ache pressed at Y/N’s chest before she could stop it. It wasn’t even about presents, not really. It was the idea that Nancy, Nancy of all people, might actually have forgotten.
“Seriously?” Y/N asked, quieter this time.
Nancy made a little hum, like she was rearranging a paragraph in her head and not at all tuned into the emotional crisis happening three feet away.
Y/N’s throat tightened.
She hated how quickly disappointment could make her feel twelve years old again.
“Wow,” she muttered, trying to sound sarcastic instead of wounded. “Okay.”
Nancy still didn’t look up.
Y/N swallowed hard and swung her legs out of bed. “Never mind.”
She stood, grabbing the edge of her blanket around herself like armor for half a second before letting it drop. Her face had already started doing that thing where it went still to protect itself.
It was fine.
It was just a birthday.
People forgot things.
People forgot her sometimes.
No big deal.
She moved toward the bathroom door, jaw tight, already trying to shrug it off before Nancy could see it landed.
Then—
“Y/N.”
Nancy’s voice stopped her before her hand hit the knob.
Y/N paused but didn’t turn around right away. “What?”
Nancy finally looked up fully.
Now there was that unmistakable Wheeler expression on her face, the one that mixed fondness with exasperation, like Y/N was being ridiculous but beloved while doing it.
“Happy birthday, idiot,” Nancy said.
Y/N turned.
Nancy’s mouth twitched. “You really thought I forgot?”
Y/N blinked, caught between relief and embarrassment and a lingering need to stay offended on principle. “You said good morning.”
“Yes,” Nancy said. “Because I wanted to watch you spiral for at least thirty seconds.”
Y/N’s jaw dropped. “You’re evil.”
Nancy grinned faintly. “Correct.”
Y/N pressed a hand to her chest. “I was hurt.”
“I know,” Nancy said, entirely too pleased with herself. Then her expression softened. “And I’d never forget your birthday.”
Something in Y/N’s shoulders loosened so fast it almost made her feel dizzy.
Nancy reached down beside her desk and pulled up a small wrapped package she had clearly hidden out of sight.
“And,” Nancy added, holding it out, “I got you something.”
Y/N stared at it. “You did?”
Nancy raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m holding an empty box for drama.”
Y/N laughed despite herself, the last bit of hurt melting out of her chest as she crossed the room. “Shut up.”
Nancy handed it to her with a look that tried very hard to be casual and failed. “Open it after you brush your teeth. You look like a Victorian child with consumption.”
Y/N clutched the gift to her chest, smiling now in a way she couldn’t hide. “You’re the worst.”
Nancy uncapped her pen again and looked back down at her paper. “And yet, I’m your favorite.”
Y/N stood there for another second, gift in hand, heart warmer than it had been a minute ago.
Then Nancy added, without looking up, “Also, if Creel doesn’t tell you happy birthday properly, I’m keying his car.”
Y/N snorted. “I don’t think he even has a car nice enough to key dramatically.”
Nancy’s mouth curved. “I’ll find a way.”
And just like that, the morning felt right again.
. . .
Y/N came back from the shower wrapped in steam and wearing fresh clothes, hair damp and smelling faintly like Nancy’s strawberry shampoo because she had run out of her own again and never remembered to replace it.
The dorm room was warmer now, brighter. Nancy had changed into real clothes, though her newspaper draft was still spread across her desk in a mess of crossed out lines and scribbled arrows. She looked up the second Y/N stepped back into the room, trying very hard to act like she was not watching for her reaction.
The wrapped gift was sitting on Y/N’s bed where she had left it, waiting.
Nancy tapped her pen against the desk once. “Well?”
Y/N smiled despite herself and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the mattress with the package in her lap. “You’re staring.”
“I’m not staring,” Nancy said immediately.
Y/N glanced up. Nancy was absolutely staring.
“You are.”
Nancy rolled her eyes, offended by accuracy. “Open it.”
Y/N laughed softly under her breath and peeled back the paper carefully because Nancy had wrapped it with way too much tape and the kind of neatness that meant she had actually tried. Underneath was a small box, and inside that—
Y/N’s face changed immediately.
It was a silver bracelet. Not flashy, not huge, just simple and pretty, with a small charm hanging from it, delicate enough to feel personal instead of expensive. The kind of thing Y/N could wear every day and think of home, or this room, or the one person in Boston who would absolutely shoot someone for her and then insist she was overreacting.
For a second, Y/N just stared at it in her hands.
Nancy shifted in her chair, suddenly awkward in a way she almost never let herself be. “It’s not insanely nice or anything,” she said too quickly. “I just thought it looked like something you’d actually wear, and you’re impossible to shop for because half your personality is either leather jackets or emotional collapse—”
Y/N looked up at her with eyes already warming.
Nancy stopped.
“Oh no,” Nancy said immediately, pointing her pen at her. “Do not cry.”
Y/N let out a short laugh that sounded dangerously close to one. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Nancy said, narrowing her eyes. “Your face is doing that thing.”
Y/N shook her head once and looked back down at the bracelet, thumb brushing over the charm. Her throat was tight in that unfair way it always got when someone did something small and sincere.
“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly.
Nancy leaned back in her chair, trying for nonchalance and not quite making it. “Good. Because if you hated it, I was going to have to pretend I bought it for someone else and then we would both be embarrassed.”
Y/N smiled, smaller now, softer. She stood, crossed the room, and before Nancy could brace herself, leaned down and wrapped her arms around her.
Nancy stiffened for a second because of course she did, because Nancy Wheeler was not built for effortless affection, but then her hand came up awkwardly to pat Y/N’s back once, then rest there.
Y/N held on tighter.
“I mean it,” she murmured. “I couldn’t be more grateful for you.”
Nancy’s face went a little pink. “You absolutely could be less dramatic.”
Y/N laughed quietly against her shoulder, but when she pulled back her eyes were shiny.
“No,” she said, voice steadier than her expression. “I really mean it. You’ve done a lot for me.”
Nancy looked at her for a moment, and some of the dry humor fell out of her face. What was left was Nancy at her truest, protective, a little uncomfortable with sincerity, but deeply sincere anyway.
“You don’t have to make it weird,” Nancy muttered.
“It’s already weird,” Y/N said.
Nancy sighed through her nose. “Fine. You’re welcome.” Then, after a beat, more quietly, “You’re my person here. I’m not going to let you have a horrible birthday.”
That one landed deep.
Y/N blinked hard and smiled again, shakier this time. “You’re really trying to make me cry.”
“I’m literally doing the opposite,” Nancy said, irritated now because tenderness made her itchy. She nudged Y/N back toward the bed with her foot. “Sit down. There’s more.”
Y/N turned, halfway back to the mattress. “More?”
Nancy’s expression shifted into something smug. “Yes. Because apparently other people care whether you live or die.”
Y/N frowned. “What does that mean?”
Nancy looked down at her desk for a second, then back up like she was trying to decide how to say it without sounding sentimental.
“Robin and Steve didn’t know what to get you,” she said.
Y/N blinked. “Robin and Steve?”
Nancy raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington. The same Robin and Steve I’ve been talking about since we got back from Hawkins.”
Y/N stared. “You told them it was my birthday?”
Nancy looked almost offended. “Obviously.”
Y/N’s mouth fell open slightly. “Nancy.”
“What?” Nancy asked. “You met them. They like you. They asked. I answered. That’s called conversation.”
Y/N just looked at her, stunned in a quieter, more bewildered way now.
Nancy pressed on because once she started, stopping was not her style. “Anyway, Jonathan, Robin, and Steve all pitched in.”
Nancy got up from her desk and reached into the bottom drawer, pulling out a second gift. This one was less polished. No bracelet box elegance, just a small folded paper bag tied shut.
Y/N looked at it, then at Nancy. “What is that?”
Nancy’s mouth twitched. “Open it.”
Y/N sat back down on the bed, now laughing a little because what else could this possibly be after a bracelet? She untied the bag and carefully looked inside.
Then she froze.
For a full second, she just stared.
Then she looked back up at Nancy, eyes wide. “No way.”
Nancy was trying very hard not to smile too much. “Yes way.”
Y/N opened the bag a little more and looked again, like the contents might somehow change on second inspection.
Inside was a neat little stash of flower buds, the scent immediate and unmistakable even through the paper.
Nancy crossed her arms. “According to Jonathan, it’s called Purple Palm Tree Delight.”
Y/N looked up, shocked and delighted all at once. “That is the most Jonathan thing I’ve ever heard.”
Nancy snorted. “Actually, it’s apparently from Jonathan’s buddy in California.” She said the last part with slight skepticism. “Jonathan contributed logistics. Robin and Steve contributed cash because, quote, ‘we can’t just show up with emotional support and no gift.’”
Y/N clutched the bag to her chest and burst out laughing, real laughter this time, full and bright and impossible to fake.
Nancy watched her with visible relief, like this had been the entire point.
“Oh my God,” Y/N said, still grinning. “They really did this?”
Nancy nodded. “Robin claimed she wanted to get you a sweater, but Steve said that was too normal. Steve wanted to get you a record, but Robin said he has terrible taste and she wasn’t letting him choose. Jonathan just kind of sat there and then went, ‘I know a guy.’”
Y/N laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth.
“That tracks,” she said.
Nancy nodded. “Exactly.”
Y/N looked down at the little bag again, then over at the bracelet, then back at Nancy.
There was something so absurdly thoughtful about all of it that it hit her all at once, not just the presents, but the fact that people she had only met recently had thought about her at all. That Nancy had told them. That they had cared enough to send something back through her.
Her voice came out softer this time. “That’s kind of really sweet.”
Nancy’s expression turned smug again because she hated when moments got too vulnerable for too long. “I know.”
Y/N shook her head, smiling down at the gifts in her lap. “I don’t deserve you people.”
Nancy scoffed immediately. “Relax. You’re not dying. It’s a birthday, not Make A Wish.”
Y/N laughed again because of course Nancy would ruin the softness on purpose.
Then she got up, crossed the room one more time, and hugged Nancy again anyway, harder this time.
Nancy made a muffled sound of protest. “You’re getting shampoo water on my shirt.”
“You’ll live,” Y/N murmured.
Nancy rolled her eyes, but this time when she hugged Y/N back, it wasn’t awkward.
It was firm. Protective. Real.
“Happy birthday,” Nancy said quietly against her shoulder.
And Y/N, holding the bracelet and the ridiculous little bag and the certainty that Nancy Wheeler would always show up exactly the way she needed, felt something settle warm in her chest.
“Best one in a while,” she admitted.
. . .
Henry noticed it by accident.
He was standing at his desk before first period, sleeves already rolled, lecture notes arranged in the precise order he wanted them, when he reached for the updated class roster the department had dropped in his mailbox the day before. It was nothing special, just administrative clutter, the kind of paper he usually scanned once and filed away without thought.
His eyes moved down the list automatically.
Names. Student numbers. Notes.
Then he stopped.
Y/N.
And beside her name, in the small typed row of personal details the college insisted on tracking for records—
Birthday: today.
Henry went completely still.
For a second, the noise of the building faded into the background: distant footsteps in the hall, the clatter of a janitor’s cart, the hum of the radiator near the window. All of it blurred behind that one small fact.
Today.
He looked at it again, as if it might somehow change if he blinked hard enough.
It didn’t.
A strange tightness settled in his chest, not panic, not exactly. Something more urgent. More personal. The immediate, almost irrational need to do something right.
He set the roster down carefully.
Then reached for it again.
Just to make sure.
Still there.
Henry exhaled slowly through his nose and leaned back in his chair, one hand resting against the edge of the desk. He should have been grading. He had a stack of papers waiting for him, a lecture to finish adjusting, a room that would be full of students in less than an hour.
Instead, his attention kept circling back to the same thoughts.
What does she have planned? Does she have plans? Did someone remember? Did Nancy remember? Would Y/N pretend not to care if no one did?
He hated that he knew the answer to that last one.
Henry glanced at the stack of papers beside him, then pushed them aside.
Not dramatically. Just out of the way.
He reached for the folded newspaper he had picked up earlier from the front steps of the building, still half tucked beneath a book on his desk. He opened it with the same seriousness he usually reserved for grading, scanning local listings, events, anything that might feel worth taking her to.
Something thoughtful. Not too public. Not too obvious. Something that would not feel childish or lazy.
His eyes skimmed over museum listings, a chamber concert, a guest lecture that sounded intolerable, a restaurant opening that was too crowded and too visible.
Then he saw it.
Down near the entertainment section, tucked in among movie times and local event notices:
Drive in showing of The Outsiders. 7:00 PM.
Henry stared at the line.
Then read it again.
Of course.
Of all nights.
A slow smile threatened at the corner of his mouth before he forced it down. She had told him it was her favorite, not in a casual, passing way, but in that bright, earnest way she had when she loved something enough to defend it.
And a drive in.
Private enough. Quiet enough. Public without being exposed. The kind of place where he could take her somewhere real and still keep the world at arm’s length.
It felt almost suspiciously perfect.
Henry folded the paper back a little, then reopened it to the listing, confirming the time.
Seven o’clock.
He could make that work.
He rested his hand over the newspaper for a moment, thinking, not like a professor now, not like a man building arguments, but like someone trying to offer care in a form he was not used to giving.
She would probably act surprised.
She would definitely tease him.
She might also see through him immediately and realize he had looked for something just for her.
The thought should have made him retreat.
Instead, it made the decision settle deeper.
He would take her.
Not because it was convenient.
Because it mattered.
Henry picked up a pen and wrote the time down in the margin of his notes almost absentmindedly, then stopped and looked at what he had done.
It struck him, suddenly, how easily she had rearranged him.
A few months ago, he would have dismissed birthdays as sentimental distractions, drive ins as adolescent nonsense, and the idea of building an evening around a girl’s favorite book adaptation as indulgent.
