#i do think TA sees things as very black and white though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hotforharrysheart · 3 years ago

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The Box

He stood in the doorway, watching you, that’s how it all started. Your back was to him, arms raised standing on tip toes sorting through the blouses you had hanging on the top rack of your shared closet. You wore a pair of black lacy cheeky panties and not a stich anywhere else. You were looking for a white halter top that was made of chiffon.

“Where is that damn thing?” You huff.

“Thought ya were wearin’ tha’ t-shirt thing wi tha “H” on tha pocket?” He says slipping his hand in his pants pocket and gawking at you.

You jump and twist causing your breasts to bounce and Harry’s eyebrows to shoot up, “Why MUST you insist upon scaring the shit outta me constantly!” You huff, hands fisted on your hips. “Stop staring, Styles!”

“Oh, I am starin’ an’ I’ll keep starin’…” he says stalking toward you. He slips his hands around to your tummy and kisses behind your ear. “An’ it pains me ta say this, but ya gon’ hafta get dressed if we’re gon’ make it to our own party.”

“Mmm…H, I can’t find the chiffon halter top I was looking for, ‘sides, you don’t have on any shoes, mister,” you whisper swaying with him softly.

“Was comin’ in to get my shoes, but ya distracted me,” he whispers back running his hands up to cup your breasts. “Seriously, thought ya were gon’ wear tha’ shirt with the “H” on it… ‘s hot.”

“Harry, it barely covers my tits, I tried it on and raised my hands like I might if I were dancing and,” you twist to meet his eyes, “you can see the bottoms of them!”

“Jesus, babe…” he says rutting his hips into your hip.

“And one of the curls on the “H” dips down and circles right around my nipple, everyone will zero in on it!” You say thinking that would convince him you shouldn’t wear it out even though you’d only be among friends.

“This nipple?” He asks and circles your right nipple with his thumb.

“Haahh…yeah!”

“Scandalous, babe, I love it…wear it! Wear it for me, please,” he pleads.

“You’re gonna insist until you get your way aren’t ya?” You turn to thread your fingers in the back of his hair.

He nods dramatically, slides his hands down to your bum and squeezes. “Love you,” he mutters before kissing you on the lips. He pulls away, taps your on the bum, “get ya clothes on woman,” he commands.

“Well, that’s something I rarely hear from you,” you smirk back at him spinning ballerina style on your tip toe back toward the hanging clothes.

Dressed in black leather pants and the cropped “H” t-shirt, you were adjusting one of your long single chain earrings. You wore a pair of sexy strappy sandal heels and a tiny waist chain draped around your belly.

Harry was standing at the mirror in just his black leather pants and a pair of white beads, spraying a couple of pumps of cologne on before sliding into his matching leather jacket.

It was your turn to gawk at his ass in his leathers. My God you thought shaking your head like you had been hit with a dumb stick.

He just smirks back at you in the reflection of the mirror. “See ya downstairs, mister,” you say saucily and do your best sexy saunter out of the room, all the while thinking about how you’re gonna make him regret asking you to wear this shirt to the party.

In the car you sat close and thought about what the night would be like. You and Harry had decided to host a Black and White party at The Box as a last London hurrah before everyone went on travel status for the tour. It was going to be fairly small, but with all the ones you both held dear to your heart.

It was dark in the dance floor part of the club, the slow strobe lights lighting up the room, along with the track lighting on the floor. The strobes had a very slight black light effect so the white everyone was wearing looked even brighter. Guess the ‘90’s were back after all, you think, giggling to yourself.

When everyone arrives, scantily clad waiters bring bottles of hard liquor on ice to the tables - the men in skin tight shorts and the women in skintight skirts and a cropped halter top. They were all in the same material…an iridescent shimmery white that looked amazing under the lights. You’re on the other side of the table when the male waiter arrives, pops the bottle and pours out several shots. You watch Harry’s eyes dilate and you can tell he’s getting aroused and honestly, who could blame him? The guy was gorgeous and toned. When the waiter drains the bottle and meets Harry’s eyes, he winks and Harry blushes. You move to stand beside him and bringing your lips to his ear, you say, “cheeky boy, that one, isn’t he,” breathily in his ear. He closes his eyes and nods.

Everyone picks up a shot glass and Harry’s voice rises over the music. “To all of you: I love you and thank you for being on this journey with me. Let’s have some fun!”

Everyone drinks to that with a cheer. Then you’re greeting everyone while drinks are flowing.

You’re talking to Sarah, Gemma, and Ny. Someone yells cheers and your arm shoots up, momentarily forgetting about your nearly obscene t-shirt. Your arm automatically flies to your shirt and you giggle as you down your drink. “Sorry!”

“Don’t apologize! Tits’re looking great,” Gemma says, giggling.

“Lemme guess…this shirt was Harry’s idea,” Sarah says tracing the H on your shirt. You shiver a little as her finger curls around your nipple.

“Of course!” You giggle and Gemma rolls her eyes. You look across the room and Harry is staring at you with lust-filled eyes. He crooks his finger ever so slightly. You excuse yourself and walk over to where he’s standing.

He pushes you up against the wall. “Jesus woman…ya killin’ me.”

You gasp, “How? I’m not doing anything.”

He huffs. You’re both already pretty tipsy after an hour and several shots. “Saw Sarah…,” he nods down to the “H” on your shirt, “saw her trace m’initial…saw ya shiver.”

You blush. You didn’t know he saw that. “Couldn’t help it. Girls are beautiful and their touches are soft…” you trail off, blushing furiously.

He groans. “Have ya ever…”

You shake your head no. “I…made out with girls…but that’s as far as it’s gone. I like…looking at them though.”

“Shouldn’t ‘ave had this conversation ‘ere. Dyin’.”

You laugh. “C’mere,” you tell him, grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss. You waste no time on soft kisses, your tongue goes straight into his mouth. He groans and runs his hand down to your bum to pull you in close.

He pops his mouth off your tongue and grins, “Taste like tequila. Tell me, love,” he chuckles, “is my girl slightly inebriated?”

You giggle, hold your hand up with your forefinger and thumb about a quarter of an inch apart. You squint one eye and say, “Maaaybee juuusstt a wee bit.”

He leans his forearm on the wall above your head, balances his weight on one foot, runs his other hand up the back of your shirt and leans in to whisper in your ear. “Gettin’ those tight leather pants wet?” About that time the beginning to “Cinema” starts. You both look over and see Sarah doing a little toodle-loo wave from the soundbooth. You look back at each other and smile.

“Nevermind, I know ya wet, Come on,” he says grabbing your hand and dragging you behind him. Over by the stairs is a dark corner, once Harry reaches it, he swings you around and pins you back against the place where the wall curves. There’s an extra heavy bass on music thumping in the background.

You can’t help but giggle and land with a gasp. “Harry!”

“Jesus, ya tall in those fuck-me heels. Been teasin’ since you put that fuckin’ shirt on, too,” he looks down at your chest heaving, “got me at the end of ma rope an’ we can’ fuckin’ leave our own party. So… wha’ m’I gon’ do wi’ ya, hmm?”

You rest your arms on his shoulders straight out, cock your head and plaster a very smug smile, “Dunno, H…What ARE ya gonna do?"

He softly turns his head to the side to see if you have an audience, everyone is dancing, mingling, drinking and living their best life in their own little world. “Well, first ‘m gon’ do this,” he says and runs his finger over his initial on your shirt. “Can’ let Sarah be tha only one who gets this nip, my nip, hard.” Then he, reaches his hand under the shirt and rolls the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, “Then, ‘m gon’ do that, again,” and he does it again a little harder.

Your head falls back against the wall and your eyes roll back inside your head, “Oh my God, H.”

He puckers his lips, looks down to where his hand is, then rolls his eyes up to your face. “Love how responsive ya are ta my touch.” He runs his thumb back and forth while he cups your breast, then he leans forward for a kiss. His tongue licks around the bottom of your lip before sucking it into his mouth and nipping it with his teeth. He releases your lip and slants his head to take the kiss deeper. You run your fingers through the curls at the back of his head and squeeze them in your fist gently tugging. He groans. “I wan’ ya so much,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Yeah? What do ya wanna do with me Harry?” You ask with a coy look on your face.

“Mmmm….not sure ya really wanna know…” he says looking down your body then back up to your face.

With your free hand you cup his chin feeling the scratch of his stubble, “Uh… yeah, H, I really DO wanna know. Tell me.”

He shakes his head, leans his head in close to your ear, tsks, “Ya so naughty… right now, I’d like ta turn ya ‘round, bend ya over, spank ya ass for teasin’ me, then fuck ya till we both scream and…” he stops when someone walks by. You both stand up straighter and Harry moves his hands to your hips.

Once they’ve gone by, you lean forward and whisper in his ear, “Go on, there was more… what else, H.”

“Then I wanna turn you over, take ya ta tha edge an’ leave ya there fo’ a little bit, long ‘nough fo’ ya ta fill up,” he stops as the same people walk back by the other direction then leans his forehead against yours his mouth just millimeters away, “then I wan’ ya ta pop,” he places a peck on your lips, “an’ leave ya sexy mess all over me.”

You squeeze your thighs together and squirm against the wall. “Fuck Harry!” You whisper shout.

“Nah, don’ close ya thighs,” then he puts his thigh between your legs and kisses your neck.

You inhale sharply causing the t-shirt to gently brush across your nipples and you swear you can feel each thread. His hand is resting on the bare skin of your side, his thumb brushing back and forth just barely wisping the underside of your breast. The arousal flowing through your body feels like molten lava, yet you shiver with goosebumps covering your body.