Now he was planning his day around the look on her face when she found out.
He leaned back again, the newspaper open on his desk, and let himself acknowledge the truth he had been circling for weeks now without quite wanting to say aloud.
He was far past inconvenience.
Far past attraction.
He wanted to make her happy.
And that simple fact, more than the roster, more than the listing, more than the time printed in black ink, felt like the clearest evidence yet of how completely she had changed his life.
A knock at the classroom door pulled him back.
Students would be arriving soon.
Henry folded the paper once, neatly, and tucked it into his briefcase.
Then he gathered the roster, his notes, and the stack of papers he no longer had any real interest in grading, not yet.
Because now the day had a shape.
And at seven o’clock, if all went as planned, he was going to take Y/N somewhere that belonged to her.
. . .
The bell rang, and the classroom broke into its usual end of period chaos, chairs scraping, papers shuffling, students already halfway into conversations about lunch, homework, or absolutely anything except literary devices.
Y/N slid her notebook into her bag while Nancy did the same beside her, both of them moving in that practiced rhythm they had fallen into as the last two people who always seemed to leave together now.
Henry was at the front gathering quizzes into neat stacks, but Y/N could feel his attention before he spoke.
“Y/N,” he said, calm and even. “Stay a moment.”
Nancy stopped immediately.
Of course she did.
Her hand stayed on the strap of her bag as she turned slowly toward him, eyes narrowing with that familiar Wheeler suspicion that made it clear she was already prepared to object on principle.
Y/N glanced at her. “It’s fine.”
Nancy did not look convinced.
She looked at Henry, then at Y/N, then back at Henry, like she was mentally measuring the distance between his neck and her “hypothetical” gun collection.
Henry, to his credit, simply waited.
Nancy sighed through her nose, annoyed by the entire concept of restraint. “I’ll be outside.”
She pointed two fingers at her own eyes and then vaguely at Henry, an unspoken I’m watching you that would have been funny if she did not absolutely mean it.
Then she left.
The door shut behind her, and the room quieted.
Henry watched it for a second, then looked back at Y/N. “Nancy doesn’t trust me.”
Y/N lifted a shoulder, not unkindly. “Well…”
Henry’s brows rose slightly. “Well?”
Y/N stepped closer to the front of the room, bag still over her shoulder. “Her distrust is a little well deserved.”
Henry held her gaze. “Do you think so?”
The question landed more seriously than she expected.
Y/N’s expression softened just a little, though her tone stayed honest. “I think you gave her a reason.”
Henry’s jaw tightened, not defensive, just acknowledging.
Y/N tilted her head. “And I think Nancy takes protective as a full time job.”
That almost got a smile out of him. Almost.
Instead, Henry set the papers down and shifted the conversation before it could settle too deeply into the bruise.
“Do you have plans tonight?” he asked.
Y/N blinked. The sudden change in direction was deliberate enough that she noticed it immediately.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
She adjusted the strap of her bag. “I was planning on hanging out with Nancy after school.”
Henry’s expression stayed composed, but his eyes sharpened slightly, as if mentally rearranging whatever he had already decided.
Then Y/N asked, “What time were you thinking?”
“Seven.”
The answer came too quickly to be casual.
Y/N noticed.
A smile started at the corner of her mouth before she could stop it. “Seven,” she repeated slowly.
Henry nodded once. “If that works.”
Y/N’s smile grew. “It works.”
Henry’s shoulders eased, barely.
That tiny shift was enough to make her curious in the way she always was when he was hiding something badly.
So she stepped closer.
One step. Then another.
Henry’s gaze tracked her automatically.
Y/N stopped just in front of his desk, close enough that her voice did not need to rise.
“And what,” she asked, tone light and teasing, “is the occasion?”
Henry’s expression stayed maddeningly neutral.
“What makes you think there’s an occasion?”
Y/N’s smile turned knowing. “Because you asked in advance. And because you said seven like you had already planned it. And because you look guilty.” She leaned in slightly. “Mostly because you look guilty.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. “I do not.”
“You do,” Y/N said.
He crossed his arms, trying for composure. “Perhaps I simply want your company.”
Y/N’s brows lifted. “Perhaps.”
She moved a little closer still, enough that the front edge of the desk was almost the only thing between them now.
Henry noticed. He always noticed.
Y/N lowered her voice. “That’s not all, though.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. “No?”
“No,” she said softly, smiling. “You’re hiding something.”
Henry exhaled once through his nose, a sound halfway between patience and surrender. “You are remarkably difficult to surprise.”
Y/N’s eyes lit up. “So there is something.”
Henry immediately regretted the sentence. She could see it.
He looked away for a moment, toward the window in the classroom door, toward the empty hallway, then back at her.
“If I tell you,” he said, low and controlled, “it defeats the purpose.”
Y/N’s grin widened into something brighter. “Henry.”
He did not answer.
She leaned one hip lightly against the desk, bag slipping down her shoulder. “Is it a date?”
Henry’s jaw flexed.
Y/N watched him for a beat, then laughed softly under her breath because that was answer enough.
“Oh my God,” she murmured. “It is.”
Henry’s voice dropped. “You’re making too much of this.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Y/N’s smile stayed warm and impossible. “Then why do you look nervous?”
That hit.
His expression changed, not much, just enough for her to see the truth under it. He was nervous. Not because he did not want this. Because he did.
And because wanting something enough to plan it for her made him vulnerable in a way he was not used to being.
Y/N’s teasing softened.
She stepped around the desk this time, closing the space fully, and Henry did not move away. He stood there and let her come close, his eyes steady on hers.
“I’ll be there at seven,” she said quietly.
Henry nodded once. “Good.”
Y/N’s mouth curved again, gentler now. “You still didn’t tell me the occasion.”
Henry looked at her for a long second, then said, with careful simplicity, “I wanted to take you somewhere.”
Y/N felt her chest warm.
Not because the sentence was grand. Because it was not. Because it sounded like him, restrained and precise and somehow more meaningful for the restraint.
She smiled up at him, unable to help it. “Okay.”
For a second neither of them moved.
Then Y/N tilted her head, mischief returning just enough to save herself from getting too soft in the middle of a classroom.
“If this is bad,” she whispered, “I’m telling Nancy.”
Henry’s mouth twitched despite himself. “Threatening me with Nancy Wheeler should not be effective.”
“But it is,” Y/N said.
He gave the smallest nod. “Yes.”
That made her laugh.
She finally stepped back, turning toward the door, but not before glancing over her shoulder at him one more time.
“Seven,” she said again.
Henry’s gaze followed her, dark and steady. “Seven.”
And when Y/N left the classroom, Nancy waiting outside with her arms crossed and impatience written all over her face, she already knew two things for certain:
Henry had planned something.
And whatever it was, it mattered enough to make him nervous.
. . .
By five o’clock, the dorm room had settled into that early evening glow where everything looked a little softer.
Y/N was sprawled across her bed, half upside down, her hair hanging over the edge and brushing the side of the mattress. One leg kicked idly in the air while she held up two options in front of her like they were life altering decisions.
In one hand: comfort. Normal underwear. Safe. Practical.
In the other: a g-string that was absolutely not practical and existed for one purpose only.
Nancy sat at her desk, shoes kicked off, newspaper pages pushed aside for once, still riding the irritation she had been carrying ever since fourth period.
“I still can’t believe him,” Nancy was saying, arms crossed as she watched Y/N rotate the options in the air. “The audacity. The absolute nerve. Making plans like that after everything.”
Y/N stared at the ceiling dramatically. “Yeah,” she said dryly. “Men have such nerve to exist.”
Nancy, still too annoyed to properly detect sarcasm, nodded at once. “Exactly.”
Y/N turned her head upside down to look at her, snorting. “Oh my God.”
Nancy frowned. “What?”
“You agreed way too fast.”
Nancy lifted a shoulder. “I’m on principle right now. Don’t distract me.”
Y/N laughed and let her arm fall back against the blanket, both underwear options landing on her stomach. “You’re so intense.”
Nancy pointed a pen at her like a weapon. “And you are going on a date with a man who has already demonstrated poor judgment.”
Y/N groaned and dragged a pillow over part of her face. “Please don’t say it like that.”
Nancy ignored her. “He had one job, Y/N. One job. Don’t emotionally destroy my best friend. And yet.”
Y/N grinned and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed at last. She picked up the underwear options again and held them out at arm’s length, comparing them with exaggerated seriousness.
“Okay,” she said. “Comfort or sexy?”
Nancy looked over. “That one,” she said immediately, pointing at the normal pair.
Y/N gasped. “Wow. No fun.”
Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “You asked.”
“I asked for guidance,” Y/N said. “Not Puritanism.”
Nancy leaned back in her chair, wholly unimpressed. “You’re already going to see him. The least you could do is not dress like you’re actively trying to make bad decisions easier.”
Y/N looked at the g string, then back at Nancy. “Counterpoint: maybe I am.”
Nancy stared at her for a long moment, then groaned and rubbed her forehead. “I can’t do this with you.”
Y/N flopped back dramatically again, laughing under her breath.
Nancy pointed her pen at her once more. “Also—” She stopped, inhaled, then continued with intense seriousness. “I hope Creel wears a condom if it gets that far.”
Y/N froze.
The room went dead quiet for one beat.
Then Y/N slowly lowered the underwear from above her face and stared at Nancy upside down.
Nancy’s eyes widened immediately. “You are on birth control, right? Or have some sort of safety net, right?”
Y/N blinked.
Nancy sat up straighter, panic gathering speed. “Y/N.”
Y/N kept staring at her for one more second, then her mouth twitched.
Nancy looked genuinely distressed now. “Oh my God. Please tell me you’re on birth control.”
Y/N sat up laughing. “Nancy.”
“No, I’m serious,” Nancy said, all sharp concern now. “Please don’t make that face at me right now.”
Y/N shook her head, still smiling. “Relax.”
Nancy did not relax.
Y/N held up a hand. “I’m on birth control.”
Nancy’s shoulders dropped in visible relief. “Jesus Christ.”
Y/N grinned. “I’m not stupid.”
Nancy narrowed her eyes. “That is still under review.”
Y/N threw a sock at her. Nancy dodged it.
“I like sex,” Y/N said too casually, sorting through clothes now. “And especially when it comes to hot blonde professors with a huge co—”
“Nobody asked for the rest of that sentence,” Nancy cut in immediately, horrified.
Y/N burst out laughing. “You interrupted me!”
“On purpose,” Nancy said, pointing hard at her. “I interrupted you on purpose.”
Y/N pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “Censorship.”
Nancy looked like she wanted to leave her own room. “I’m protecting my peace and sanity.”
“You brought up condoms,” Y/N reminded her.
“Because I care whether you ruin your life,” Nancy shot back.
Y/N’s expression softened just a little beneath the teasing. She sat on the edge of the bed, one underwear option in each hand, and gave Nancy a fond look.
“You’re cute when you panic.”
Nancy looked offended. “Don’t call me cute in the middle of a reproductive health intervention.”
Y/N laughed again, then finally dropped the normal underwear into her lap and held up the g string with a raised brow.
Nancy made a face. “You are impossible.”
Y/N smiled. “And yet lovable.”
Nancy muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like agreement.
For a second the room was quiet except for the little sounds of getting ready, fabric shifting, drawers opening, Nancy recapping her pen for the tenth time because she clearly was not working anymore.
Then Nancy looked over again, softer this time.
“You okay?” she asked.
Y/N glanced up, surprised by the sincerity buried under the annoyance.
She thought about Henry making plans. About seven o’clock. About the fact that he had looked nervous. About the fact that she was still mad, still bruised, still wanting him anyway.
And then she smiled, small but real.
“Yeah,” she said. “I think so.”
Nancy studied her face for a moment, then nodded once. “Good.”
Y/N looked down at the g string again, considered it, then tossed it aside and picked up the comfortable pair.
Nancy blinked. “Wait. Really?”
Y/N shrugged. “I can be sexy in spirit.”
Nancy’s mouth twitched. “Thank God.”
Y/N looked at her and grinned. “Don’t get too comfortable. The bra decision is next.”
Nancy groaned immediately and stood up. “I’m going to pretend I have somewhere else to be.”
Y/N laughed so hard she nearly fell backward onto the bed again.
. . .
By the time Henry picked her up, the sky had gone that deep blue that only happened in the hour between evening and night, when the city lights started to matter.
Y/N had dressed like she cared, even if she planned to act like she didn’t.
The soft off shoulder knit sweater slipped just enough at one side to show her collarbone, the high waisted mini skirt making her legs look longer in the cold, black ankle boots clicking lightly on the pavement when she walked toward his car. Her hair was down, her mouth glossed, and she carried herself with that practiced ease that said I just happened to look like this, even though Henry knew better.
He got out to open the passenger door for her.
Of course he did.
Y/N smiled as she slid into the seat. “Such manners.”
Henry shut the door gently, then rounded the car without taking the bait.
But when he got in, his eyes flicked over her once, quick, quiet, impossible to miss.
“You’re staring,” Y/N said.
“I’m driving,” Henry replied.
Y/N grinned and settled back in the seat, pleased with herself.
The drive was calmer than she expected. There was music low on the radio, but not enough to interrupt the quiet between them. Henry drove with both hands on the wheel at first, posture neat, jaw relaxed in that way it only ever was when they were off campus and alone.
Y/N watched the passing lights, then glanced over at him. “You look suspiciously composed.”
Henry didn’t look away from the road. “Should I be less composed?”
“Yes,” she said immediately. “For my ego.”
That got the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The city thinned, then changed. Roads widened. The dark opened up around them. And when Henry finally turned into the entrance, the old sign glowing ahead of them, Y/N sat up in her seat.
No way.
The drive in stretched out in front of them, rows of parked cars, the big screen lit against the night, the snack stand glowing warm in the distance. It felt a little unreal, like stepping into somebody else’s memory.
Henry parked, killed the engine, and turned to look at her.
Y/N was already staring at the screen.
Then she saw the title.
Her whole face lit up.
“You’re kidding,” she breathed, then looked at him so fast her earrings moved. “No. No way.”
Henry said nothing, which was answer enough.
Y/N looked back at the screen again, reading it one more time just because she could.
The Outsiders.
A laugh escaped her, bright, delighted, completely unguarded. She turned back to him with so much obvious happiness that Henry’s whole expression softened without his permission.
“You brought me here to see The Outsiders?” she asked.
Henry lifted one shoulder, pretending this was all very reasonable. “You said it was your favorite.”
Y/N stared at him like she didn’t know whether to laugh or kiss him first.
She chose both, sort of.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek, quick and warm and full of affection that surprised even her a little. Henry went still for half a second, then turned his face slightly toward her like he wanted more and was irritated she had stopped there.
Y/N smiled, eyes sparkling now. “What are we doing here, Professor?”
Henry’s gaze stayed on her face. “Watching a film.”
She narrowed her eyes, playful. “Mm. A special occasion perhaps.”
Henry knew that tone. It meant she was about to make him say something he had been trying to keep controlled.
He looked out at the screen, then back at her. “It’s your birthday.”
Y/N’s chest tightened.
Not from sadness this time. From the simple fact that he had remembered. That he had not only remembered, but planned something around her. Around what she loved.
Her smile turned softer, warmer, and a little dangerous. “So this is a birthday date.”
Henry’s jaw flexed. “If you insist on calling it that.”
“I absolutely insist.”
He exhaled through his nose.
Y/N leaned back into her seat, still grinning. “This is a very good surprise.”
“I’m aware,” Henry said dryly.
She laughed again and looked around, taking everything in, the glow of headlights, the chill in the air, the soft static of the speaker, the screen waiting for the movie to start. It felt intimate in a way that made her stomach flip. Public, but private. A place where she could be with him without walls closing in.
She turned to him again, eyes bright. “I’m so happy right now.”
Henry looked at her for a long second. “Good.”
The way he said it made her pulse jump.
Y/N shifted in her seat, then admitted with a little sigh, “I’m trying very hard not to make out with you right now.”
Henry’s brows lifted slightly. “Trying?”
“Yes,” she said, completely serious. “Because I really want to watch the movie.”
That finally got a real reaction out of him, a brief, low laugh, more breath than sound, but unmistakable.
Y/N pointed at him immediately. “There. That. Do that more.”
Henry’s mouth settled again, but the softness stayed in his eyes. “You’re impossible.”
Y/N leaned toward him, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. “No, I’m committed to the experience.” She gestured toward the screen. “This is important to me.”
Henry’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted back to her eyes. “I know.”
She swallowed.
Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she leaned in and kissed him once anyway, just once, brief and teasing, enough to leave the promise of more.
When she pulled back, she smiled against his mouth. “That’s all you get until Ponyboy shows up.”
Henry looked at her like he was both deeply inconvenienced and completely gone for her.
“Cruel,” he murmured.
Y/N settled back into her seat, smug and glowing and happy in a way she had not been in too long. “Quiet. The movie’s starting.”
And beside her, Henry watched the screen light up while still thinking, more than he should have, about the taste of her mouth and the sound of her laughter in the dark.
The movie started, and Y/N was gone to it almost immediately.
Not physically. She was still right there beside him in the passenger seat, tucked into her sweater, knees angled slightly toward the dashboard. But her attention locked onto the screen with the kind of sincerity Henry had learned to recognize. When she loved something, she didn’t consume it halfway. She gave herself to it fully.
He was supposed to be watching too.
And he was. Technically.
The opening scenes flickered across the windshield, pale light washing over the inside of the car. Dialogue crackled softly through the speaker. The world of the film, the words of Ponyboy Curtis writing his essay, unfolded in front of them, but Henry kept finding his gaze dragged sideways.
To her.
Y/N watched with her whole face. That was the first thing he noticed. Nothing in her was careless when she cared. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen, even during the long opening credits, wide and intent, the changing light catching in them. Her mouth shifted with every scene, tightening at tension, softening at quieter lines, curving faintly when something landed the way she wanted it to.
At one point in the movie, came the part of Dallas, Ponyboy and Johnny sneaking into their own drive-in, she whispered, almost under her breath, “I love this part,” and Henry felt the words more than he heard them.
He leaned back in the seat, one arm resting near hers, trying to make himself focus on the movie the way she was.
He failed.
Soon, the tense scene of Johnny killing Bob to save Ponyboy, the kind that made the whole drive in seem to still. Y/N’s body reacted before she seemed aware of it. She reached out and gripped his forearm hard, fingers tightening around his sleeve.
Henry looked down.
She didn’t notice she had done it. Her eyes were still on the screen, jaw set, breath caught just slightly.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t tease her. Didn’t say a word.
He just let her hold on, and something about that simple trust, her instinct to reach for him, her expectation that he would still be there, settled warm and heavy in his chest.
The light from the screen shifted over her face again, blue, then gold, then pale white. It caught the curve of her cheek, the line of her nose, the shine of her mouth. Her hair framed her face softly, and every few minutes she tucked it behind one ear without looking away from the film.
She was beautiful in a way that kept undoing him.
Not staged. Not polished.
Just completely, devastatingly alive.
When something made her laugh, a quick, surprised little laugh she tried to keep quiet out of instinct, Henry felt himself smiling without meaning to. Not because of the line in the movie. Because of her. Because she was here, in his car, on her birthday, watching her favorite story like it still meant something bright and unbroken.
Another tense moment came. Y/N’s hand found his arm again, then slid lower until her fingers hooked around his wrist. This time she seemed to realize it after a second, because she glanced at him, just a quick look, almost apologetic.
Henry turned his hand over and laced his fingers through hers.
Her expression changed immediately. The apology disappeared. What replaced it was softer, quieter. She squeezed his hand once and turned back to the screen.
That one small movement nearly finished him.
Because it was so easy.
So natural.
As if this was what they should have been doing the whole time, sitting in the dark, sharing a story, her hand in his, no classroom, no fear, no walls forcing him back into someone colder than he wanted to be.
He tried again to focus on the movie. He caught pieces, lines, scenes, the emotional turns he knew she would want to talk about after.
But mostly he watched her watching it.
The way she leaned forward slightly during scenes she loved. The way she went still in the sadder moments, her expression open in a way she never let most people see. The way she mouthed one of the lines just before it was said, smiling to herself like she could not help it.
At one point she caught him looking.
Not fully, just out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head a little, brows lifting, and in the dim light she whispered, “Are you even watching?”
Henry should have lied.
Instead he looked at her for one beat too long and said, just as quietly, “Not as much as I’m watching you.”
Y/N stared at him, clearly trying not to smile.
Then she did anyway, small and warm and impossible.
“Behave,” she whispered, even though there was no real heat in it.
Henry’s thumb brushed once over the back of her hand. “I am.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed, and she settled closer into the seat, still holding his hand.
After that, the movie kept going, but it felt almost secondary to the quiet pulse of her beside him. To the weight of her shoulder when it occasionally brushed his. To the way her fingers tightened at the hard parts and loosened when she relaxed.
And Henry, sitting there in the half dark with the story playing in front of them and Y/N lit silver blue beside him, had the disorienting sense that he was memorizing something he would want for the rest of his life.
Not just her face.
Not just her reactions.
This.
The sound of the speaker. The faint smell of cold air and movie theater popcorn. The pressure of her hand in his. The fact that she was safe enough to forget herself and reach for him when something hurt.
By the time the final scenes rolled in, Henry knew he had missed more of the film than he meant to.
He did not regret it.
Because he had seen something better.
He had seen Y/N happy. Engrossed. Soft and sharp and emotional and beautiful, all at once.
And when the screen light dimmed for a moment and the drive in settled into that brief hush before the credits, he looked at her again and thought, with a certainty that felt almost frightening in its calm:
He could spend the rest of his life sitting beside her in the dark, watching her care about things, and never once be bored.
The credits rolled slowly across the screen, white letters glowing against the dark while the speaker crackled softly with the last of the music. Around them, engines turned over one by one. Headlights blinked on across the lot. Doors opened. The spell of the movie began to loosen as people started gathering wrappers and talking again.
Y/N didn’t move right away.
She sat there with the emptying popcorn between them, her eyes still on the screen even though the story was over. Her fingers were curled loosely in Henry’s hand, warm from holding on through half the movie.
Henry looked at her before he looked at the road ahead.
“Well?” he asked quietly. “Was it worth the suspense?”
Y/N turned to him, eyes still bright from the film and the whole night around it. “Yes,” she said immediately. “And you were right to bring me.”
Henry’s mouth twitched. “I know.”
She smiled and leaned back in the seat, the soft off shoulder sweater slipping a little more at one side. “You missed parts of it, though.”
Henry gave her a sideways look. “Did I?”
“You were staring at me,” she said.
He didn’t deny it.
That alone made her chest warm.
Outside, another car pulled out, tires crunching lightly over gravel. Henry glanced toward the exit, then back at her, his expression quieter now. The night had softened him. Or maybe she had.
“Would you like me to take you back to your dorm?” he asked.
The question was careful. Not detached exactly, but respectful in a way that made it clear the choice was hers.
Y/N looked at him for a moment.
Then she asked, just as carefully, “Could I go back to your place instead, if that’s okay?”
Something in Henry’s face changed at once, not dramatic, just a shift around the eyes, a loosening of something he had held tight.
“You don’t have to ask,” he said.
Y/N’s expression softened. “Still. I wanted to.”
Henry held her gaze for one long second, then gave a small nod and started the car.
He pulled out of the lot slowly, the screen shrinking behind them in the rearview mirror, the city lights waiting somewhere ahead. Y/N settled deeper into the passenger seat, taking the bucket of leftover popcorn into her lap like it belonged there.
She ate from it absentmindedly at first, still a little wrapped up in the movie, in the date, in the fact that this had all been for her.
Henry drove with one hand on the wheel.
The other found her thigh almost automatically.
Not demanding. Not urgent.
Just there.
His palm rested warm and steady against her, thumb moving once in a slow stroke that made her glance over. Henry kept his eyes on the road, but she could see the faint line of contentment in his profile, quiet, controlled, real.
Y/N smiled to herself and stole another handful of popcorn.
The city passed around them in soft streaks of light. The heater hummed. Somewhere low on the radio a song played that neither of them paid much attention to.
It felt easy.
That was the dangerous part.
Not the secrecy. Not the wanting. Not even the way her body still hummed when he touched her.
The dangerous part was how natural it had become to sit beside him like this, eating popcorn in his car, his hand on her thigh like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Y/N chewed for a second, then held out a piece of popcorn toward him. “Open.”
Henry glanced at her hand, then at the road. “I’m driving.”
“So?”
His hand on her thigh tightened just slightly, amused. “You’re impossible.”
Y/N held the popcorn there patiently. “And yet, it’s my birthday.”
Henry let out a breath that might have been a laugh and leaned just enough to let her throw it in his mouth without taking his eyes off the road.
Y/N looked deeply pleased with herself.
“Good?” she asked.
“It’s popcorn.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Henry finally glanced over at her, brief and warm. “Yes.”
She smiled and went back to eating, leaning her head against the window for a moment as the car moved through the night.
After a beat, she said quietly, “Thank you.”
Henry’s hand stilled on her thigh for half a second before his thumb moved again.
“For the movie?”
“For all of it,” Y/N said. “For remembering. For planning something. For…” She trailed off, looking down at the popcorn tub. “For making today feel good.”
Henry was quiet for a moment.
Then, with his eyes still on the road, he said, “You make it easy to want to.”
Y/N turned her head to look at him fully.
He didn’t seem to realize how much the sentence cost her, how it settled somewhere deep and stayed there.
She smiled, smaller now, softer. “That was smooth.”
Henry’s mouth tightened. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
“That’s why it worked.”
He shook his head once, but the corner of his mouth gave him away.
By the time they reached his building, the popcorn was mostly gone. Henry parked, turned off the engine, and looked over at her like he still couldn’t quite believe she was there and asking to come home with him.
Y/N caught that look and held it.
Then she smiled, took the last piece of popcorn from the bucket, and popped it into her mouth before opening the car door.
Henry watched her with that same quiet, impossible softness.
And when they went upstairs together, the rest of the city felt very far away.
Henry unlocked the apartment door and pushed it open, stepping aside so she could go in first.
Y/N slipped past him, the warmth of the apartment meeting her immediately after the chill outside. The familiar scent of paper, coffee, and his soap wrapped around her in a way that already felt too easy to miss whenever she wasn’t there.
Henry shut the door behind them and set his keys down in the little dish by the entryway. Y/N turned toward him, still carrying that soft, bright energy from the drive in, and said with complete seriousness:
“Can we open some wine tonight?”
Henry looked at her once, expression flat. “No.”
Y/N blinked. “No?”
“You’re not of drinking age,” he said, moving past her toward the kitchen like this was already decided. “I’m not going to encourage bad habits.”
Y/N followed him, eyebrows rising. “Bad habits.”
“Yes.”
She folded her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. “If a student isn’t allowed to have a relationship with a staff member, then isn’t what we have technically a bad habit?”
Henry paused, one hand resting on the back of a chair. He turned his head just enough to look at her.
“That,” he said evenly, “is not the same thing.”
Y/N smiled. “That was not a denial.”
Henry ignored that. “It’s also not an argument that gets you wine.”
She groaned dramatically and pushed herself off the counter to trail after him. “I’m one year away.”
Henry glanced at her. “Still not old enough.”
“It’s still my birthday,” Y/N pressed. “And this could be one time.”