“Harry, I need….” you trail off kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Wha’, love? Wha’ d’ya need?” He asks returning the kiss. “Wha’s my girl need?”

You whine softly, then rub your core on his thigh.

“Ya need ta cum?” He questions with a smirk.

You nod with a whimper.

“Say it, sweet’eart.” He demands.

“Har-ry…,” you whine on a sigh and roll your head side to side looking around.

“Say it, love, I need ta ‘ear it,” his accent is thick and voice low.

“I need to cum,” you softly whisper against his lips.

“Do it now.” He stares into your eyes and lifts his thigh and applies gentle back and forth pressure. “I’ve gotcha covered,” he says leaning his body in closer to you. He flicks the snap on your leather pants, “Rub ya clit an’ cum for me, right here.”

You look over his shoulders at the sea of party-goers all lost in their own world, likely talking about travels and music and family, none the wiser. You look back at Harry, “Wha…? Are you serious?”

“Very,” he replies, “Go on, cum on my thigh, wanna see ya.”

“Can we go…” you start.

“No, I wan’ it right here, right now,” he says with a smug smile.

You look into his eyes and see just how serious and how aroused he is, a fresh wave of lust flows through you.

He slides the zipper to your pants down and angles himself a little more to the right to make sure that what you’re about to do is covered. His lips trail across your cheek and behind your ear and his thigh presses just a little harder against you causing you to gasp. “Touch ya self. Know how much almost gettin’ caught turns ya on.”

You groan. He’s right. It does. You slide your hand from his curls down your body, pinching your nipple causing him to groan and he watches as it slides into your pants. You gasp as your fingers touch your clit. Your fingers move further down to gather some wetness and then move back to your clit. You search his eyes to make sure this is what he wants and he smirks, the corners of his mouth tilting up. You smile back at him, shrug your shoulder straightening your arm down your pants and then rub your clit. It feels so good, and you automatically suck your bottom lip into your mouth, letting out a soft “mmmm.”

You’re swollen and needy and know it won’t take long. You also know anyone looking over at you would know what’s going on. Your head thunks back against the wall at the thought of getting caught and you can feel yourself getting wetter. Your fingers reach down for more wetness and then move again on your clit. You gasp. “Mmmm…’m close…fuck.”

He leans his head in close, “Keep ya eyes on me.”

You whimper but maintain eye contact. Your legs start to shake and his hands tighten on your hips. “Cum fo’ me. Ya so close…can tell. Jesus, ya s’fuckin’ hot like this.”

“Cumming!” You breathe out against his mouth. He leans in to kiss you at the exact moment your orgasm hits, his mouth catching your moans and making sure no one can see what’s really going on.

He breaks the kiss and you try to catch your breath. You look over his shoulder to see if anyone noticed and everyone’s ignoring you except one waitress who smiles at you and winks as she draws her finger across her lips, zipping them, and tosses away the imaginary key.

Your eyes move back to Harry and you kiss him as you button and zip your pants.

“Better, love?”

“Yes, much better,” you tell him, giggling. Then you look down as he’s adjusting himself. He’s trying so hard to keep it discreet, but you can tell he’s struggling to get things under control.

You look first one way then the other and spy an entry way that is roped off with a burgundy velvet rope. An attached sign hanging on the middle drape says, “Do not enter.” It appears to be a smaller VIP type room that is still part of the club, but not open to tonight’s party. The idea starts rolling through your head and you get the feeling this is going to be an unforgettable night. And it’s about to get very good for Harry.

“Need some help for that, honey?” You ask glancing down at his pants.

“Don’t tease, love, this isn’t easy. ‘M gonna have ta walk ‘round wi’ a hard-on tha rest of tha night. ‘M tryna think of maths at tha mo’’,” he says with his eyes closed.

You run your hands inside his jacket feeling his warm skin. You lean forward and kiss just over his chest. “God you smell so good… leather, cologne, and you turns me on so much,” you scratch from his back around his sides all the way up to his nips and take a moment to flick them good and proper.

“No’ helpin’, babe, no’ helpin’ at all,” he groans. You can feel the goosebumps rise on his skin. You run you finger down his jaw. “Fuck, can smell ya sweetness on ya fingers,” he says taking your hand, “better take care of that…” he says putting your finger in his mouth and sucking on it. “Always so fuckin’ good.”

You look on and just shake your head with a smirk. I’m so gonna rock his world you think as he pulls your finger from his mouth. You look at it. It’s coated in his saliva. Without a single thought you just put it in your mouth to suck the saliva. It’s like you just had the instinct to taste him.

He’s looking on with a clenched jaw. When you pop your finger out of your mouth his eyes flutter shut and he palms his cock, pressing hard for relief.

You grab his hand and say, “Come with me.”

He follows, “Babe, we need ta get ba..”

“Eventually, but look, H, everyone is having fun and doing their own thing, they won’t miss us for just a few more minutes,” you reason and continue to pull him along.

He stops in his tracks. “Baby, I love ya, but we cannot do this ‘ere,” he whisper-shouts in your ear.

“Harry,” you say pushing him against the wall and pressing your body against his. “Look at me, I love you, I can take care of you just like you took care of me, no one will know. Do you trust me?”

He nods, “So sexy when ya get like this.” He’s so proud of your confidence and how you’ve come to embrace your sexuality. So fuckin’ lucky she expends that energy on me he thinks as you press your pelvis to his and his cock gets a moment of relief. God, I want her, I want all of her and I want her for a long time.

You drag him over to the roped section and look around as you unlatch the hook and you both slip through to the other side. You quickly latch the rope back and take a quick look around to make sure no one saw you. Gemma catches your eye and you smile at her. Her return look causes you to giggle, she is putting her finger down her throat in a gagging motion.

Luckily Harry is already around the little lip of wall that separates the room from the rest of the club. He grabs you by the arm and pulls you into him. He’s ravenous for your mouth. He’s licking and biting at your mouth and then down your neck to your ear. “’M so hard fo’ you. Can’t stand knowin’ ya so wet and right here…when I wan’ ya so much.” He leans down and pulls your shirt up on one side to put his mouth on you. It’s like he’s trying to see how much of your tit he can get in his mouth. You throw your head back your hair draping down past the hem of your short shirt.

“God damn, Harry!” You moan out a little too loud.

He pops off and runs his palm up your neck to your mouth, “Shh, baby, ya gotta be quiet.”

You gather your wits about you and pull your shirt down. “Harry, wait, slow down,” you say pulling his hand from your mouth and neck. Damn, that was hot, you think making note of that for later.

“Don’ wanna slow down...,” he trails off looking up and down your body.

You reach for the snap on his leather pants and pull it and the zipper down. He grabs your wrists and starts to look around.

“Don’t stop me, Harry. I wanna do this. You’re just gonna have to make sure you’re quiet, yeah?” You say pulling one hand free and pushing it inside his pants to feel how hard and thick he is. His boxer-briefs have a large wet spot from where he’s leaked pre-cum all over himself. “H… you’ve been getting yourself wet for me,” you say with a smirk.

He smiles on a groan. “Cute, usin’ my own lyrics on me. Very clever.”

“Guess you’re all mine,” you say looking at him intently.

He leans his head forward and kisses you lightly, “Yeah, ‘m all yours.”

You squeeze his cock and kiss him good. “You ready for this…?” You ask raising one eyebrow.

He gulps, “I think.”

You kiss down his neck, down his sternum, running your nails down his skin. You keep your eyes trained on his as you work your way down until you’re kneeling.

He leans his head forward to take a look around. He’s hidden by the partial wall, but now your legs and heels are along the floor sticking out past the wall. Just as he’s about to pull you back up, you pull his cock out and place a kiss on the sensitive underside of the swollen head. A drop of cum drips down and he watches you lap it up. “Fuck!” he says behind clenched teeth.

“Hold my hair, please, “you say looking up from under your lashes. Then you lap your tongue back out onto his frenulum and he twitches. His eyes glaze over and his stare is intense. “Harry? My hair,” you remind him.

He looks around the dark little alcove and gives in, he grabs your hair into a ponytail on top of your head and holds it there. “Thank you,” you say and waggle your eyebrows. He cups your chin with his free hand, holding your gaze, “Love you ya know.”

“And, I love you,” you say and punctuate it with a kiss to the head of his very swollen, very hard cock.

You look deep into his green orbs and open your mouth wide to take him in. You waste no time taking him to the back of your throat. You can feel the blood surge through the large vein running down the side of his velvet and steel member. The lust in the air is thick with the scent of leather, cologne and musk. Your sex recognizes the smell of him and relays a need to fuck to your brain. You can’t help but run your free hand up under your shirt to cup your tit.

“Pinch it for me,” he demands his curl flopped down on his forehead, he runs his free hand through his hair and the curl falls back onto his face.

You pinch your nipple and emit a groan that sounds and feels like a growl to him. He on the other hand sucks in his lips trying to contain his own sounds. You hollow out your cheeks and suck on him hard.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” He whispers. “Not gonna last babe, should stop an’ ’ll go finish in th...”

You pop off and squeeze him. “No way,” you interrupt then take him back in your mouth.

His head thunks back to the wall and he’s panting as you hollow your cheeks around him again. Your other hand moves from his lower stomach to his balls.

He cries out and you smile around him. You don’t care who hears at this point. You just want to make him feel good.

Gemma peeks around the corner looking for you and her eyes go wide. She can see your shoes and legs and Harry’s ringed hand holding your hair in a ponytail. It’s crystal clear what’s going on. She rolls her eyes at your antics but doesn’t want anyone else to see. She moves to stand in front of the door so no one can discover you.

Harry’s close. You can tell. He’s pulsing hard in your mouth. You pop off, your hand replacing your mouth, “eyes on me, baby.”

He raises his head and moves his eyes to yours.

“Love watching you cum, baby. You’re so beautiful,” you say, smiling and taking him back in your mouth, tongue working the head of his cock hard.

You watch the curl that fell forward on his forehead and his mouth pulls back, veins taut in his neck until his mouth falls open and he groans lowly.

You keep working him until you feel him tug on your hair.

His eyes meet yours again and he watches as you swallow. He groans again and leans over to grab your hands and pull you to your feet. He pulls you to him and kisses you. He pulls back and places his forehead to yours. “Love ya s’much.”

“Love you too,” you say smiling.

You watch as he buttons and zips his pants. You poke your head out and don’t see anyone. You both slip out into the alcove. You wipe the sides of your lips and say, “gotta go fix my lipstick, I’ll see ya in a minute.” You kiss him quickly and he straightens his jacket and walks to the opening only to run into Gemma.

“‘Scuse me,” he says to her, smirking.

Gemma rolls her eyes. “Pervert.”

He shrugs. “‘M a rockstar.”

“I’m sorry. All I heard was pervert.”

He grabs her in a side hug and kisses her forehead. She squeals and pushes him off to no avail.

“Ya love me.”

She rolls her eyes again. “I do. You’re still a perv though.”

He laughs his breathy little laugh.

The party has moved to the main part of the nightclub and almost everyone was watching the burlesque show on stage. You and Harry are towards the back of the room, his arms around you from behind, hands moving on your tummy and playing with your belly chain. Every so often, his hands move up just enough so his thumbs can caress the underside of your breasts. When the girl on stage takes off her top, your breath catches. He looks down to see your nipples come to stiff points.

“Mmmm…ya weren’t lyin’. Ya do like looking at girls.”

You sigh, “yes.”

“S’sexy,” he says, kissing down your neck.

You lift your arms and put your hands in his hair, your shirt riding up and giving him access to your tits. After all the tequila you no longer cares who sees.

He groans against your neck, “fucks sake, baby” as his hands slide under your shirt and cup your breasts.

You moan at the feeling of his warm hands on your skin.

As the girl finishes her dance, a male dancer comes on stage. You feel his intake of breath as he recognizes the dancer as the waiter from earlier. You lean your head back and watch as he watches the show intensely. “This turn you on, H?” You feel him swallow against your cheek. “I don’t blame you…he’s gorgeous and flirty.”

“Fuck,” he says breathily.

You smile. “Enjoy the show baby.”

After the burlesque show, the music starts up again, the tequila’s flowing and you and Harry are on the dance floor grinding against each other and having a great time. Your arms high in the air, not caring about your T shirt length anymore.

A couple of hours later the party’s dying down and your friends are starting to leave. After the last group leaves, he gives you his leather jacket, and you breathe in the intoxicating scent of leather, cologne and Harry. Then you’re in your car and heading home.

“Didya have a good time tonigh’?" He says, voice raspy in your ear.

“Yeah, it was good, nothin' memorable,” you say, blasé.

“Good…nothing memorable,” he mutters, huffy.

You smooth your shirt down, “yeah it was a great party.”

“Bu’ nothin' special?"

“It was nice you know like all parties,” you say, shrugging your shoulders.

“Nice. Jus' nice?"

You turn your head to look out the window, trying not to smile, "yeah, was nice..." You’re enjoying this tease. “We go to a lot of parties, so yanno.”

He leans forward trying to see your expression to see if you’re fucking with him. He huffs as he sits back against the seat.

You grin out the window again. You can tell his ego’s bruised from your blasé attitude and you know it’s riling him up.

“Think I’m kinda tired,” you say continuing to look out the window with a smug expression.

He inhales and exhales loudly and runs his hands down his thighs stretching.

Cal pulls the car up to the house and opens the door to let you out. You make a very big deal out of leaning out to stand up flashing Harry a good side view of your tit and a very blatant view of your ass in tight black leather.

He can’t resist and he runs his hand down the crack of your ass. “Harry!” You say stumbling at the sensation as he follows you out of the car.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk up to the door and use the fingerprint pad to unlock the door. He’s so close you can’t move in the door fast enough, especially in heels. The click of your heels on the marble floor is only drowned out by the sound of Harry double locking the door. You turn around and lick your lips at the view of his bare chest standing there looking at you like a predator who has found his prey. The jig is up and you know he’s won the battle. It’s gonna be a long night and what happened earlier is just the beginning to what he has planned.

You back up slowly, tripping slightly on your heels as he stalks toward you. You stop and kick up a foot to undo the sandal buckle.

He shakes his head. “Leave. Them.”

“Harry, my feet hurt,” you whine on a pout.

He walks toward you and bends down to put his shoulder at your waist. He then picks you up over his shoulder and heads toward the stairs.

“Harold…put me down this instant!” You cry hands braced on his ass.

He slaps your leather clad butt and says, “Ya said ya feet hurt an’ I want the shoes on, so…”

“But H, I…I…mmmm,” you groan, “I’m tired,” you say on a rush trying to keep up the game.

“Bullshit, I can smell my cunt an’ it’s still no’ satisfied, I’m gon’ take care of it,” he mutters against your hip as he walks up the stairs to your bedroom.

In the bedroom he tosses you down on the bed and your t-shirt flies up. He points to it and says, “Take tha’ fuckin’ thin’ off.”

You lay there smiling at him and cross your arms across your chest.

His head cocks to one side and he raises his eyebrows, “Go on, do it.”

You grab the shirt tail and pull your it off and toss it to the side. Your hands immediately cup your tits and you tug at your nipples and close your eyes.

When you open them again, he’s staring at you shaking his head. “Tonigh’ was more than “nice” an’ ya know it.”

You shake your head, “Mmm… the drinks were good. What was that one thing I had…? A Caipirinha…mmm, lime and sugar, yums.”

He grabs you under the knees and pulls you to the end of the bed. Then he pushes your knees back so your leather clad legs are spread wide and your pelvis is tilted up. “Careful, mister! You’ll pull me off the bed!”

“So nothin’ else tonight, huh?” He asks one eyebrow raised.

You put your finger to your mouth and scrunch your brows, “Uhh… lemme think?”

He reaches down and swats your bum. The leather stings against your skin. “Hahh!” You shriek and giggle.

“Think very, very hard, love…cuz, tha’s wha’ I am… very, very hard,” he says leaning between your legs and propping himself on his hands on either side of your shoulders.

“Oh, there was that one thing! There was this really hot waiter who hardly had any clothes on. That was awesome. Almost as hot at that girl…she was so sexy!”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head smirking. “Thin line, babe, thin line…”

He leans down and bites your nipple and pulls it till he lets it pop back into place. “I wan’ ya, ‘m hard fo’ ya, an’ I know ya wan’ me too.”

“Ok, but Harry, I have to take my shoes off if you are gonna get these pants off me,” you say waggling your eyebrows.

“Ya underestimate me love an’ it’s no’ a good idea,” he says, unbuttoning and unzipping your pants. “Lift ya hips.” His fingers slide into the waistband of your pants and he pulls them down your legs. When he gets to your feet, he slides the pants over your heels one leg at a time, standing to his full height and holding them in his hands like a prize, his eyes boring into yours.

You can feel your heart racing as he looks at you. You’ve teased him to a place he’s never been with you before and you wonder if you’ve taken it too far.

“I can see ‘m gonna hafta remind ya how good a time we had tonigh’.”

You swallow. You watch as his eyes move down your body and you’re burning up under his gaze. He moves to the nightstand and grabs a hair tie and throws it in your tummy. “Turn over and put ya hair up, knees on the edge of the bed, legs spread.”

“Harry…” you start.

“‘M no’ askin’.”

You’re shaking with anticipation but do what he says. And you wait…

He comes up behind you and pushes on your back until your arms bend. You turn your face to the side so you can breathe.

“Rings on or off?”

You groan but don’t answer.

He sighs. “Gon’ be difficult tonigh’, I see.”

You can hear him behind you taking off his shoes and pants and then you hear the music coming through the speakers. It’s intense and causes your core to clench.

You feel the warmth of his skin on your bum before you feel his hands on your hips.

“S’ya jus’ had a nice time tonigh’, hmmm?”

“Yes, was nice,” you mumble.

“Bu’ nothin’ memorable happened?”

Your heart rate ticks up, but you close your eyes in arousal and say, “not really, no.”

He sighs and lifts his hand, and it lands with a crack on your ass.

You cry out.

He smacks you again in a different spot. “Still jus’ had a nice time?”

You grunt but don’t say anything.

“The waiter wa’ the hottest thin’ ya saw tonigh’,” he leans down to your ear, “’cept for the lovely lady…”

“Yes!” You say trying to keep up this game you’re playing.

He huffs out a breath. “Stubborn woman…” he says, as he lands a smack on your other ass cheek.

“Ahhhh!”

“Ya say somethin’?”

“No,” you squeak out.

He kneads your bum causing you let out a breath and then he moves his cock along your slit, hitting your clit.

You try to squirm but he’s holding you still.

He does it again. “Ya don’ remember suckin’ me off? Tha’ no’ ring a bell?”

You hiss as he hits your clit again. “No!”

“How long ya gonna keep this up, love?”

He sits on the ground, back to the bed, head leaning back onto the bed and grabbing your hips, pulls your cunt to his mouth. “Ya drippin’. Can see it an’ ya lyin’ ta me.” He pushes your panties to the side and licks a stripe up your slit. “‘F ya wanna cum tonigh’, ya better start tellin’ the truth.”