Henry moved toward the cabinet, clearly pretending to look for something else, and Y/N knew he was listening because his shoulders had gone just a little too still.
She stepped closer, looked up at him, and gave him her best wide eyed, shamelessly manipulative expression.
“Please.”
Henry exhaled through his nose, slow and irritated in a way that meant she had already won more than half the battle.
He hated that look.
What he hated even more was that some part of him was encouraged by it, by the fact that she wanted things from him so openly, by the way she asked like she already knew he would bend.
He did not say yes.
He did not admit defeat.
He simply went to the cabinet where he kept the wine glasses, took two down, then reached for the bottle tucked near the back.
Y/N watched this happen and broke into a grin so bright it should have been illegal.
“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re doing it.”
Henry uncorked the bottle with deliberate calm. “One glass.”
Y/N’s grin widened. “You do love me.”
Henry’s hand stilled for the briefest second over the bottle.
He glanced at her.
It was not a dramatic look. Just a quiet one. Steady. Full of something he did not say out loud.
Y/N, busy looking triumphant, did not catch the weight of it.
But it was there.
Henry poured the wine and handed her a glass. She took it with both hands, then leaned back against the counter and took a small sip.
Her face changed instantly, slightly surprised, then pleased.
“This is good.”
Henry took a drink of his own. “It’s wine. It’s not supposed to taste like candy.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You ruin everything.”
Henry’s mouth twitched.
They stood there for a minute in the quiet of the kitchen, sharing the bottle between them slowly, the room warm, the night outside feeling very far away. Y/N’s cheeks softened with the light flush of wine and birthday happiness. Henry looked calmer than he had all week, one hand around the stem of his glass, the other resting lightly against the counter near hers.
Then, after a beat, he set his glass down.
“I have something for you,” he said.
Y/N blinked. “Another thing?”
Henry did not answer. He crossed into the living room, opened the drawer of his desk, and pulled out a slim rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. Simple. Neat. Very him.
He came back and handed it to her.
Y/N took it more carefully than she had taken the wine. “Henry.”
“Open it.”
She unwrapped it slowly.
Inside was a vintage hardcover edition of The Outsiders.
Not a cheap paperback. Not a classroom copy. A beautiful older edition with a dark worn cover, deckled pages, and the kind of spine that suggested it had been loved before it ever reached her hands.
Y/N stared.
Then she opened the front cover and saw, on the first blank page, his handwriting:
For your birthday.
For the girl who reads with her whole heart.
—H
Her throat tightened immediately.
She looked up at him, eyes warm and wide in a way that made something in Henry’s chest go still.
“You got me this?”
Henry nodded once. “You said it was your favorite.”
“Obviously,” she giggled. She ran her fingers over the page again, then over the cover, as if the book might disappear if she moved too fast. “It’s perfect.”
Henry’s expression stayed controlled, but his gaze softened. “Good.”
She stepped closer without really thinking and hugged the book to her chest for a second before looking up at him again, smiling in that unguarded way that always hit him harder than she knew.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Henry’s eyes stayed on hers. “You’re welcome.”
Y/N stood there for a moment longer than she meant to, holding the book, holding his gaze, feeling something deep inside her settle and rise all at once. The wine, the drive in, the way he had remembered, the way he had chosen things she loved and offered them back to her carefully, it all pressed against her ribs until it felt impossible to keep pretending this was only attraction.
She was falling.
Fast.
Hard.
And she knew it.
Henry watched her face shift, watched the smile soften into something quieter and deeper.
After a beat, he asked, voice low, “What are you thinking?”
Y/N’s mouth parted.
For one second, she almost said the wrong thing. Or maybe the right one.
Instead, she looked at him, really looked at him, at the rolled sleeves, the loosened collar, the way he was trying to stay composed while standing this close to her on a night he had planned piece by piece.
Then she said, honestly and without any softness to hide behind:
“I want to sleep with you so bad right now.”
The air changed.
Henry went still.
Not shocked. Not exactly.
Just visibly affected in a way he usually hid better.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower to the hand still holding the book against her chest, then back up to her eyes. His jaw tightened once, hard enough that she saw it.
“Y/N,” he said, and her name in his mouth sounded rougher than before.
She took a small step closer. “What?”
Henry’s hand lifted, stopping just short of touching her face, as if even now he was checking for permission in the only way that mattered.
“You say things,” he murmured, “like you don’t understand what they do.”
Y/N’s heart was beating too fast, but she smiled anyway, small, heated, steady as she stepped closer to him. “I understand perfectly.”
That got him.
He set his glass down. Carefully. Too carefully.
Then his hand finally found her jaw, thumb brushing lightly along her cheek while the other moved to the book in her hands, easing it from her grip and setting it aside before it could get crushed between them.
When his attention came back to her, it was complete.
No distance. No classroom restraint. No pretending.
“Tell me again,” he said quietly.
Y/N’s breath caught.
She moved into him until there was no space left between them and repeated, even softer this time, “I want you.”
Henry’s eyes darkened.
And when he kissed her, it was not rushed. It was deliberate, deep, and full of everything he still was not saying out loud.
The wine had loosened the knots in Y/N’s shoulders, but it was Henry’s hands that truly undid her. When he kissed her this time, it wasn't the tentative exploration of moments ago; it was an immediate, urgent demand. He stood straight, his hands gripping her waist, and lifted her effortlessly up.
He carried her across the living room, stopping in front of the massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that lined the far wall. With a gentle maneuver, he set her down, her back pressing against the cool, hard spines of her favorite literature. The books were a rough, textured contrast to the softness of her skin, a grounding sensation as he stepped between her spread legs.
She was dressed to kill and to be devoured. Her soft off-shoulder knit sweater slipped down her arms as she leaned back, leaving the delicate curve of her shoulders and collarbones bare. The high-waisted mini skirt rode up as she balanced on her heels.
Henry didn't waste a second. His hands slid up her thighs, the friction of his palms against the soft skin of her inner thighs electric. He pushed the skirt higher, his gaze dropping to the lace of her panties, a hungry, possessive hunger he usually kept well-hidden.
"You look like a painting," he murmured, his voice gravelly.
Henry didn't waste a second. His hands slid up her thighs, the friction of his palms against the soft skin of her inner thighs electric. He pushed the skirt higher, his gaze dropping to the lace of her panties, a hungry, possessive hunger he usually kept well-hidden.
"You look like a painting," he murmured, his voice gravelly.
His hands moved to the waistband of her skirt, pulling it down fully along with her fabric of her panties. He knelt on the floor between her legs, the new angle a shift in their usual dynamic that sent a thrill of anticipation down Y/N's spine. Usually, he was towering over her, or she was conquering him. But here, with her legs braced against the bookshelf and him on his knees, she felt exposed, open, and utterly at his mercy.
He looked up at her, his eyes dark with need, before lowering his head. He wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her flush against his mouth. The first swipe of his tongue was bold, tasting the salt of her skin and the sweet musk of her arousal. He kissed her inner thigh, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, before drifting closer to the apex of her legs.
Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fingers instinctively tangling in his hair. He gently lifted her right leg, draping it over his shoulder, opening her completely to his gaze. The position shifted her hips, tilting them upward in a way that left her utterly vulnerable. The new angle allowed him deeper access, his tongue exploring her with newfound intimacy.
He lowered his head once more, his tongue moving with a slow, deliberate precision that made her toes curl. He parted her folds, his tongue tracing the seam before finding the hard nub of her clit and circling it with a slow, deliberate pressure that made her hips jerk against the bookshelf.
Her leg tightened around his shoulder as she lost herself in the sensation, the hard covers of the books digging into her scalp, anchoring her in the moment. He was worshiping her, his mouth working her relentlessly as soft moans escaped her lips.
He didn't tease; he devoured. His tongue flicked against her clit with a rhythm that had her back arching off the books instantly, her breath hitching in a sharp gasp.
The hard covers of the novels dug into her shoulder blades, grounding her, but it was the sensation of his mouth, hot and wet and so incredibly skilled, that sent her spiraling.
She tangled her fingers in his hair, her heel digging into the floor, her entire body trembling with the effort to stay upright.
"Right there," she choked out, her voice trembling. "Henry, please."
He hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt straight to her core, but instead of giving her what she craved, he slowed down.
He flattened his tongue, lapping at her with broad, languid strokes, savoring her taste as if he had all the time in the world. The deliberate, maddening pace was a new kind of torture.
He pushed a single finger inside her, not to drive her toward the edge, but just to feel her, to explore the slick, hot clench of her body as it welcomed him. He curled it slightly, pressing against that sensitive spot inside her that made her gasp and buck, a silent plea for more.
"Henry," she moaned again, her voice thinner this time, more desperate. She tried to grind against his face, to take control of the rhythm, but his free hand came up to press firmly against her hip, pinning her to the bookshelf. He was in charge here, and the assertion of his control only made the fire inside her burn hotter.
He smiled against her, a wicked, knowing curve of his lips she could feel more than see. He began a slow, torturous rhythm with his finger, matching the lazy circles of his tongue.
Each pass over her clit was a spark, each thrust of his finger was fuel, and the pressure was building low in her belly, a slow, inevitable tide. He was building her up so carefully, so expertly, that she felt like she was coming apart molecule by molecule.
He added a second finger, stretching her, filling her, the slight burn mingling with the overwhelming pleasure until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. The heel of his hand pressed against her perineum, adding another layer of sensation that made her head swim.
Her breaths were coming in ragged breaths now, her fingers digging into his scalp, her leg trembling where it was draped over his shoulder. "I can't... I can't..." she stammered, the words dissolving into a cry as he finally, finally, increased the pressure.
He began to suckle her clit, his tongue working the swollen bundle of nerves with sharp, targeted flicks while his fingers pumped into her with a relentless, driving rhythm.
The combination was her undoing. It was a tidal wave, a supernova. Her vision went white, her body seizing as the orgasm tore through her. Her back bowed into a sharp, painful arc, her toes curling so tightly they cramped. Her hips bucked wildly against his face, riding the waves of pleasure as they crashed over her again and again, leaving her gasping and boneless, her body slumping against the bookshelf, held up only by his firm grip and the leg still thrown over his shoulder.
Henry stood up, a dark, predatory glint in his eyes. He pulled her off the books, his hands strong and firm on her waist, and turned her to face him. He didn't give her a moment to recover, even as he undid the button on his trousers.
He lined himself up at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her folds, still slick with her arousal. "I want you," he growled, his voice raw.
He thrust into her in one long, hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out, her head falling back, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders for support. This angle was different—deeper, filling her in a way that made her see stars. He held her hips, his fingers digging into her soft skin, and began to move.
He wasn't gentle. He was driven by a need to claim her, to mark every inch of her as his own. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, meeting his thrusts with her own desperate grinding. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the quiet room, loud and obscene.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, his voice strained, his forehead resting against hers. "To be used?"
"Yes," she breathed, her eyes locked on his. "Always."
But she wanted more. She wanted to be closer, to feel the rug beneath them instead of the cold books. She pulled back slightly, signaling him. He understood instantly. He pulled out, his hand sliding down to her thigh, and guided her to the plush, cream-colored rug in the center of the room.
He lay back, his hips coming to rest on the rug, and pulled her on top of him, guiding her down onto him. She sank down onto his cock, her head falling back, her hair cascading around her face. She started to ride him, her body moving with a slow, sensual rhythm, her hands braced on his chest.
He watched her, his eyes dark and hungry, his hands coming up to grip her waist, helping to guide her. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his thumbs rubbing circles into her skin. "So perfect."
She leaned down, her chest brushing against his, and kissed him, deep and hungry. The rug muffled the sounds of their bodies meeting, allowing only their ragged breaths and the slick, rhythmic squelch of her arousal to fill the space between them.
The cream rug cushioned her, soft against her skin, but the heat radiating between them was intense. Y/N was riding him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her body swaying with the motion, the soft knit of her sweater bunching at her waist. The fabric was cool against her heated skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of Henry’s hands.
He wasn’t content to watch. His hands, which had been gripping her waist to steady her, moved up her sides. They hooked under the edge of her sweater, fingers digging into the soft material. With a rough, impatient tug, he pulled the fabric down her arms. Her bra straps dug into her shoulders for a moment before he reached around, his fingers deft and quick to unclasp the back. The garment fell away, pooling on the rug next to her.
His hands were large, his palms rough and calloused from his hands, contrasting deliciously with the softness of her breasts. He wrapped his hands around them, his fingers splaying wide to cover as much skin as possible. He kneaded them firmly, his thumbs rolling her hardening nipples between them, sending jolts of electricity straight down to her core.
Y/N gasped, her head falling back, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. The sensation was overwhelming. "Henry," she moaned, her hips bucking involuntarily, the friction driving her insane.
He watched her face, a look of dark satisfaction on his features. "You're so beautiful like this," he rasped, his voice thick with lust. "So responsive."
She wanted to please him, to make him lose that professorly composure. She sped up her rhythm, grinding down harder, her inner walls clamping down around his thick length. He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping back open, his hands tightening on her breasts, pinching her nipples just enough to make her cry out.
"You're going to make me come," he warned, his voice a strained growl.
She didn't stop. She rode him faster, her breath coming in short, ragged pants. The air in the room was thick with the smell of sex and old books, intoxicating and primal. She leaned down, her chest brushing against his, and captured his lips in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, swallowing his groans.
She felt the tremor start in her thighs, a familiar pressure building deep inside. It was too much, too good. She squeezed her eyes shut, her body tensing as the wave crashed over her, her hips bucking frantically as she came, her inner walls spasming rhythmically around him.
The sight of her unraveling was the final straw for him. He released her breasts, his hands flying to her hips to anchor her. He didn't hold back. He thrust up into her, a series of deep, hard strokes that drove her wild, his body bowing off the rug. He groaned her name, a broken sound, as he emptied himself inside her, filling her completely.
They collapsed together, a tangled heap of limbs and heaving chests. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, her body still humming with the aftershocks. Henry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his face buried in her hair. He ran a hand absentmindedly up and down her back, his touch gentle now, the intensity of the moment fading into a peaceful, intimate lull.
The silence stretched between them, comfortable and filled with unspoken affection. Eventually, she pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a sleepy, satisfied smile. She traced his jawline with her thumb, her eyes dancing with warmth.
"That," she whispered, her voice soft and content, "was indeed a very good birthday."
Henry’s mouth curved faintly at that, tired and warm in a way he never let anyone else see.
“I’m glad it met your standards,” he murmured.
Y/N let out a soft laugh, the sound quiet in the room. She was still draped half over him on the cream rug, one leg tangled with his, her hair scattered across his shoulder and chest. The lamplight made everything gentler, the bookshelves, the edge of the desk, the soft folds of discarded clothing nearby. The room no longer looked severe. It looked lived in. Claimed.
She traced his jaw again, slower this time. “Met them?” she repeated. “Henry, you set the standard.”
His eyes opened a little more at that, gaze settling on her face. There was still that post midnight softness in him, but also something more thoughtful now. Something quieter.
“That sounds dangerous,” he said.
Y/N smiled. “For you, maybe.”
He huffed a small breath that might have been a laugh and tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her more securely against him. His hand kept moving up and down her back in that absent, soothing rhythm, like he did not even realize he was doing it.
For a while, neither of them moved.
The room was still except for their breathing and the faint hum of the city outside the windows. Somewhere in the apartment, the radiator clicked. On any other night, Henry probably would have noticed things like that, the disorder, the late hour, the papers left unfinished on his desk.
Now, he only seemed to notice her.
Y/N tilted her chin up just enough to study him. His hair was a mess, his collarbone marked faintly red where she had kissed him earlier, his glasses on the floor next to the bookshelf where he removed them, his expression calmer than she had seen it in weeks.
“You look happy,” she said softly.
Henry’s fingers paused once at the middle of her back.
Then they resumed.
“That obvious?”
“To me,” Y/N said.
His gaze lingered on her, and there was no classroom distance in it. No practiced coolness. Just a kind of stripped down honesty that made her chest go warm all over again.
“I am,” he admitted.
The answer settled over her like another blanket.
Y/N’s smile softened into something smaller, more private. She rested her cheek back against his shoulder and let herself just be there for a moment, listening to his heartbeat under her ear.
After a beat, she murmured, “I think this is the nicest birthday I’ve had in a long time.”
Henry’s hand flattened at the base of her spine, holding her there. “It should have been.”
She lifted her head again. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, voice low, “you should be treated well on your birthday.”
Y/N watched him for a second, the sincerity in that making her eyes sting just a little. She covered it with a teasing smile before it could become too much.
“So this is you treating me well.”
Henry’s mouth twitched. “Among other things.”
She laughed under her breath and nudged his shoulder with her forehead. “You’re impossible when you try to sound subtle.”
“I wasn’t trying to sound subtle.”
“That’s worse.”
He almost smiled at that, really almost smiled, and Y/N felt an absurd burst of affection so strong she had to look away for a second.
Her eyes drifted around the room then, taking in the cream rug beneath them, the bookshelves, the couch, the lamp still glowing warm in the corner. It felt strange how quickly this room had become one of the places where she felt safest.
“Do you think,” she said after a while, her voice turning drowsy, “that if anyone from Emerson could see you right now, they would combust?”
Henry glanced down at her. “Right now?”
“Lying on the floor with me. Being nice. Looking at me like that.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then, “Yes.”
Y/N smiled, pleased. “Good.”
Henry’s fingers traced one slow line up her back. “You’re very smug for someone who can barely keep her eyes open.”
“I can be smug and tired.”
“You’re also still on the rug.”
Y/N considered this. “I noticed.”
“And yet you haven’t suggested moving.”
She tucked herself closer against him. “Because I’m comfortable.”
Henry looked toward the couch for a brief second, then back down at her. “You have very low standards for comfort.”
Y/N’s smile widened. “No. I just like using you as a pillow.”
That got an actual soft exhale from him, closer to a laugh than most people ever heard.
She loved that sound.
Loved that she was learning how to earn it.
After another quiet stretch, Y/N’s fingers drifted to the front of his shirt, idly playing with the fabric. “What time is it?”
Henry turned his head slightly toward the clock on the shelf. “Late.”
“That’s not a time.”
“It’s enough of one.”
Y/N made a face. “You’re so annoying.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” she echoed, smiling.
The smile lingered. Then faded a little as something more vulnerable moved through her.
She looked at him again, slower this time. “Thank you,” she said.
Henry’s gaze held hers. “I know you already said that.”
“I know.” Her thumb brushed lightly over his jaw. “I’m saying it again.”
For the drive in. For the book. For remembering. For staying soft. For letting tonight be simple.
She did not say all of that aloud.
She did not have to.
Something in his expression changed like he heard it anyway.
He turned his face and pressed a kiss into her palm, brief, warm, careful. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that it almost undid her.
Y/N stared at him.
Henry looked faintly annoyed with himself for doing it, which only made it worse.
“You can’t do things like that,” she said quietly.
His brows shifted. “Like what?”
“Make me…” She stopped, then shook her head with a small smile. “Never mind.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, curious now. “No. Finish that.”
Y/N looked at him for a beat too long, then chickened out in the most obvious way possible by laying her head back down on his shoulder.
“Absolutely not.”
Henry’s hand slid up to the back of her neck, not forcing her up, just holding her there. “Coward.”
Y/N laughed softly. “Maybe.”
The silence that followed was not awkward. It was full. Easy. The kind of silence that only existed after too much honesty or too much closeness, maybe both.
Eventually Henry shifted just enough to press a kiss to the top of her head.
“You’re falling asleep.”
Y/N’s eyes were already half closed. “Mhm.”
“We should get up.”
“No.”
“Y/N.”
She tightened her arm around his middle without opening her eyes. “No.”
Henry looked at the ceiling like he was deciding whether this was worth the argument.
Then, quietly, “Fine. Five more minutes.”
Y/N smiled against him. “You’re getting soft.”
Henry’s hand moved once more over her back, steady and warm.
“Only here,” he said.
And something about the way he said it, so low, so true, so stripped of performance, made her feel that same deep ache of affection all over again.
She stayed there with him on the cream rug, in the middle of his room, in the warm afterglow of the best birthday she could remember, and let herself believe it for five more minutes.
Additional Tags: Mental Health, Therapy, Paranoia, Therapist x Patient, Explicit Sex (in future chapters), SLOW BURN
2.8k
Session One
The waiting room was too quiet. So profoundly quiet that the faint thumping of Y/N’s own blood became audible in her ears.
Her pen hovered over the question for too long.
Do you experience intrusive thoughts?
“Yes..” She quietly hissed to herself under her breath, almost embarrassed to tick the box as she brought pen to paper.
“Ms Y/N?” The voice wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either. It was.. measured. Y/N looked up. He looked younger than she expected he would. Her first mistake, she thought to herself.
She gave a cold smile regardless, a slow blink and stood, too awkward to even utter a simple ‘Hello’ or ‘Yes’ for now. Hopefully that would fade away soon, although she had a small feeling it wouldn’t. A faint pinkness crept up her neck, staining her cheeks. Her stomach tightened a little and the room suddenly felt too open.
Standing slowly, she smoothed her skirt even though she didn’t need to. She was aware of everything. The ticking clock, the faint hum of the air conditioning, the other patients glancing over to watch her walk out and lay her raw feelings out on the table for the next hour. Were they watching her? Expecting something from her?
Y/N approached the man, not taking much notice of him as her paranoia swallowed her, she tended not to make eye contact when she was nervous. As he turned on his heels, she followed close behind back down the hall he came from, each step making her stomach drop a little more. The carpet swallowed the noise of their strides, but she still felt exposed as if she had eyes on her back.
The man opened the door to his office.
It was ordinary. A soft lamp light. An intriguing bookcase filling the whole of the back wall. Two cushioned sofa chairs angled towards each other, and a low, small table between them. It had box of tissues placed too deliberately in the middle, with a small black book perched on the edge. A large window at the back too that was half protected by blinds that let in a thin strip of light.
It was all too ordinary. Like he was trying too hard to be a typical therapist, which somehow made her feel worse.
She stepped inside with hesitation, head ducked a little like she was entering a trap. Y/N didn’t sit right away. Her eyes scanned the room, corners first, then bookcase, and the smoke detector. Was there a camera? A recorder? Her gaze flicked briefly to his desk.
Stop being so dramatic. This is exactly what you’re here for. She scolded herself, trying to let the paranoia wash over her.
The man, who she didn’t even dare to point her gaze toward yet, shut the door with a soft controlled click, taking slow and paced steps over to his desk. He crossed his arms over his chest and leant against the front of his desk on the back of his thighs, then resting one ankle over the other - watching her.
“Please, sit wherever you’re comfortable.” He said with a gentle tone. Living in the chaos that is London, she heard the British tone every day; yet his was.. more polished, it had a comfort about it, a grainy texture to it.
Comfortability was closest to the door, in Y/N’s mind. When she finally allowed herself to sit, she stayed perched on the edge, back painfully straight and her hands knotted tightly in her lap. She could already feel that heat spreading across her chest again, cheeks burning. It was obvious she didn’t want to be there. Instinctively, her knee began to bounce.
“I don’t want to be here-“ She blurted out, a complete burst of built up anxiety that made her eyes squeeze shut out of embarrassed for a split second. Biting her lip hard, staring at the floor, she tried again.
“I’m not.. crazy.” She spoke too quickly. Heart thumping. “I’ve just been.. noticing things recently.” Her breathing was shaky, but not emotional. Her eyes glanced over to the window, no one could possibly be out there. They were four floors up and it’s not like there was even a balcony. Eyes flickered back to the door opposite the window now, just for a fleeting moment. It was still shut, but not soundproof.
He said nothing. He just watched intently, trying to read her, head tilting just a little and eyebrows furrowing a bit with slightly squinted eyes behind those glasses. The man noticed the way her eyes would erratically scan the place, she probably thought she was being discreet about it.
The therapist didn’t answer immediately. In fact, he let her words hang in the warm lamplight - she wasn’t as closed off as she came off to be, but then again maybe he could see that because that was his job. He could see her shame and defensiveness, her fears of being perceived.
His silence scared her. Y/N pushed herself to look at the man, lifting her head. She couldn’t bear to keep sitting in a painful silence. She confirmed from earlier that he was younger than she expected, his hair a blend of ashy and golden brown colour, side parted with a soft wave. Classic, round glasses sit on his nose and a rusty brown waistcoat fitted neatly over a shirt with matching trousers - and a red tie. There was no softness there, no room for error. This was a man who did his job properly.
He gave himself momentum and pushed himself off the desk, untangling his legs and arms, taking a sharp breath in through his teeth. He moved past her without hesitation and took the seat opposite, allowing himself to lean back in the chair, arms on armrests keeping eye contact with his patient. Only then did he speak.
“Do you believe I’m recording you?” He said evenly and calm, no reassurance layered into it. Just what he saw.
The words struck her in the chest, she felt waves of anxiety pulse through her body. Biting the inside of her cheek, her lips pursed a little. That voice again, it scraped slightly at the edges like it was dry but controlled. Just as Y/N went to speak, lips parting - he interrupted her thought, a small but rushed breath in to speak could be heard.
“If I were” he continued, voice still carefully measured, “you would have been informed.”
Her lips closed shut again, not really sure of what to say. Not really sure whether to trust him.
He reached for the small black notebook that was sat on the edge of the table between them. He didn’t rush to grab it, leaning back into the chair and lifted it beside his head.
“I do take notes. Brief ones.” Setting it back down onto his lap, he gently rested one leg over the other, taking the pen out of the spine of the notebook. His eyes flickered back up to meet her gaze. There was something analytical and detached about the way he looked at her, as if he were observing specimen and not a human, as if he wanted to categorise her.
“You said you’ve been noticing things.” He took the cap off his pen and clicked it back onto the top of it, hovering above the paper, waiting.
Her breath was taken from her lungs, eyes that couldn’t leave his and an empty head. Y/N really had no plan of what to say, teeth clenching and her knuckles getting whiter while her fingers entangled tighter in her lap. Her hesitance was observed, and the man realised he may have been too quick to jump into it. He broke eye contact, and rested his pen to lay on the book in front of him.
“What about we start with introductions before we get into it, hm? My name is Henry.” He finished his sentence with just a blank stare back, waiting for an answer.
Y/N wasn’t quite sure what he was waiting for and didn’t see a point to introductions. They had maybe had three or four emails exchanged over the last week before she pushed herself to come here. She was sure he knew all he needed to as far as introductions went.
“You already know my name.” Y/N pushed back, getting impatient already. He didn’t answer immediately. In fact, he picked his pen back up with slightly pursed lips and wrote a quick note.
What did he write?
“Yes.” Nothing in his tone suggested amusement, irritation, or an apology. Just agreement. The silence from Y/N wasn’t empty, it was pressed. She shifted uncomfortably - barely.
“But I’d still like to hear you say it.” He added. Not quite a question, his hands linked and folded over his book. “Because there’s a difference between information and consent.”
That was new. She wasn’t all too familiar with that word, she didn’t hear it often. His expression remained calm, not giving anything away, but she still felt she was being analysed.
“You’ve read the file. You’ve seen our emails.” She spoke hesitantly but with force, not enjoying the feeling of this power dynamic she may have imagined in her head. “You know why I’m here.”
Another pause.
“I know what was written.” Henry gently corrected her. His tone set the atmosphere of patience, not dominance. The kind that felt like he could see right through her - and she didn’t like that.