Your fists grip the sheets in front of you as his tongue thrusts into your dripping hole and then suctions onto your clit. “Ahhh, ahhh, ahhhh,” you breathe out as you feel your orgasm bubble, heat spreading out from your tummy.

He pops off and you whimper. You want to cum but you’re not quite ready to give in. You want to see how far he’ll take it. Your bum is sore, and your pussy is clenching but you want more.

“Ya wanna tell me anythin’?”

You shake your head no.

“Jesus woman. Ya wan’ more?”

You shrug.

He huffs but he’s curious how far you’ll let him go with this game. He pulls you back down to his mouth. “Don’ cum. Ya can hang on the edge bu’ don’ ya dare cum.”

You’re so worked up it doesn’t take long for his mouth to get you back to where you were before, and you sigh when you get to the edge.

He can tell you’re there so his movements slow down, and he slowly runs his tongue over the most sensitive part of your clit. He feels your full body shiver. He knows when your legs start shaking that he must stop but you’ve been practicing this for a while and he’s anxious to see how long you can hold it. A couple of minutes go by, though it feels like longer to both of you and he can feel your thighs starting to shake so he pulls off, both of you panting hard. He stands up and moves behind you again, arms snaking around your stomach to pull you up.

“Ya wanna tell me again it was jus’ ‘nice’?”

“Mmmm, I can’t take it anymore. I had a fucking amazing time. It was good. Everything was so fucking good,” you say, a tear falling down your cheek.

“Took ya long enough ta admit it. Riled m’up good an’ proper, ya did.”

You rest your back to his chest, shiver all over finally feeling a little less on edge, but still twitchy.

He leaves one hand on your tummy, brings his hand to your throat to feel your pulse throbbing and your heavy intake of breath. “Jus’ breathe wi’ me, sweet’eart…in an’ out,” you match your breathing with his. There’s something so fucking sexy about breathing in sync with him. You swallow at the feel of his hand on your throat and whimper. He whispers, “Ya Ok, love?”

You nod and groan, feeling his cock jerk at your lower back.

“So beautiful when ya like this….” He says rubbing his thumb up and down on your pulse point and you roll your head to the side so he can leave a line of kisses down your throat to your shoulder. “Played me good, now ‘m gonna play you, ya ready?”

You run your hand along his arm on your tummy and pull his hand down to your pussy a silent message that you are ready for him, “I need you, Harry.”

He leans forward to gently place your shoulders back down on the bed and steps away just a bit to take a good look at you laid out before him. You stretch your arms out on the bed above you and arch your back, bum propped up in a perfect downward dog position. You feel the softness of the duvet brush against your nipples and the cool air from the room along your hot, wet cunt. You’re so lost in the bliss, aroused to a place where time and space don’t exist, just pleasure and it engulfs you like the very air around your body. It’s just you and him and although you know you’re about to get fucked within an inch of your life, you know that man loves you like you’ve never known love and that love makes the fucking that much more intense. He hooks his fingers in your panties and slides them off of you.

He runs his hand along your spine and stops to circle with his middle finger around the dimples at the base of your spine. God, they’re so sensitive, and you feel a rush of wet arousal flood your channel. Next, he runs his forefinger down the crack of your bum and, yeah, he slows down to circle the little pink rosette along the way. You sway your hips when he does.

“Good, there?” He asks curiously.

“Kinda,” you answer.

“Interesting…,” he replies with a smirk. “I love ya body, all of ya body, it’s mine.” He continues his trace down to circle your wet hole. “So wet,” he says then runs his other hand to your lower tummy, “ya full here?”

“Yeah, H, so full,” you whimper

“Ya gonna pop for me?” He says feeling cocky and clever for his choice of words.

You nod and grip the duvet. Have you ever been this fuckin’ turned on?

“Make me s’hard…kept me hard long enough.” He runs his cock along your slit clit to hole and back again.

Suddenly he slaps his hand down on your bum cheek and pulls it open, “’M gon’ fuck ya now.”

“Yes, Harry,” you reply as if he asked permission, although he didn’t.

He lines his cock up and slides in slowly, giving you time to adjust. “Fuuuuck,” he groans, “Always so tight like this… gotta relax a lil an’ lemme in. Take a deep breath an’ let it out.”

You inhale and then, on your exhale, he pushes all the way in and your breath hitches. He shifts his weight forward to lean into you going just that much deeper.

“Harry…” you whisper out on a moan.

He falls forward on his hands braced on either side of your shoulders, “Ya good?”

You turn your head to rest your forehead on the duvet, and smile, “I’m good.” Then you turn your head back to the side carrying the spacey blissed-out look on your face with you.

He glances down at your face and grins catching your eye. “Love you….”

“Love you,” you mutter.

He pulls out then pushes in and you bounce forward slightly causing your nipples to rub along the duvet. “Mmmm…,” you moan and twist the fabric fisted in your hands.

He starts a steady jerking pace but is still pumping gently. You raise your head slightly, “Harry, I won’t break…don’t hold back, take me like you want to.”

He leans down and kisses between your shoulder blades. He straightens up, then runs his hands to your shoulders and braces them there. Pulling your shoulders for leverage he pumps in hard, and you bounce forward.

“Ah!” You breath out then giggle groan, “Yes! Keep going…” you encourage him.

“Fuck!” He snaps his hips back and forth, fucking into you.

You’ve never felt so desirable, so sexy…so wanted. Your arousal is dripping as he hits a spot on every thrust. “Harrrryyy…please, please, don’t stop…please…”

He reaches one hand around to gently press on your lower tummy, his pinky pressing on your clit.

“Oh, fuck, Harrryyy….right there…so good…” you’re a babbling, whining mess.

“Ya gon’ come on ma cock, love, hmm? You gonna soak me this time?”

You groan and push back on him a sure indication you’re ready for him to do his worst.

The snap of his hips picks up and you can feel him change the angle and….there it is….the ridge of his cock head is rubbing against your g-spot.

You shriek and pull your arms in to your chest and then down under your body to stretch out between your propped up legs. You grab the hand he has on your tummy and squeeze.

“Come on, baby…fuckin’ cum for me,” he pants out.

You pull on his hand as he is putting pressure there, the intensity almost overwhelming. He knows exactly what that does. The orgasm has built to the extreme and you know you’re going to lose it. You are pulling at his hand, “No, no, no… wait, wait, wait…unnghh, ‘s too much Harry, too much!” you sob out.

“Never too much, jus’ feel it and let go, it’ll feel so good…been waitin’ on this all night, Come. On. Babe!” he says between clenched teeth and flexing jaw.

Then it hits and you can’t control it any longer. The clenching is intense and with every clench another push of wetness leaks out around his cock and dribbles down your thigh and his balls.

“That’s my girl! That’s wha’ I want, gimme mo’, give it all!”

“Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh…” you roll your head to bury your face in the duvet as he pounds three more times then plunges deep and stills. His body stiff and his abs flexing with every spasm as his fills you up with his cum.

“Fuc-King Christ, babe. Jesus… y’ok, baby?”

“Mmmm…” is all you can say. You can feel everything right now and even his hands on your hips is lighting every nerve ending in your body.

He grabs the T shirt you’d thrown to the side earlier and places it on your pussy as soon as he pulls out.

“Ahhhhh…ungh!”

“Shhhh, s’ok baby,” he soothes you as he helps you to lower your body to the bed. You look so gorgeous laying on your side, legs bent, your ponytail over your face. He reaches down to unbuckle and take off your shoes, carefully placing them on the floor. He crawls on the bed next to you and pushes your hair off of your face. “Y’ok baby?”

You don’t answer, you just snuggle into his chest. You’re whole body is still thrumming and pulsing from your orgasm and your fingers shake where they’re resting on his chest.

He pulls you in tight to him. “S’ok, I’ve got ya. Y’ok,” he says kissing your temple. “Ya wanna take a bath?” His hand trails down your side and you shiver.

“Yes. Will you be with me?”

He laughs his breathy little laugh. “‘Fraid so. Can’t get rid of me tha’ easily.”

You giggle and press kisses to his chest. “I love you Harry.”

He pulls your chin up to look into your eyes. “I love you too. Mo’ than you’ll ever know.”

You smile at each other, and he leans in to press a smacking kiss to your soft lips. “I’ll go run a bath. Be righ’ back,” he says, booping your nose. “My sweet dirty girl.”

#the box #original content #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction

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griombrioch · 2 years ago

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Hello if you can spare a few moments of your time what do you think of the prompt where Jessamy the raven gets reborn but as a human person and meet hob as a college student and met Morpheus not realizing he’s dream and she thinks is hobs boyfriend or husband?

Hello yes I have So Many thoughts on this.

First off, I fucking adore Jessamy and I'm heartbroken each and everyday that we never get to hear her speak in the Netflix adaptation.

Jessamy's life as a raven was already her second chance. Like Matthew, she had lived a life in the Waking World in which anthropomorphic personifications of concepts did not exist to her. Nor did the reality of magic or the journey of flying between realms. Her first life had been a short one though. As a human, she'd been very sick. And frail. And, more often than not, alone. To die in her sleep and wake up a raven was strangely liberating instead of frightening. She could put up with the magic and the strange enigmatic man who called himself her King if it meant that she could fly. She was reborn into a body that no longer held her back. She could go anywhere and everywhere and nothing could stop her. Except the shells fired from a shotgun. Of all things.

All of this is to say, of course, that no one expects to have a third chance at life. And for quite some time, Jessamy herself doesn't even know. When she walks the earth again as a human, she knows that her name is Jessica Barnes. She knows that her parents died in a car accident when she was a toddler. She is told that they loved her very much. She knows that she doesn't remember her childhood - PTSD, she is told. For what, she is not sure and nobody seems to want to give away answers. She knows that she is drawn to history, to writing, to uncovering the truths of the past that still linger between the lines of a textbook.

The first time she sees Dream it is at the end of Professor Galden's lecture on a regular Tuesday. As his TA, she is at the back of the room. When she sees the lanky, dark haired man amble to the front of the hall, she doubletakes. Not because she finds it absurd for teachers to have partners, but because she swears she recognizes this man. From somewhere. She has another class across campus though, and Jessie's really not in the habit of stalking university faculty, so she makes a hasty exit. She still needs to talk to Robert about the classes' last exam scores, but an email will have to suffice.

The next time it happens, weeks later, the man stares back at her. He looks pained and she cannot, for the life of her, figure out why. She casts a glance toward Dr. Galden for help, but he looks just as confused as she feels. The man introduces himself as Morpheus, and something about that name is so achingly familiar. Morpheus Morpheus Morpheus.

She starts getting snippets, here and there. Tiny fragments of memory that she has no previous recollection of but the moment she experiences them, she knows that they are hers. A bus passes her on the street and she sees the wings of a thousand black birds. An undergraduate asks her about European rituals and she suddenly finds herself knowledgeable on the dark summoning magic from the 1800s. Eventually her name doesn't feel like her own anymore. Like she's outgrown it.

Finally, Dr. Galden's strange boyfriend (husband? partner? consort?) shows up in her dreams. She pushes through a door and ends up in an enormous white room with a thousand steps. Morpheus stands at the bottom of them, but the coat she's used to seeing has grown another several feet. It drags on the pristine floor. He is staring at her impassively, like he was expecting her. He doesn't appear to be in pain anymore. If anything, there is something akin to hope in his eyes. She should be afraid or at the very least startled by his ghostly appearance. She is not. She knows him.

"I know this place. Why?" "Because you are home, my dear Jessamy."

#asks #the sandman #dreamling #jessamy the raven #also jessamy the not raven #dream of the endless #hob gadling #amnesia #pls let my sweet girl live her best not dead life

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inkykeiji · 4 years ago

Text

break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you

character: zenin naoya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation

words: 9.5k

synopsis:

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.

It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.

Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!

It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.

And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.

“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”

Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”

And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.

“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”

Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.

“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.

It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.

It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.

Maybe.

“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”

Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.

God, you’re beautiful.

It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.

And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.

“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”

Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.

“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”

“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.

It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.

But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.

He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.

And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.

✰ ✰ ✰

His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.

It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.

Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.

Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.

It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.

He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.

Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.

It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.

✰ ✰ ✰

Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.

No. Instead, you excel.

Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.

And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.

You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.

Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.

You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.

Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.

It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.

You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.

Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.

✰ ✰ ✰

“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”

“I said no—”

“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.

Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”

“Well, they are, but—”

“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”

Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.

“Please, we were studying,”

The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”

“What? No, of course not—”

“Then why are you lying to him?”

“I-I’m not—”

“And you’re doing it again?”

Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.

“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”

Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.

Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.

And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.

“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.

Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”

“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”

And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.

Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”

The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”

No.

No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.

No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.

Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.

He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.

He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…

Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.

In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.

And eventually, he goes a little too far.

✰ ✰ ✰

The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.

You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.

His princess.

Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.

No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.

And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”

“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.

You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”

“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”

A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.

“N-No, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”

The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.

“No.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”

That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”

Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.

“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”

And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.

“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”

A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.

And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.

Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.

Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.

And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.

Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.

So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?

Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.

And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.

And he fucking misses it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.

It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.

And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.

Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.

It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.

“Naoya-nii?”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.

And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.

But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.

That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.

Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.

Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.

It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.

So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.

But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.

And he was stupid to think it would be.

✰ ✰ ✰

The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.

It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.

So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.

Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.

Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.

This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.

“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.

A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”

Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.

He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.

“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”

“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”

“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”

“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.

He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.

“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.

His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.

Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”

A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”

“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”

“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”

“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”

“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”

But I can’t stop.

But I need you.

But I love you.

Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.

“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”

“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”

“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.

“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”

He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.

And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.

And you’ve just found his weakness.

“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”

A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.

He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.

“There’s no cure,”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”

He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.

“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.

“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”

“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”

His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.

Because you’re the only one that can.

You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.

And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.

You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.

“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”

It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.

“And there’s nothing—”

Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.

“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”

The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.

He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.

Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.

Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.

Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.

You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.

The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.

Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.

“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”

“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”

The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.

Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.

“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”

“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”

His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”

A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”

It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.

“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”

The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.

Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.

“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”

“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.

“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”

It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.

The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”

“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”

Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.

“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”

“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”

“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”

“Forever and ever and ever—”

“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”

Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.

“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”

“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”

Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.

His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.

A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.

You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.

“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”

And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”

The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.

And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.

And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.

#zenin naoya x reader #zenin naoya smut #jjk smut #zenin naoya #zen'in naoya #tw:incest #tw death #tw toxic relationship #tw abuse #tw physical abuse #WAAAAAAH FINALLY HE IS DONE HEHEHE YAAAAY #whew okay

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

bb / gg, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook is the lead singer in a rock band and failed his Biology class last semester, so he has to take remedial classes over the summer. You're the Biology TA, double major in Psychology and Biology, watching him freak out over his make-up exam because he had overslept. Both of you are surrounded by rumors. Does the title stand for bad boy / good girl or bad bitch / good guy? Who knows.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; not the healthiest dynamic tbh; slight angst due to perceived unrequited love; smut (fem reader, D/s dynamics, begging, scratching / marking, choking, handjob (he is still wearing underwear), multiple orgasms, cowgirl, hair pulling, edging / orgasm denial, cock ring usage, m-masturbation, cum-eating); non-idol!BTS – rock singer, sub!Jungkook x studious, dom!reader

yes, it's SOWOOZOO JK, both the first yellow tropical look and the shredded black shirt look; for those who wanted him to be dom!JK, there is a moment when he is but not in the way you think because that's how I operate

Jeon Jungkook was a bad boy.

Wore too much black, dyed his hair too much, had tattoos, always had girls hanging around him. Sang in a rock band on the weekends, played electric guitar, played the game of how-many-numbers-can-I-get tonight? Never gave a girl his leather jacket to wear but was happy to buy her a drink and flirt with her until she got hot with arousal.

You were a good girl.

Always wore a blazer. Crisp white dress shirt and pleated skirt underneath, usually in a dark color. Sensible heels, but always heels. Did too many units a semester because you were double majoring in psychology and biology. Always arrived to class early, always turned in your assignments on time, always turned in your tests early and aced that shit. Took physics with calculus even though you didn’t have to because it was the harder one and you wanted a challenge.

Against the wall, shoving a fist into the neck, lips to lips, teeth snapping, hand travelling down, whimpering pleas and harsh growls, keep crying, I like it, ecstasy and pain, nails to skin. Tearing clothes off, biting, marking, I own you, and then, yes, you do, mouth and tongue, aching pleasure, cocked eyebrow, mocking the pathetic whines and cries, stopping right before the end, no, please, I’ve been good, and, you take what you get, hand fitting onto the neck, squeezing the sides, eyes rolling back, skin to skin, bruising slaps that would be seen tomorrow in the mirror, traced with shaking fingers and pants of an open mouth, moaning at the memory of sky-high pleasure while lightheaded and thoughtless, desperate to do it again.

There was a rumor.

Everyone liked Jeon Jungkook. He had two smiles, an endearing one and a teasing one. Both encapsulated the kind of person he was, honest and playful. He always sang with conviction, he rapped with savagery, and his lyrics were always from the heart. He always hung out with his bandmates after their performances at bars and interacted with those that came up to him. No one ever said Jungkook was mean or rude in any way.

And yet.

There was a rumor.

A rumor that Jeon Jungkook was taken.

He was the kind of guy that always made sure a drunk girl got home safe even though he didn’t know them. Paid for their taxi and everything. He focused a lot on his music and writing lyrics he thought would connect with others while taking into account his band members. He always told the truth if a girl confessed to him, saying he wasn’t looking right now, that he was very sorry if she thought otherwise, that there was someone he was already interested in.

“Oi.”

You slammed a hand onto the tabletop and Jeon Jungkook jumped, the shredded black shirt he was wearing falling down his shoulder, revealing his ink black tattoos on his tan skin. He was wearing a black tank top underneath.

“What’s with you? You missed the exam for your remedial class and you’ve spent the past ten minutes spacing out at your make-up exam,” you barked, pointing to his empty exam sheet. “You haven’t even filled out you name.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “S… Sorry.”

You frowned. Why was he apologizing to you? Honestly, why did you sign up for this summer TA position again? Oh, right, money and credits. Hmph. It was really just an excuse for the professor to slack off while you did the tedious things like grading and watching over idiots that skipped class. Sorry, overslept. Hung over, probably, since this was the Jeon Jungkook. Rockstar, hottie, famous in his own way.

Whatever.

He could be Jesus Christ and you would still be scolding him for missing his remedial Biology exam.

“Fill out your name so at least I can fail you properly.”

Not that it mattered, since you knew who he was. He didn’t know you knew who he was, and you had zero incentive to inform him that you were indeed aware of the existence of black-haired, tattooed, chiseled-jaw, sparkly-eyed Jeon Jungkook, all due to the constant snide remarks that followed you in your wake.

You wouldn’t be such a bitch if a guy like Jeon Jungkook put you in your place.

Who the fuck was Jeon Jungkook?

This guy, this weirdo about to fail his fucking Biology exam in front of your face.