“And what are you suggesting wasn’t written?” She challenged.
There it was. An invitation. She was opening up for discussion, in his eyes anyway. He didn’t smile, but something in his posture eased, as if his patient had shifted into alignment with him.
“That,” Henry paused, just so subtly lifting an eyebrow, “is entirely up to you.” Henry let his words settle in the air, no follow up question. No prompt. He purposely wasn’t filling the silence.. he was giving it to her. Which somehow made this feel worse.
Y/N hated that he said it like that.
Entirely up to you.
As if the choice to answer that was so clean and simple. As if she hadn’t spent the last ten minutes hoping the clock on the wall would malfunction. Each movement of that second hand landed like a quiet accusation. She shifted in her chair again, breaking eye contact and clearing her throat a little, but nothing followed. Under pressure.
Her fingers dug ever so slightly into the armrests, as his presence just.. stayed there. Henry wasn’t staring her down, he was waiting without demanding. Her gaze flickered back to him once, then twice in uncertainty - not sure what to say.
He wasn’t writing anything. Was that for better or for worse? It irritated her.
“I don’t really know what you’re expecting me to say.” Y/N muttered finally, eyes fixed somewhere past his shoulder and on the window behind him, focussing on the door in her peripheral vision.
“I don’t expect anything from you.”
Of course he didn’t. That was the whole point. Her jaw tightened. She had walked in the building today a nervous wreck, but determined to push through it. Tick the box, tell whoever insisted she go that she’d tried. She would not ‘unpack’ anything, and she absolutely would not come back.
“You keep looking at the door.” He says softly.
Her head snapped back up. “No, I don’t.”
A small lift of that same eyebrow. Not challenging, just observing. She bit her lip just a little in frustration, her own eyebrows edging closer in a frown of annoyance. Henry’s eyes flicked down to her mouth for a fraction of a second and back up to meet her eyes. What was that? But she dismissed it - she was only thinking if he could read her thoughts, he would know the real reason she kept glancing at the door is because she was measuring the distance. Calculating how ridiculous she would look if she had just stood up and left.
“Look, I just don’t want to waste your time.” She said.
“You’re not.” He was trying to be gentle with his words, but she knew that was unnatural for him. Y/N chose Henry Creel for this session because if she was going to do therapy, it would be with someone who was emotionally detached. That was what he was known for, online anyway. She did her research before emailing him. Henry Creel was a highly respected therapist known for his work, his ‘ways’.. of getting through to patients that other therapists couldn’t. She’d read somewhere that he was best known for his structured and straightforward dynamic.
Y/N paused before speaking up again. A sharp and brittle laugh pushed past her lips.
“You don’t even know what I’m truly here for, according to you.”
“That’s what I’m waiting for you to tell me.” There it was again, an invitation just waiting for her. He was giving her so many opportunities to speak up, yet she was too afraid. She held herself back, she didn’t want to come back again.
“I just-“ Her breath hitched a little, looking down at her hands - bringing them from the armrests and clasping them together. “I really don’t see the point in talking about things that have already happened.”
“But, they happened to you.” The words landed quietly on her chest. No drama, but there was a weight added to them. Settling there.
“I’m fine.” She insisted, blinking hard.
He didn’t contradict her, but he didn’t agree either. The silence had now felt different. It wasn’t suffocating anymore, it was just present. The clock ticked on, and her breathing evened out as time moved by. The tension in her shoulders loosened, and words began forming, not extremely coherent - but just pieces, fragments that she remembered but didn’t want to.
She told herself she wouldn’t say anything, but she heard herself speaking anyway. Just little pieces, the safe edge of a story, surface level. Y/N’s voice stayed detached as she spoke, as if she spoke about it like a bystander rather than the person who experienced it, she couldn’t feel it. And it couldn’t hurt her.
Henry never interrupted, he just listened, picking his pen back up again. Jotting small notes every few minutes. Time stopped behaving properly after that. Her sentences came in uneven bursts, some halting and some rushed. She kept waiting for him to push back or ask the wrong question, give her an excuse to get up and leave. He didn’t.
He only asked little things in between her breaths.
How old were you? How did that make you feel? Are you still close to that person?
Somewhere between her sentences, the ticking clock faded into the background. The space between them didn’t feel like a battleground anymore and more like the slow construction of a bridge, a trust being built. She never got emotional, but her voice lost its edge. Her body naturally shifted forward without her noticing, leaning in a little with her arms folded over her crossed legs.
She forgot to check the time, but then a soft chime brought her back to surface. A gentle sound designed not to startle.
Henry glanced at the clock. “That’s our hour.”
An hour. Y/N suddenly felt a little embarrassed. She usually doesn’t open up so fast like that, she suddenly wished she never even said anything. She also became aware of how her hands were so relaxed in her lap, and how comfortable she made herself to be in the seat.
“That went quickly.” She spoke without thinking first.
“It often does.” A flicker of something in his eyes, maybe not smugness or triumph - but quiet acknowledgement.
She stood, irritated a little by the fact that her legs felt steadier from how they did when she had walked in. Henry didn’t mention booking another session or dates next to visit. It almost felt like he was baiting her to say something first. He stood too, settling his notebook back down onto the table, steady steps taking him over to his desk.
Y/N walked back over to the door that she had been thinking about so much for the first twenty minutes of their session, fingers hovering over the handle. She had spent the beginning of this conversation itching to walk back out, but now she felt something extremely inconvenient. Not relief, or a resolution. More like an unsettling awareness that there was more to say than she thought. At that maybe - she wasn’t done saying what she needed to.
“I’ll email you about our next session.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the door handle as she turned it, swinging it open in defeat - a hint of irritation.
Henry’s back straightened stood by his desk, hands holding eachother politely behind his back as he watched her start to leave.
“You don’t have to decide now,” He said gently, a hint of warmth threading through, “But I think we both know you’ll be thinking about this room long before our next hour begins.”
She paused in her stride, one foot out the door. Y/N didn’t look up to him, just stared at the floor with furrowed brows, questioning what that meant. She gave a simple nod with no eye contact, and shut the door behind her.
________________________________
Thanks for reading! This is my first time writing and posting a fic!! I know it’s a slow burn but trust it’s gonna get better soon 😼 Stick around for Therapist Creel Session Two 🖤
More specifically... a Professor Theo Deschamps x Actor & Student Jane Warfield fanfic.
7487 words
tags: professor x student, alternate universe, no use of y/n, hair pulling, teasing, [Fucking Gregory], age gap (Jane is set to be ambiguous age-wise but 21-26 likely, Theo is in his late thirties), slow burn, d/s dynamic, switch reader, switch Theo, no complete smut yet but we'll get there, other tags I can't think of probably
NOTES: Hello :) this is my first time posting like anything on tumblr so bear w me thank u <3 this fic is also being posted on ao3!
Jane opens the door to the lecture hall where her first class of the day was, which was Intro to Sociology with Dr. Theo Deschamps. She put off taking this course until her last year, and now she is stuck taking an 8 am course with the majority being disinterested first-year students.
She takes a seat in the second row in the farthest right seat, and she sets her iced coffee down onto the tiny desk connected to her chair, along with her bag. She was one of the first students to arrive, but not the first, and it appeared that the professor was not there yet.
Jane takes out her notebook and her favorite pen, drawing a small doodle of a rose in the corner of a page to entertain herself while other students file in. She yawns, prompting her to take a big sip of her iced coffee.
Jane feels her phone vibrate in her pocket, and she takes it out to check to see if anything important was being said.
ROSHA: Hi Jane! You do not have to come in for any more ADR; everything we got last night is usable!
ROSHA: We’ll see you on Netflix shoot day!
Jane reads these and opts to respond after class. She puts her phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ and continues her doodle.
“Alright. It is now 8 o’clock, and I prefer to start my classes on time. Good morning everyone, I hope your morning is going well. My name is Dr. Theo Deschamps, but you can call me Theo or Dr. Deschamps,” Theo begins, crossing his arms behind his back and walking slowly to the center of the room. His entire demeanor screams nothing but confidence.
Theo is wearing an outfit that screams ‘professional’, and he looks to be in his early thirties. He has dark blonde hair that is slicked back into a tight ponytail. He wears a small hoop in his left ear, and his hands are full of rings.
Jane yawns again, beginning to zone out slightly—completely unintentionally. She had hardly gotten any sleep the night before, and it was beginning to catch up to her.
“We’re going over the syllabus today, and then I will let you all out a little bit early,” he says, adjusting the settings on the microphone slightly.
Jane continues to doodle, trying to keep herself awake. Eventually, her eyes start to periodically open and shut, fighting back sleep.
Theo scans the room after finishing the second page of the syllabus, noticing the disinterested and disengaged look on a lot of the students' faces, causing him to fight back a frown. He looks to his right and notices one girl in particular. She’s looking at her notebook, lazily scribbling, and her eyes are fighting to stay open.
“Participation will be a large percentage of your grade this semester,” Theo says after a moment of saying nothing. He walks towards the right side of the room, standing almost in front of the girl, but on the floor rather than near the desks.
She startles at his voice, jumping a little, and rubs her eyes. She notices him standing closer to her than he was moments before and looks at him. When she does, Theo catches her eyes with his, and an amused glint takes over before she immediately looks away.
“This is a class of 45 people, and I don’t expect all of you to speak in our discussions. However, I do expect you to try to at least act like you are paying attention,” he explains, walking back to the center of the room. “And to try and stay awake,” he adds with a grin, looking at everyone other than Jane.
Jane frowns and takes a deep breath, followed by another big sip of her coffee.
After another 15 minutes, Theo finishes reading through his syllabus. Jane puts her notebook in her bag, and the second that he dismisses everyone, she is out the door.
Jane pulls out her phone, clicking on her friend Blaze’s contact and calling him as she walks out of the building, beginning her trek to the general area where her other class is later today.
“It’s way too early for you to be calling me,” a tired voice answers from the other side of the phone. Jane snorts.
“It’s 10 in the morning,” Jane says.
“Too early,” Blaze repeats, and the sound of fabric rustling is heard, and a bed squeaking as he sits up in bed.
“Uh huh. Sure. Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight. It’s Friday, and I wrapped last night. At least for now,” Jane asks, pressing the button for the crosswalk.
“Shit, you’re finally done?” Blaze wonders.
“Everything except for the Netflix stuff, yes,” Jane answers, crossing the street and spotting a cafe that has plenty of seats open. She walks in, keeping the phone to her ear as she waits in line.
“Oh, we’re absolutely going out tonight. This is a huge deal, Jane!” Blaze exclaims. Jane grins, putting her hand in her pocket.
“I’m done at 3 today. I’ll call you then, okay?” Jane says, waiting for the person in front of her to finish ordering.
“Gotcha. Talk to you soon,” Blaze says. Jane hums, saying a quick ‘goodbye’ before ending the call. After she does, the person in front of her in line finishes ordering, so she steps forward.
–
“You look hot,” Blaze comments, closing the door to Jane’s apartment as he walks in. Jane smiles, pulling in Blaze for a quick hug.
“I’m going for hot tonight,” Jane replies, turning her head to look in a mirror that was near her doorway. Jane looks at her eyelashes, brushing one side with her index finger to get rid of a small piece of clumped-up mascara.
Jane is wearing a black tank top under a dark red lace top and a black skirt. Her hair is half up, with a bow in it. She is wearing silver hoop earrings and a few necklaces, with a coat of dark red lipstick with gloss.
“You’re singing tonight, right?” Blaze asks, waiting by the door as Jane grabs her black coat and puts it on. Jane chuckles, nodding.
“We’re going to a karaoke night—of course, I am going to sing. I miss doing gigs,” Jane answers, nodding at Blaze to open her door. Blaze does, and they walk to his car. “I also like when men pay for my drinks.”
Blaze laughs, nodding in agreement. “I also like when men pay for our drinks.”
-
The pair walks into the packed club after paying the cover and walks toward one of the empty corners to take in the environment and plan where to go first.
There is a woman drunkenly singing “Counting Stars” by OneRepublic, and she fails to hit almost every note. Blaze and Jane look at each other, chuckling.
Jane opts to stand near the karaoke, waiting for her turn.
“What song do I sing? What screams “sexy, hot, and just finished a Netflix show”?” Jane asks, adjusting her necklaces. Blaze shrugs.
“I don’t know, dude. I’m going to go and try to meet some people. I’ll come back over when you’re singing?” Blaze asks, earning a nod in reply from Jane.
Jane finally makes it up to the karaoke stage, putting on “Dangerous Woman” by Ariana Grande.
Her hand shakes on the microphone at first, nerves catching up to her as she tries to remember how many times she has sung in front of people before.
Before she knows it, she is halfway through the song and fully into it—performing as if she were meant to be on a bigger stage. A larger crowd gathers near the karaoke area, and people in the club start to cheer her on.
When she gets to the higher notes at the end, she hits every single one as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
Once the song is over, people gather around and give her a hefty round of applause, and she blushes profusely. Jane spots Blaze and immediately rushes over to him, standing in his space to avoid the alternative of standing super close to everybody else.
“You have to start doing gigs again,” Blaze says with an impressed yet not surprised look on his face. Jane snorts, hugging Blaze again and then stepping away, looking toward a few of the people who were looking in her direction.
Jane grabs Blaze’s hand, walking them towards the bar and grabbing a seat, Blaze sitting to the right of her. She is about to speak to the bartender, but is interrupted by a tap on her left shoulder. She turns around to reveal a man with a nervous smile.
“Hey. I hope this isn’t too forward, but can I buy you a drink?” The man asks, pulling out his wallet. Jane smirks, scooting over to make room for the man to stand next to her.
“Only if you buy one for my friend too,” Jane replies, her voice confident and unwavering. The man looks over to Blaze and chuckles, shrugging.
“Sure, why not?” he caves with a shrug, putting down a few bills on the bar, letting the bartender take them.