Impatiently, you rolled up the sleeves of your gray blazer and grabbed a chair, dragging it up to the table. You snapped the chair down and sat in it, smoothing your skirt. You liked to be neat. Even though university didn’t have a uniform, you liked to keep some sort of uniform for yourself. There was a sense of security in knowing you didn’t have to select an outfit every morning. Today, white dress shirt, gray blazer, pleated black skirt that hit slightly higher than mid-thigh. Every other outfit was some variation of this and, in the winter, you wore thick stockings.

You clicked your heels together under the table sharply.

He flinched at the sound.

Jungkook wasn’t looking at you. He was mumbling at his paper.

“I… I think I studied the wrong chapters…”

You clicked your tongue. Jeez.

His hand was shaking so bad that his pen was practically vibrating. You leaned over the table, grabbing his fist to still it.

“Stop.”

Your bare knees hit his bare knees, mostly because he was wearing black jeans with giant holes in them. Jungkook froze, head snapping up, silver earrings jangling, black hair flying, undercut visible for a second.

“You want to pass this class or what?”

He nodded quickly in response.

“Good. I want to get out of here. Keep your mouth shut. Answer to the first question is A.”

His eyes widened.

“Are you… helping me cheat?” he whispered, terrified.

You cocked your head, letting go of his hand. “You said you studied the wrong chapters. I’m not spending forty-five minutes of my life to watch you panic and then ten minutes more failing you,” you replied lowly, dangerous edge to your voice.

“I… couldn’t… I mean…”

You shoved his knees open with yours, narrowing your eyes as he yelped, pleading look in those brown doe eyes. You pressed your knees on the inside of his thighs, keeping them open.

“Answer to the second question is C.”

When Jungkook didn’t move, you reached over and cupped his chin. Felt his racing heartbeat pounding through his veins, coursing through your fingertips. Stared deep into those eyes, lowering the octave of your voice, keeping his thighs spread for you under the table.

“Listen to me,” you murmured softly. “Okay, Jungkook?”

“O… Okay…”

And he did.

There was a rumor.

Nobody liked you. Maybe it was because of your high scores ruining the class test average. Maybe it was the dismissive way you spoke to people, almost demeaning. Most likely it was a combination of the two. Students talked behind your back all the time, spreading rumors. Friends? What friends? You had an average of twenty class credits a semester. You didn’t have time to make friends. And besides, why try to make friends when clearly nobody wanted to be your friend?

And yet.

There was a rumor.

You ignored such things. You didn’t need such distractions.

“It would be too suspicious if you got full marks. This score is high enough.”

“O… Okay…”

“Get on the table.”

Jungkook scrambled on the wooden tabletop as you pushed his exam aside. You were still sitting in your chair. Your head tilted, eyebrow lifting at his speedy response to your rather suspicious request.

“You listened.”

He blinked at you. “Uh… yeah?”

Silence.

“Why?” you finally said.

Jungkook gulped. “Be… because you asked,” he mumbled, knees on the table, hands clutching his knees.

“You can just walk out and report me.”

He shook his head quickly, black hair flying everywhere. “I don’t want to.”

Your other eyebrow raised. He chewed on his lip, a flash of pink tongue in his movement.

“Tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

Well.

You decided to test his conviction.

“Edge of the table. Spread your legs for me.”

Instantly, obediently, Jeon Jungkook surprised you by doing it, putting each leg on either side of you, chunky black sneakers hanging down. Shredded black shirt open, hands behind his ass, towering over you, and yet his eyes were watching you, waiting for more, begging for instruction.

“Hm.”

You raised your chin, seeing his impressively muscular thighs and body displayed for you to take. He was so close you could smell his clean, dreamy scent, like a meadow in summer dusk, surrounded by peeking stars and blinking fireflies. Interesting.

But you didn’t need the distraction.

“That’s it. You can go now,” you said dismissively, about to push your chair back.

His legs closed in, pressing firmly into your upper arms. Your eyes flickered up to him.

Jungkook shook his head very slowly.

“Do what you want.”

You saw his chest rise and fall, his silvery voice deepening, pupils expanding.

“I know you want to do something to me.”

His erection was bulging against the zipper of his black jeans. Your eyes went back to his face. He shivered at your sharp stare. All of this was happening in an otherwise empty lecture hall, with you and Jungkook at the very bottom.

Just you and him.

You placed your hands on his thighs. He jumped a little, but scooted closer to you. You slid your hands up. You undid the button of his jeans, scrutinizing those brown eyes. He raised his hips to help you as you pulled the zipper down.

“You don’t know me,” you finally said, no inflection in your voice.

He didn’t look away. “I don’t care.”

“Hmm.” You smirked. “Bad boy, aren’t you?”

Jungkook shook his head slightly, but didn’t break eye contact as you pulled his pants to his knees and reached for his black boxer briefs. “No. I’m a good guy. I want to give you what you want.” You hooked your fingers over the waistband and nicked his skin with your nails, making him gasp, the pleasure evident in his tone. He did not try to hide it from you. “I want to be good for you.”

“Why is that?”

He hung his head a little.

“Something about… how you make me feel…” he muttered. His gaze finally faltered. You reached up and righted his chin, forcing him to look at you. Saw that Jungkook had a mole under his mouth, perfectly in the center. He had a nice shape to his pink lips. You tapped his cheek, nudging him to elaborate. “You… You’re so pretty… and smart… Everyone looks up to you because you have such good grades…”

You doubted that.

Jungkook probably had no idea that most of the school hated your guts.

You didn’t have classes with Jungkook, but you were sure he knew your name because your name was posted on the Dean’s List of the highest-ranking students of the university every semester. Also, you weren’t hard to miss. Every student moved out of your way when you walked through the halls, whispering behind their hands.

Jungkook brought you back to the present.

“I feel,” he whispered, voice trembling, gaze locking with yours. “I feel like I want to be on my knees for you.”

His skin was warm under your nails.

“Like this is where I belong, in your hands.”

You stood up.

Jungkook started, turning into a tight squeak as you placed your hand on his chest and pushed him down.

“Lift up your shirt with both hands.”

He did was he was told, revealing his toned abs and the lower half of his pecs, biting his lip, clutching onto his tank top, ears turning red as he craned his head to look down at you. You didn’t give him any satisfying response. His tan skin seemed to glow under the overhead lights. You studied his face.

Reached up and began to rub his erection through his underwear.

“A… ah…”

“Gonna make you cum like this.”

He shook his head quickly. “P… Please, no…”

You felt him swell and twitch under your hand. He was pretty big. Thick. Pretty boy with a pretty dick, probably. You rubbed the head with your palm, feeling his pre-cum leaking through the thin fabric. He wasn’t kidding when he said you made him feel some kind of way.

“Why not? Make you cum in your underwear and then you have to go all the way home covered in it. All dirty, just for me.”

His handsome face twisted with sinful pleasure at your suggestion, whimpers in his throat. His cock jerked with need, wanting it.

“O… Okay. Whatever you want.”

So obedient.

“So obedient, Jungkook,” you purred, rubbing faster.

He nodded. “For you. Only for you. Just for you.”

Was it just saying those things because he thought that was what you wanted to hear? Or was that how he actually felt? Surely not the latter, considering he didn’t really know you. You leaned over him, placing your free elbow on the table to stabilize yourself. You hadn’t even kissed him.

“You’re so hard for me,” your drawled, lowering your head, letting your warm breath float down onto his skin. “You want to cum for me, don’t you?”

“Y… yes, please…”

“You want to be my toy?”

You pressed your lips to his bellybutton, feeling the smoothness of his skin, tasting it. He moaned at your kiss, your swift tongue flickering out to that delicious skin, whining when your teeth nipped at the softness. Fuck, he tasted so good that you wanted to mark him. Looked so fucking good that you wanted to mess him up, mar him with temporary imperfections on the perfection that was Jeon Jungkook.

“Yes…”

With breathless, lustful conviction.

You licked up his abs, increasing the intensity and speed of rubbing the engorged head of his cock, the pre-cum already soaked through and creating a slippery surface, turning Jungkook’s pitched whines to deep moans, a melody that filled up the entire lecture hall until was the only thing you could hear, Jungkook’s moans as you bit his skin, his moans as you sucked on his skin, moans as you kissed the hard muscle, cries for more at you left marks, pleading for you, sweet and beautiful, clutching his shirt so tight that his knuckles were white, the black tattoos of his right hand standing out, his cock throbbing in your hand, his hips rising to hump your palm, your name on his lips, over and over and over.

“Gonna… gonna cum…” he panted, sniffing slightly, cheeks flushing pink. “Gonna cum like how you want me to, all over my underwear…”

Your fingertips touched his side, seeing him stiffen and then shudder at your gentle caress.

“Do it,” you murmured. “Show me how good you are at listening, Jungkook.”

He bit his lower lip, jaw clenching, squeezing his eyes shut, tipping his head back into the tabletop, whining your name in his chest, your palm working him, slick and hot and hard, pulsating under your roughness. With a sharp moan, his lower lip popped out of his teeth, dark red and swollen, small mole quivering.

“F-Fuck…!”

You felt it and heard it, the unmistakable jolt and squelch as his orgasm splattered inside his boxer briefs, drenching the fabric, drenching your hand, his embarrassed whines as he realized what he had done but still humping your hand, forcing out every last twitch of dribbling cum, causing you to smear it everywhere, coating the sensitive head and adding to the pleasure, his cheeks flushed red, eyes squeezed shut to savor the pleasure and avoid looking at you.

“Shh…”

You crawled onto the table, still holding his cock through his soiled underwear, squeezing it, free hand slipping under his head and lifting him, his eyes weakly opening, scared and anxious, but all you did was lean down and kiss him, pressing your lips to that pure softness, exhaling his name into his mouth, his scent staining your hand, his cologne filling your nose, your whisper in his throat.

“Time for you to go home.”

Jungkook thought you would tell everyone.

You did no such thing.

Instead, you ignored him.

He would see you three times a week and, three times a week, you arrived with the professor and left with the professor. Jungkook tried much harder to attend classes, but you seemed not to care either way. He would come to the front and collect his assignment and find that you had marked it up exactly like everyone else, red marks all over his incorrect answers. You didn’t even look in his direction.

The next exam was coming up quickly.

Part of him considered skipping exam day to have one-on-one time with you again.

“Jungkook.”

He jumped, jerking his head towards the hall, confused. Somehow, he had heard your voice. Or rather, did he imagine it? His teeth sunk into his lip, placing a hand on his forehead, confused. His head was confused. He couldn’t think straight. Why had he done such an embarrassing thing with you? Even you had told him to leave and report you. But Jungkook just couldn’t. Not then and not now. He had asked for it.

He still wanted it.

Nobody knew. Everybody thought he was a cocky, womanizing playboy. And he was, but not because of the sex. It was only because he was bored and that was all he could get. There was power in being on top.

And there was power in letting go.

You were bad for him.

He was a good guy.

You were a bad bitch.

And nobody knew.

A hand slapped down on his shoulder and yanked him around, the loose short sleeves of his yellow tropical shirt flaring out, making his sunglasses rattle on his face. You narrowed your eyes at him. Instant shivers down his spine at your stern gaze.

“Are you deaf?” you snapped. “I’ve been calling your name for the past minute.”

“I… S-Sor–”

You waved a hand dismissively, grabbing his right hand and slapping down a post-it into it.

“Chapters for the exam, including the date and time. Do not miss it this time. I will not let you make it up and fail you on the spot.”

You turned on your heel, letting go of his hand.

His left one shot out and circled around your arm, his rings pressing into your skin.

“Wait.”

You jerked your head towards him, glaring sharply. “Don’t touch me.”

And you yanked your arm out of his grasp, but his legs made the choice for him, following your swift strides, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, clutching the post-it and his last strands of sanity.

“Please, wait.”

“What?” was your curt response, not looking back at him.

“Please do it again,” he gasped breathlessly, unable to stop himself.

“Do what?”

“Have your way with me.”

You stopped walking.

Jungkook walked straight into your back and banged his nose on your head. He winced, stepping back and rubbing it gingerly. He didn’t register you turning around until it was too late and you were right in his face. You raised your chin and eyebrow simultaneously.

“No.”

He blinked rapidly, his tinted sunglasses halfway down the bridge of his nose.

“W… Why? Did you not like it? Was… was I bad?”

You let out an amused scoff.

The side of your lips curved upwards.

He had made you smile, even if only a little bit. Just that small thing was enough to feed his courage.

“I…” Jungkook coughed, clearing his throat before he spoke again, voice still a soft whisper in his embarrassment even though no one was around to eavesdrop. “I can be better. I can do better.”

Silence.

He thought you were going to walk away again.

You reached up and plucked his glasses off his nose. Folded them neatly and tucked them in his tropical shirt pocket. Then your eyes found his again and he knew something was different. He could see you clearly now, his vision no longer clouded by sienna.

Now, Jungkook could no longer stop it.

He could feel it all over him, coursing through his veins, arousal like fire. Something about you and something about him. Jungkook could sense the danger, but he didn’t want to run even though he knew he should. He had heard the rumors surrounding you. They could be true.

And yet.

“I want it,” Jungkook breathed, inviting himself into the danger. “I want you. I want to be your toy.”

Your discerning expression didn’t change.

You reached up and gripped his chin, digging your nails into his soft skin.

He whimpered in his chest, moving closer to you.

“What’s my name?”

His brows furrowed, saying your name hesitantly.

You pulled his chin down so he was eye-level.

“Next time you say my name, I will be choking it out of you.”

Everyone thought Jeon Jungkook was the kind of guy to grip your wrist with his left hand and your throat in his right, his lips against your ear and his sweaty chest against your back as you slapped your ass into his crotch and fucked yourself with his rock-hard cock, his smirk in your ear as he provided you with a certain type of encouragement.

“That’s right, you want this dick, don’t you? Show me. Prove to me you want it.”

His fingertips tightening against the sides of your neck, listening to your pathetic cries and moans as you tried to squirm against him, brain running out of oxygen due to lack of blood, running out of thoughts, running out of pleas as Jungkook gripped your wrist, deep snarl against your hair as he roughly finished himself off using your body because that’s all you were, someone to be used by him and nothing more, neck suddenly released with a breathless gasp and shoved face first into the sheets with his right hand splayed on your back, his tattoos and your orgasm crashing down on you, his growls staining the air and a fierce jerk of his hips to spill into your tight hole and leave you moments after, nothing but a discarded toy in his eyes.

You thought.

That was what everyone thought when Jeon Jungkook stood on stage, flipping his dark violet microphone between verses and smirking like a devil, truly in command of every thought and every pair of eyes on him, surrounded by a heavy bass line and deafening drums, guitar solo tearing through the moment to emphasize the next of his lips nearing the mic again, entrancing the crowd with his beautiful lips and talented tongue.

No one knew.

You were riding him hard and fast, torn condom wrappers and used condoms littering his bed, back-to-back orgasms, his head pressed into his pillows, your hand around his neck, the other leaving long lines down his chest, scratching him so hard that it dotted red, blooming lines of pain.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, f-fuck…”

Jungkook was hoarsely whispering, clutching his sheets, black hair soaked with sweat, raising his chest to your nails, whimpering, punish me, punish me, punish me, and you muttered plainly with a sharp edge, you talk too much, your grip tightening again, pressing onto the sides of his neck, cutting off the blood flow, and Jungkook moaned gratefully, eyelids fluttering, the slap of your hips to his louder and louder, filling up his whole bedroom, rattling his bedframe, fucking him so hard he was slowly sliding up to his headboard.

Your name fell from his lips in pure ecstasy, back arching to shove his whole length fully into you, thick and hard and twitching with need, your slick walls clamping down on him, fitting to him with a hiss. He began to match you, breathless, lightheaded, world hazy, moaning from deep in his chest, I love you, and your reply was only tightening your grip, your hand and your pussy, harder, harder, harder.

“Aren’t you such a good guy?” you scoffed sarcastically, letting up for only a second to let him reply, blood rocketing back into his brain, flooding him with oxygen, and Jungkook sucked in a lungful of air, reeling.

“N-No…” he panted. “You’re the good girl… you’re always s-so… so good to me…”

His eyes locked with yours hazy with lust and love. You almost looked away out of instinct.

“You a-always remember… what I like…” he managed to choke out.

You left him when you were done using him.

You pretended he didn’t say those words to you. There was no point in acknowledging the nonsense that he said in the middle of being choked and barely functioning. You tapped your pencil against your textbook.

You caught yourself thinking about him.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes flickered to the clock. Late at night on a Friday. He was probably at a bar. You watched the second hand of your plain silver clock tick, tick away. You never asked to watch him and his band perform even though Jungkook always made it a point to text you the address and the time.

It was obvious Jungkook didn’t want you to be his secret.

He wasn’t really your secret either. You just saw no benefit to letting anyone know there was a connection between you and Jeon Jungkook. After all, you were just using him.

You stopped tapping your pencil.

Stared at the second hand.

Tick.

Heard the voices of the rumors poisoning you, saying the things they said.

She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else because she’s a nerd.

The only reason she has good grades is because she fucked that one professor.

I heard she dated him.

I mean, there’s a reason he left in the middle of the semester, right?

He had a wife!

Snap.

Your eyes flickered down.

The tip of your pencil lead rolled across the page, leaving tiny pinpricks of granite.

There was never any evidence because nothing happened. Nothing happened between you and said psychology professor. He left in the middle of the semester because his wife had a miscarriage and he wanted to be with her. It had nothing to do with you. You had long discussions with him about life and existentialism, hanging out during his office hours.

Sometimes, you felt bad.

Had you kept him from his wife? Would it have not happened if he just skipped his office hours and didn’t spend them talking to you? These were irrational, foolish thoughts. They made you guilty even when there was nothing to be guilty about.

He was a nice guy, mid-thirties. Everyone liked this professor.

They blamed you because they didn’t know.

Only you knew, because he told you with tears in his eyes and thanked you for being his student.

You didn’t tell anyone, because he did not owe you an explanation and you were not going to divulge someone’s personal business that they had shared with you in confidence. You watched your reputation crumble and fall apart, watched friends ostracize you, because you didn’t tell them anything and they didn’t believe you. You watched yourself turn bitter and hateful.

Just tell the truth.

There was no truth to be told.

You put your pencil down.

Closed your eyes.

Remembered Jungkook’s face.

Your hands were in his hair, pulling hard. His hot breath was in your face, arms shaking as he held himself up, fucking you into his mattress with whines in his chest, begging you, begging you, begging you.

“P-Please… let me cum, please…”

You liked to watch the sweat clinging to his high cheekbones and neck, jaw glistening with tension, feeling his strong body between your legs, his twitching hardness sliding into you repeatedly in rough, hard smacks, squeezing him every time he was fully sheathed inside you, vibrations coursing through you every time he came down.