They both order their drinks, and they both decide to keep it to mixed drinks for the night—Blaze only having one anyway due to the fact that he drove here.
“I’m Gregory,” the man introduces himself, holding out a hand to Jane. Jane takes his hand, shaking it with her maroon-painted fingernails, taking the spotlight. “You did great up there. Do you sing professionally?” he asks, taking a small sip of his whiskey.
“Not anymore, no. Too busy for that,” she answers, taking a sip of her drink. “What about you? Do you sing?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow. She looks over to Blaze for a moment, biting back a smile as she sees Blaze engaged in a conversation with the person next to him, seemingly hitting it off.
Gregory shakes his head, smacking his lips as he takes another sip. “I can’t sing.” Jane frowns, turning to face her body to Gregory’s, the light buzz of liquor loosening her up a little bit.
“I’m sure you can. At least a little bit,” she protests, leaning a little into Gregory’s space. Gregory presses his lips together, shaking his head again.
“Nope. I’m awful,” he insists, letting one of his shoulders brush hers. Jane rolls her eyes.
“You should sing karaoke, Gregory,” she suggests with a mischievous smirk on her lips. Gregory widens his eyes, shaking his head.
“No. Not happening,” he rejects, his face twisting in disgust. Jane pouts a little, running one of her hands down his upper arm.
“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen? You suck?” she wonders with an encouraging smile. “It’s karaoke night. At a nightclub. People are drunk.”
Gregory huffs, thinking for a moment.
“Fine,” he groans, stepping out of their space as he turns to look over to the karaoke area. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he flirts, brushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. Jane flushes and then gestures with her head for him to go over. He lets out a long sigh and then eventually starts making his way over to the karaoke area. There was someone finishing up a song, and no line, so he got up to the stage pretty fast.
Gregory was not lying when he said he couldn’t sing. Jane finds herself holding back a grimace as soon as he sings the first note.
As she’s looking over at Gregory, trying to keep an encouraging and not-disgusted look on her face, she hears a familiar deep voice over to the right of her.
“A Manhattan. On the rocks, please,” she hears the voice say. Her head immediately snaps toward the familiar voice, and she is shocked by what she sees.
It wasn’t just any random man. It was her professor. Professor Theo Deschamps.
The professor had seen her fall asleep during the first class.
He was sitting a few people away to her right.
Her head immediately snaps to look away, her eyes widening as she looks in the complete opposite direction.
She hears a quiet chuckle, and she narrows her eyes, slowly turning her head back to look at him.
Sure enough, there he is—looking right at her. An amused smirk is plastered on his face, and he looks down at his drink before looking back at her.
“So is this the reason why you kept falling asleep?” he asks, raising his volume a bit so that she can hear him over the awful karaoke that Gregory was singing. Jane rolls her eyes, taking a quick sip of her drink.
“Fuck,” she groans, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to contain her embarrassment. “No. I barely drink. Or go to the club,” she says. “Not that I need to tell you anything about my personal life,” she adds.
Theo raises his eyebrows. “Am I boring?” he inquires, his lips turning the slightest bit upward as he asks. Jane rubs her eyes with her hands.
Blaze looks at her, raising an eyebrow, before stepping back, signaling Jane to take his spot while he goes to continue a conversation with the girl that he was talking with at the bar. Jane holds her breath, wanting to protest but not wanting to make a scene while Theo is watching her. She slides her drink over and steps closer to him, now sitting in the seat next to him.
“No. You’re not boring,” she finally replies, fixing a few pieces of her hair as she speaks. She offers no further explanation, tracing the edge of her almost empty glass with her finger.
“I should probably go somewhere else now,” Jane says with a slight frown, looking at Theo apologetically. Theo takes a long sip of his drink, nodding with a deep exhale.
“You probably should,” he agrees half-heartedly, raising his eyebrows, catching her eyes for a second too long.
Jane’s breath catches in her throat, and suddenly the outfit she is wearing feels all too revealing. His gaze makes her feel stripped naked, yet—not in a bad way. In a terrifyingly thrilling way.
She stands up and takes one long sip of her drink, completing it.
“Yeah,” she breathes, placing her finished drink down. “It’s just—you’re—I’m—yeah… okay,” she stammers. However, it doesn’t read as nervous. Just unsure of what to say.
Jane steps backward, scanning the crowd to see if she can locate somebody else to spark a conversation with. Someone approachable.
“You don’t have to, though,” Theo speaks up, looking at his glass before looking at her again.
“I don’t,” Jane echoes, curious, leaning on the bar top, not quite sitting down again yet.
“All I am saying is that if you would like to have a chat while we’re here, I wouldn’t be opposed,” Theo says carefully, choosing each word he says with a good amount of thought.
“You’re—,” Jane starts, immediately cut off by Theo.
“If I am overstepping, you are more than welcome to kick me,” he adds, making sure to make eye contact with Jane, conveying nothing but sincerity in his entire demeanor.
Jane bites back a smile, sitting back down on the stool.
“You’re my professor,” she almost whispers, looking around to make sure that nobody hears her.
“Yes. I am. My forwardness probably doubles as stupidity,” he says. Jane lets a smile grow on her lips at this.
“I—,” Jane starts.
“Hey. Did I do okay?” Gregory, seemingly appearing out of thin air, asks Jane. Jane turns around to face him, forcing a smile on her face. Theo rubs his chin with his thumb, observing their interaction.
“You did great,” Jane lies, wishing she had more of a drink to down. Gregory smiles widely, blushing.
“Do you want to go to the dance floor with me?” Gregory asks, holding out his hand. Jane hesitates for a moment before standing up and grabbing his hand.
“For a little,” she agrees, shrugging. She turns to Theo and waves a quick goodbye, earning an amused chuckle in response.
-
“That was fast,” Theo comments as Jane comes back to the bar winded and sweaty, immediately taking a seat.
“He is so fucking annoying,” she grumbles with an eye roll, before quickly asking the bartender for another drink.
“Who is he? Your boyfriend?” Theo wonders, taking a bite of the nachos he had ordered after she had left. Jane snorts, shaking her head.
“No. I met him today, like less than an hour ago,” she replies, the clink of her drink being served to her on the table prompting her to sigh in relief.
Jane takes a big sip of her full drink, humming as it burns her throat going down. “Are you here alone?” she asks suddenly.
“I am. I actually have never been here before. I felt like shaking things up tonight, I suppose,” Theo says with a small shrug.
He moves the basket of his nachos to his left, in her direction. “Would you like some? I don’t think I can finish this all myself,” he offers. Jane immediately nods, takes a chip from the basket, and takes a bite, catching a piece that fell with her free hand.
“Do you ever run into your students when you go to the club?” Jane asks, genuinely curious.
“No, I don’t. I haven’t been to a club in a proper minute—but this would be the first time. I am also hoping that this is the only time,” Theo answers, twisting one of the many rings he has on his fingers.
“Sorry,” Jane apologizes, biting her bottom lip. Theo shakes his head.
“No, no. You don’t be sorry,” he insists. “As long as I’m not making you uncomfortable, I actually quite enjoy your company.” Jane smiles at this.
“You’re not making me uncomfortable. I would have just walked away from you if you did,” she states, nodding her head back towards the dance floor. Theo laughs, his shoulders moving with him as he does.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, a slightly less guarded smile taking over his face. Jane bites her lip again, looking back in the direction of the dance floor. Jane takes a big sip of her drink, licking her lips afterward.
“Do you want to come dance with me?” Jane asks, wiping smudged lipstick from the corner of her mouth. Theo hums, checking his watch. He hisses through his teeth, clicking his tongue.
“I do appreciate the offer, darling, but I’ve been here for a bit now, and I should probably get going soon,” Theo answers, pointing to his watch. Jane frowns, standing back up from her stool to stand closer to him, his hand inches away from her arm.
“Yikes. Maybe you are boring,” she says with a playful edge to her tone, looking him up and down. Theo raises his eyebrows.
“I am exhausted, not boring,” he protests. “If I don’t leave now, I’m going to become what you were in my 8 am section,” he teases, earning a giggle from Jane. He takes her in, this time looking at her unabashedly.
“Which would be unfortunate, because I have a beautiful woman standing in front of me,” he adds, his voice dropping lower as each word falls from his lips.
Jane steps even closer, and her arm brushes Theo’s hand. Theo pulls away at first, and then slowly puts his hand on her arm, trailing a finger up to her shoulder. Jane leans into his touch the slightest bit, and he watches as her lips part to take a sharp inhale.
Theo turns to face her completely, parting his legs. Jane boldly steps closer to him, taking up the space between his legs that he had made for her. Theo brushes her hair behind her shoulders with his hand, running his fingers through it.
“A beautiful woman?” Jane repeats, a trail of goosebumps raised on her arm where he had brushed his hand, and her head now leaning into his hand as he brushes her hair back to show more of her face. Her face inches closer to his, so close that she could begin to feel his breath ghosting on her lips.
Theo nods gently, humming affirmatively. His eyes dance back and forth between her eyes and her lips, darkening more and more with each lap they make.
“You’re trouble,” he remarks. Jane smirks, biting her bottom lip. Theo chokes back a groan.
Theo removes his hand from her hair, putting his thumb on her chin and pulling her bottom lip from between her teeth. Her bottom lip is glossy from her lip gloss and her own saliva when freed, and Theo fights the urge to run his thumb along her lip.
Jane loses herself looking into his eyes and back at his lips, and she inches even closer. Her nose brushes up against his, and they both are looking at each other’s lips now.
“It really is too bad you won’t dance with me,” Jane whispers into his lips. “I would have kissed you on the dance floor.”
Theo presses his nose closer to hers, almost asking for permission to close the gap between them. In response, Jane smiles—not completing the gap.
“I’m not going to kiss you,” she states suddenly, causing Theo to pull away slightly and frown. “Not when you won't dance with me because you’re boring.”
“I’m—,” he starts.
“Not boring, you're exhausted, whatever,” she completes for him, reaching to grab her drink and then finishing it off. Theo’s frown deepens as he takes one of the last sips of his drink, too.
“I’ll see you Monday, Professor,” she says, putting on a completely innocent voice and walking away with a small wave. Theo is left sitting at the bar, processing what has just happened.
—
CH2
Monday was a rainy, cloudy day, and Jane had to drag herself out of her bed.
After weighing the pros and cons of skipping her classes for the day, Jane gets herself ready and gets into her car. She grabs herself a cup of coffee on the way to campus, hoping it wakes her up at least a little bit—not wanting a repeat of what happened on Friday in Professor Theo’s class.
She walks into the lecture hall with 2 minutes to spare, avoiding looking at Theo, who was sitting in the front, as she takes a spot similar to where she sat in the previous class. Jane takes out her notebook, opening it to a blank page.
On Sunday, when Jane woke up, she remembered everything that had happened the night before almost immediately and groaned into her pillow. She was not embarrassed, just overwhelmed with the memory.
At 8 am on the dot, Theo clears his throat—commanding the attention of every person in the room.
“Today, I strongly urge you to start taking notes. I will have your first assignment for you at the end of this class, and it is due before the end of class on Friday,” Theo starts, crossing his arms behind his back as he walks slowly in front of the room, scanning the left side of the room.
Jane grabs her pen and accidentally drops it on the floor to her left.
The person next to Jane notices it rolling over near their foot and picks it up for Jane. They smile warmly, handing it to Jane.
“I’ll probably drop one for you to pick up soon,” they whisper, leaning back into their chair. Jane laughs quietly, placing her pen back next to her notebook.
“I'm not a morning person,” Jane whispers back, pointing to her pen. The person nods, agreeing.
“I’m not either, usually,” they say.
Theo’s voice continues in the background, starting his lecture for the class. He walks to the whiteboard, picking up a marker from the tray and uncapping it. Jane looks to him for a moment before turning back to the person next to her.
“Do you have any other 8 am classes?” she wonders, still trying to remain quiet. The person shakes their head.
“Nope. You?” they ask in response.
“I avoid them as much as I can. The only reason I am here is that every other section was full,” Jane explains, putting her hair into a ponytail as she does.
“Same here,” they say, beginning to write something down that Theo had just finished writing on the whiteboard. “I’m Josie, by the way,” he introduces himself, looking back at Jane before focusing more on writing his notes again.
“I’m Jane,” she responds, looking at the whiteboard to catch up on writing what had been written down as Theo walks toward the front of the room again. “Do you l—,” she starts.
“As important as socialisation is in a Sociology course, I’d really prefer if I could give this lecture without being talked over,” Theo’s voice cuts between them. He is standing in front of them, but in the front of the room.
He has his arms crossed in front of his chest and has a frighteningly patient and calm, but stern, look on his face.
Jane’s head snaps to look at him, and her lips press together into a straight line—her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Something apologetic washes over her face, and Theo nods, seeming content with that.
Once Theo walks away, Jane turns her head back to look at Josie, and they both share a brief, quiet laugh before they resume their notes.
—
The class ends, and Josie and Jane make conversation before heading out—Josie leaving before Jane.
After putting her notebook away, Jane grabs her coffee and starts walking down the small set of stairs to leave the lecture hall where she was seated.
There were 3 people other than her left in the room, because Jane had to catch up on a few of Theo’s notes right at the end, and it took longer to get packed up because of that.
As she is walking down the stairs, one of her ankles twists, and she falls down, her coffee spilling on her. She didn't fall down far—she only had two stairs left—but she still twisted her ankle and spilled coffee all over herself in the process.
She groans in pain as her brain catches up to what had just happened.
One of the students left in the room, whom Jane had found out about during class, was named Bia, and she ran over to help her up.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Bia asks worriedly, holding out a hand for Jane to use to sit up. Jane accepts the offer of her hand, hissing in pain as she sits up.
“I’m… okay. I think,” Jane says with a pained grimace on her face. She looks around her, noticing the coffee that had spilled all over her and the floor, and lets out a deep sigh.
Theo, who had stepped out of the room for a moment, walks back in and takes in the scene.
His eyebrows immediately furrow in concern, and he walks over, crouching down to be level with both of them.
“Are you—?” he starts.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Jane rushes to say, almost immediately trying to sit up straighter as she sees him. Theo frowns, turning to Bia.
“I can help her if you need to get to class,” he offers, gesturing subtly to the mess on the floor as well.
Bia nods, putting her bag back on and offering an encouraging look to Jane, waving goodbye to both of them.
Once Bia is gone, the door shuts behind her, and Jane and Theo are left alone in the quiet classroom.
“Why can’t we ever talk in a normal situation? Maybe one where I’m not half naked or embarrassing myself?” Jane groans, putting her head in her hands.
Theo chuckles, opting to ignore her question as he looks to where she is holding her ankle, his smile turning back into a frown.
“Oh my. Did you twist your ankle, darling?” he questions, moving her hand to lift up her long pant leg, revealing her injured ankle. It was a little red, but nothing seemed immediately too concerning.
“Darling?” she echoes, raising her eyebrows.
“Jane…” he waves away, completely unamused.
“I tripped down the stairs,” she admits. “And my coffee is all over me now. And the floor,” she adds, an exhausted shadow taking over her eyes.
Theo’s expression softens. He stands up and walks over to the desk in the room. He takes the roll of paper towels that is kept in the bottom drawer, unraveling a little bit as he steps away.
He walks back over to her, this time crouching closer to her now that there aren’t as many eyes on them. He starts to clean up the spilled coffee on the floor around her.
Jane sits there, unmoving as Theo works. He cleans up most of the mess, save for what had spilled under her. He hands her a few paper towels to wipe her outfit, but he takes the opportunity to look closer at her outfit.
Jane was wearing a red t-shirt with a black bra underneath, along with a pair of black leggings. Her red shirt was now wet in the front from the coffee, showing a little of her bra.
She wipes herself off a little bit, making an annoyed face when she realizes that her shirt was probably ruined.
“I have to stop somewhere to get a new shirt, now,” Jane complains whilst attempting to stand up. She puts weight on the ankle she twisted, and Theo is immediately by her side, holding her up as she almost falls over once again.
“Easy. Easy, love,” he says in a gentle tone to her, letting her hold onto him as she stands up. She hisses, looking down at her ankle. Jane attempts to walk again, but immediately has to hold tighter onto Theo so that she doesn’t fall over.
Her face contorts with pain and frustration, feeling stripped bare as she looks him in the eye. Jane is holding onto him still, and her breath slows when she finds nothing but warmth looking back at her. Theo looks around them and spots the rolling chair that he had pulled to the center of the room during the lecture.
“Can I help you get to that chair over there?” he asks, rubbing his thumb back and forth on her shoulder to try to help calm her a little. Jane nods, holding on tighter to him as he guides them to the chair. He helps her sit down and then pulls away, giving her space to adjust herself as she needs to.
Jane offers him a look full of gratitude, crossing her leg so that her injured ankle could rest on the chair. Theo grabs more paper towels, cleaning up any coffee that was left on the floor.
“You don’t have to do that,” Jane says, as he gets on his knees and wipes down the floor.
“I know,” he replies simply, not offering her any reason to protest as he finishes wiping the floor, standing up and walking over to the trash can, tossing the wet paper towels into the bin.
Theo walks back over and leans on a table that sits near where Jane is sitting.
“I’m going to get you some ice from the staff lounge. Can you come to my office with me and wait there?” he asks her, no hesitance or reluctance in his voice. Jane’s eyebrows twitch, raising a little in surprise.
“Is your office far?” she questions, biting her bottom lip as she fixes her necklace. Theo shakes his head. His eyes flicker to her bottom lip—small flashes of Friday night briefly overwhelming his senses.
“At the end of this hallway, darling,” he tells her, snapping himself back into reality as a reassuring smile returns to his lips.
Jane nods, letting Theo lead her to his office.
When she reaches his office, the first thing she notices is how empty and dull everything in it is. She wonders if it is because it is the beginning of a new semester, or if it is because Theo isn’t big on personalizing his spaces. Theo closes the door to his office.
Theo guides her to the chair that is in front of his desk, allowing her space again to sit down. Once she settles, he looks down at her.
The small space of his office, along with the quietness that makes the sounds of her breathing louder, makes the air shift into something more intense. He looks down at her wet shirt, the black bra showing through still.
Theo clears his throat, surprising himself out of his thoughts.
“I have a few spare tees that I keep in my car. Would you like me to go and get you one of them?” he asks, rummaging his hand through his pocket to grab his keys.
“Please,” she replies almost immediately, her body relaxing more as a wave of relief overtakes her. Theo chuckles, stepping closer to Jane once again. His thighs touch the leg of the chair that Jane is sitting in, as he catches her eyes with his once again.
“Of course, darling. Stay here, okay? I’ll be back in a moment,” he tells her, brushing a piece of her hair behind her ear.
He doesn’t retreat immediately after brushing the piece of hair back. Theo traces Jane’s jawline slowly, almost as if he’s savoring the moment with everything in him. He pulls away slowly as well, not wanting to harshly end the small, tender moment that had just happened.
—
Theo returns with a bag of frozen peas, a few more paper towels, and a plain black T-Shirt that he had retrieved from his car.
Jane sees him with the items in his hands and almost immediately melts in her chair. She grips the arms of his chair, her body instinctively wanting to get up, but then she has to stop herself—remembering that she is still injured.
He sets the items down one by one, leaving the shirt last. The shirt was folded, and he unfolded it as he handed it to her.
“Here you go. It might not be your size, but I figured it might be better than nothing,” he explains, almost sheepishly.
Jane chuckles, taking the shirt from Theo, her pleasant surprise at the kind gestures remaining on her face.
“You…” she starts, trailing off as she shakes her head slowly and repeatedly. Theo furrows his eyebrows, partially in concern, and partially in confusion.
“What?” he asks, confused. “Have I overst—”
Jane reaches up and grabs Theo by his tie, yanking him down to smash their lips together. Theo lets out a surprised yelp, tensing up for a second before completely melting into the kiss.
Theo leans down completely, getting progressively more into the kiss while he runs his hands through Jane’s hair before pulling back to catch his breath briefly.
His eyes match hers. Dark. Passionate. Hungry.
“Fuck,” he chokes out into a destroyed whisper, before pulling her back in for a fierce, deeper kiss. He starts to run his hands down her back and sides, letting out a small laugh into a kiss when he feels her wet shirt.
“You made a mess of yourself, didn’t you?” Theo taunts, raising his eyebrows. Jane shivers at the sound of his voice while his hands are on her. Theo notices, and a slightly more excited yet mischievous smirk breaks out on his face.
“Oh? Do you like it when I talk to you like this, sweetheart?” he adds, standing tall again, lifting her chin as he bends his neck down to look at her.
Jane bites her bottom lip, looking down as a guilty smile and a deep blush take over her. Theo continues to look at her, expectantly.
He repeats what he had done Friday night and pulls her lip from between her teeth. This time, though, he does what he had wanted to do so badly that night that he almost forgot how to breathe. He rubs his thumb on her bottom lip, spreading her saliva across it as she looks up at him with increasingly desperate eyes.
“Tell me,” he says. A command. Jane lets out a wrecked exhale, trying to mute the moan that tries to escape instead.
“Yes. I like it,” she confirms, her voice hoarse. “A lot,” she adds for good measure. Theo grins, taking his hand away from her face and pointing to the shirt that she was now holding.
“You should get changed,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ll turn away.” Theo takes a few steps back, turning in the other direction, looking down. Jane hums, hanging the shirt over the arm of the chair as she continues to look at him. He holds a patient and respectful stance.
“You could look at me,” she offers quietly, yet sure. Theo turns himself halfway around, but not completely.
“Are you s—”
“Look at me,” she commands, her voice sharp. Theo slowly turns to look at her again, every last thread of restraint fighting to break as he scans her.
Her hands are on the bottom of her shirt, and she lifts it up, revealing her black bra underneath. Her necklace falls on her chest, moving as she does. She tugs the rest of the shirt off and bunches it up, throwing it on his desk.
Theo toys with his rings, his eyes glassy with need as he drinks her in. She reaches to the back of her bra and looks at him for any signs that he doesn’t want this. She finds nothing even close.
Jane undoes her bra, letting it slip down her chest slowly before she pulls it off. Theo blinks, his breath growing less controlled as he looks.
Her entire chest is revealed now, and Theo groans at the sight.
“Can I—”
Jane’s phone rings. They both jump, startled at the loud noise in such an intense and quiet moment. Jane frowns, looking at the caller ID.
“Fuck,” she curses as she tries to stand up, but immediately falls back into her chair as she remembers her ankle is injured. She rushes to start and put his black T-shirt on. “My boss. Sorry,” she apologizes, clicking the answer button on her screen.
Theo nods, walking to his desk and sitting down at his chair, making himself busy with sorting a stack of papers that had accumulated.
“Hi Rosha, what’s up?” Jane says when the phone picks up.
“Hi, Jane! I was wondering… are you busy today?” Rosha asks, seemingly out of breath from walking. Jane hears the opening and closing of a car door on the other end of the line.
“I have two more classes today, and one of them is in 30 minutes. If it is something important, I can skip if I need to,” Jane answers, furrowing her eyebrows, reaching and grabbing the paper towel and bag of peas to put on her injured ankle.
“Up to you. We got a last-minute spot for a shoot with a photographer we didn’t think we’d be able to book, and we’re trying to see who in the cast could come for it. Marketing is willing to throw in a small bonus if you can make this, since it’s so last-minute,” Rosha explains, the sound of a car starting coming from her end.
“Yeah, I can make it work. When do you want me there?” she asks, looking up at the clock in the corner of Theo’s office to check the time.
“Hair and makeup will be there for 3, so around then?” Rosha replies.
“Do you want me to wear anything specific?” Jane wonders, fidgeting with her necklace.
“We have our usual stylists here, so come in whatever you’d like. Blaire has a few outfits set aside for you already, I think,” Rosha says.
“Oh, I’m going to look great,” Jane remarks with a smile that can be heard in her tone. Rosha laughs.
“Okay, Jane, I have to go and call around and see who else is free. I won’t be there the whole time, but I’ll see you then! I’ll forward you the info in a few,” Rosha says, the sound of her car hitting a bump can be heard.
“Sounds good, I’ll see you then!” Jane says, clicking the button to hang up her phone.
Theo looks up from where he was organizing and raises his eyebrows, looking her up and down.
“Skipping class on the first day already?” he asks, a slight disapproving edge to his tone.
“Apparently, I am,” she responds with a shrug, lifting the frozen peas and paper towel on her ankle. “I need to hope my ankle feels better in the next 3 hours so that I can drive an hour into the city.”
Theo frowns, looking at her ankle from his desk. “Would you like to stay here and ice it?” he asks, looking to his clock now. “I have a class to teach in an hour.”
Jane smiles warmly and shakes her head. “I should try to walk to the building where my seminar is, since I can still make that,” she says, gripping onto the chair as she tries to ease herself up. She puts a little weight on her ankle and winces in pain, but then tries again and puts slightly more weight on it, before opting to stand on one foot. “Or limp, I guess.”
Theo stands up, offering his arm for her to hold onto as she walks to the door.
Once they get close to the door, Theo spins Jane around and pins her against it, caging her in. He presses his thigh against her clothed center, pressing in, and is met with the immediate response of her hips jutting towards him. Her head falls back, a light ‘thud’ on the door as it does.
“I will remember what happened here today,” Theo almost growls, looking back and forth into her eyes. Jane chokes on a breath, letting out a very shaky exhale. “And whatever this is, it is not finished.”
“I don’t want it to be finished,” she says in response, pressing her clothed pussy down on his thigh, trying to relieve a little of the ache that had been growing this entire time.
Theo lets out a low chuckle, pressing his thigh harder in response, earning a small whine from Jane. He leans his head in next to her ear, the heat of his breath eliciting an immediate shiver down her spine.
“Mmm, you’re already so needy, aren’t you?” Theo observes, whispering in her ear.
“I bet that if I put my hand down your pants right now, you’d be soaking wet for me. Am I correct?” he inquires, his voice dropping lower and lower in pitch and volume with each word that he says.
Jane nods quickly, her pulse racing and her entire face flushing further.
Theo moves his head back to face her and clicks his tongue, narrowing his eyes as she goes to grind herself against his thigh again.
“Usually, right about now, I would tell you to use your words for me,” he begins. “But… I don’t think I will.” Jane stares at him blankly, confused.
“Go to class,” he says, suddenly calm and collected. Almost as if he became a completely different person again in the span of a second. He pulls back, allowing Jane to balance herself on the door, and he fixes his rings as he takes a small step back.
Jane’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, and she brushes a piece of dust off his shirt that she was wearing.
The look she offers him is a questioning one, in which he provides no answer.
“I’m going to give you my phone number,” he says, walking back toward his desk and pulling out a Post-it note and a pen, scribbling a line of numbers down. “And you are going to text me,” he instructs, walking back over to her and grabbing her hand, putting the Post-it in the palm of her hand, and closing both of his hands around hers.
“I’m going to text you?” she repeats with a playful smirk on her face. Theo shrugs, stroking her hand gently as he releases it.
“I suppose you don’t have to,” he feigns indifference. “But I think you might enjoy what happens if you do,” he finishes, a sly grin on his face as he does. Jane giggles, grabbing her bag and pocketing the Post-it.
“Goodbye, Theo,” Jane says, opening the door in Theo’s office and waving to him.
“Don’t fall again,” he says, waving back to her as he walks back over to his desk.