“Not until I’m done,” you growled and he whimpered, pleading look in those brown doe eyes, black pupils expanded, unable to cum because a vibrating cock ring was restricting his orgasm, keeping him hard but unable to climax, sending thundering pleasure through him and into you. He watched helplessly as you gripped his hair, hissing sharply as another wave of pleasure overtook you, closing your eyes to savor it, savor his swollen cock twitching inside you as he felt the intense massage of your pussy walls closing around him, throbbing around the head and driving him insane, moaning pathetically because he couldn’t follow suit no matter how desperate he was.

Jungkook didn’t ask if you were done.

He just kept going because you told him he couldn’t cum until you were done.

And you didn’t say you were done.

You stared into those brown orbs, hazy with lust and full of conviction to be good for you.

Desperate to be the best and the only one, not knowing there was no one else because no one else wanted you like the way Jeon Jungkook wanted you.

“Pull out.”

“B-But…”

“You heard me,” you exhaled, throbs of pleasure still trembling through you. Your hands slid down, cupping his chin, nails digging into his sweaty cheeks. “Obey.”

With a pained whine, Jungkook obeyed, pulling out of you, his cock covered in your juices, wearing a condom and the black cock ring. You reached over with one hand to press the button on the remote to turn in off.

“Take it all off. Let me see your cock.”

He reached down and slowly pulled the cock ring off, taking the condom with it, whimpering at the sensitivity, his tone hitting a lovely pitched groan as the silicone squeezed the base of the head. His whole body was shaking as it fell from his hands, the veins on his length standing out, head purple-red and angry, white pre-cum slowly beading at the tip, and his face, looking down at you, waiting for your next move.

Cock waiting to be used.

You tapped your chest.

“Cum on my tits.”

“B-But–”

You cut him off.

“You’re going to cum on my tits and then you’re going to lick it off while I watch.”

He listened.

Jungkook straddled your waist with his thighs, muscular and defined, right hand wrapping around his cock, sweat making the tattoos on his forearm and shoulder glow in the low light, smelling like sex and musk, his core tightening as he touched his overstimulated length, using the lube of the condom and his own pre-cum to add to the pleasure as he began to stroke himself, moaning as you lifted your hands and cupped your breasts, pushing them together, his eyes on the curve of your cleavage and points of your hard nipples sticking out, and then your face, an indifferent look with a cocked eyebrow, taunting him, unimpressed by his timid grip on his cock, so he squeezed harder, tighter, embarrassing cries falling from his mouth, living for the smirk that slowly began to form on your lips.

It empowered him somehow, that smirk, the little inkling of satisfaction that Jungkook wanted, needed, craved, knowing he was doing well, being good, furiously pumping his aching cock over your pressed-together tits and he couldn’t last, couldn’t help it, too overstimulated and too turned on, too in love with this to prevent himself from tipping over with a hot gasp, spilling streams of sticky white lines over your breasts, spreading them everywhere, making a huge mess because he wanted a huge mess to clean up, shoving the head into your cleavage and shuddering at the sensation of warmth to his scorching heat, able to feel the pulse of the engorged tip dripping out what was left, shivers up and down his spine, the words falling from his mouth that he never stopped saying even though you never acknowledged them.

“I... l-love you…”

He stayed like that for nearly a full minute, but you didn’t tell him to get off.

His eyes were closed, savoring the feeling.

Slowly, Jungkook gingerly removed himself, lowering his body over yours, tongue sliding out, touching your skin covered in his cum, his taste, mine, no one else’s, him on you, lapping it up, salty and bitter and yet he loved it, loved that you told him to do it, loved that you let him paint your skin with his orgasm and now his saliva. He didn’t care that you never said anything to his I love you, didn’t care that you seemed to pretend he never said it, because he would continue saying it when he was with you, hopeless as it was.

It was the small things that kept him going, sucking his own cum off your nipple and wrapping his lips around it, hearing your soft sigh of pleasure, feeling the tap on his thigh that instructed him to scoot up, the small thing of your hand closing in on his spent cock, sending sparks of pain but also pleasure, moaning into your skin as you massaged his balls with your fingers, knowing that he could take more pressure and roughness because he had just came, the small thing of your thumb rubbing the sensitive slit, his face pressing into your breasts, smearing his cheek with his cum and saliva, sliding across your slick skin because of the intensity of the high it gave him, the pleasure and the pain, his right arm coming up to wrap around you, tattoos cradling your torso.

“I love you…” he whispered to your racing heart under his ear, lost in the rhythm of your heartbeat and the firmness of your touch. Jungkook did not care if you hated him saying it.

He would continue saying it as long as he was with you.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing…?”

“Hmm.”

He placed his hand over the bottom of his phone and smiled at the cute girl that was talking to him at the bar.

“Sorry. I have to take this call. It’s important to me.”

He didn’t hear her response, because he backed away, bowing lightly, pressing his phone back to his ear.

“Ah, never mind, Jungkook.”

“No, no. What is it? Tell me.”

“You’re at a noisy place. It’s Saturday night.”

Jungkook pushed through the people, mumbling his apologies and straining to hear your voice over the thundering bass. “I finished. Well, we finished. We’re only drinking. I can leave at any time. I’ll just text the guys to bring my equipment back for me. Where are you?”

“Forget it.”

He opened the door of the club as the dial tone rang in his ear.

Looked up.

Your hand dropped to your side. You were still in your white dress shirt and navy skirt, dressed exactly like you were when at school minus the blazer. Jungkook’s eyes widened. He was in a torn-up long-sleeve shirt with the right sleeve removed, showing off his tattoos. His black hair was wild and half-wet, and he was wearing tight leather pants.

You clicked your tongue.

“I said forget it,” you repeated hollowly.

You sighed and turned around, skirt swishing in your wake.

“Wait, I’ll come with you–”

“Go back to where you belong, Jungkook.”

His hand closed around your forearm, holding tight.

“I belong with you.”

You stopped walking, silent.

“What is it? Tell me.”

You scowled. “It’s dumb.”

“So am I, remember?” he chuckled, his hand slipping down, squeezing yours. “I’m not very good at school.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Cars and people brushed past, but Jungkook was focused onto on your stillness, watching your eyes seemed to be thinking about many things. You hadn’t pulled your hand out of his yet. By now, Jungkook knew that if you didn’t want something, you wouldn’t be shy about telling him right away.

You started walking again. Jungkook was still holding your hand.

“It was just a moment of weakness,” you mumbled under your breath.

“A guy…?”

You didn’t answer.

Jungkook squeezed your hand. “It’s okay,” he murmured tightly. “I understand.”

He did not. He wanted to cry.

Your eyes shot to him, pinning him in place. “You don’t understand, Jeon Jungkook. You understand nothing.” You pulled your hand out of his and Jungkook let go, trying to hold his pain, trying not to breathe because he was preparing himself for the inevitable, the moment you were going to break his heart and, if it was right here and right now, then so be it, because he had said how he felt repeatedly and there was nothing more he could do than that.

He loved you so, so bad.

Jungkook knew he shouldn’t, that it was madness, but he did anyway.

But you surprised him.

Your sharp gaze softened.

“You know what they say about me. You have to know,” you exhaled, shaking your head. “You must know the rumors.”

Good girl gone bad.

Jungkook frowned. “About you and the professor?”

He watched your jaw clench.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Your eyes shifted, not quite looking at him.

“Whether something did or didn’t happen, what does that have to do with me?”

And now you looked at him, guarded, not letting him know your thoughts.

“You…” He swallowed, trying to press the lump down in his throat. “You’re just using me, right? It doesn’t… doesn’t really matter, because in the end I don’t matter to you anyway… right?”

He did not want to cry and yet he did, because he knew he loved you. It was the small things, the way you never let up on him even in class, the way you picked days that were never the weekend and never before exams, the way you would brush your fingertips on his knuckles before leaving when you thought he was asleep, the way on the last time, the last time you were together, that you pressed your lips to his forehead when you thought he was asleep, running your fingers through his hair.

Jungkook was standing outside this bar and there were people he knew walking past, seeing you and him, but he kept his eyes on you, because the only one that mattered was you.

The one he belonged to was you.

He had decided that when he climbed onto the table that day.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and let out a heavy breath. “If people say things about you, then they say things about you. Whether it’s the truth or not doesn’t change the fact I love you. It doesn’t make me love you less,” Jungkook said, speaking at his usual volume, because there was no reason to whisper the truth. “Even if it’s pointless and crazy, I want to be with you until the day you don’t want to be with me.”

His smiled and blinked back tears.

“Even if that day is today, I will never regret it.”

In this cruel summer, you could have ruined his reputation. You could have told everyone the kind of person he really was and you didn’t. You could have spread embarrassing stories of the things you made him do and you didn’t.

Even if he didn’t matter to you, Jungkook was confident that you weren’t a malicious person.

You rubbed your forehead. “The rumors will come to you.”

Jungkook laughed. “So what? I heard a rumor that I removed two ribs so I could suck my own dick. I admit, I considered doing it after hearing that.”

You scowled, but Jungkook only smiled in return. He could see the tension falling from your face with his comment. You clicked your tongue and tilted your head, as if to say, can’t be helped.

“There’s no other guy,” you muttered. “There’s just you and you’re dumb.”

Jungkook blinked rapidly, confused.

“You say it over and over and make me think about it all the time.” You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair. “I’m not a good girl. People pushed me away and I stayed there instead of trying to repair the burned bridges. I don’t even think I want to repair them. Who knows what will happen next? I don’t think it would be a good idea to put you through that shit.”

You sucked on the inside of your cheek, looking at him apologetically.

“You’re not the bad boy everyone says you are. You’re a good guy. You should find a good girl.”

Is that what you think? Jungkook chuckled, taking out his hand and rubbing his nose thoughtfully.

“I don’t want a good girl.”

He stepped toward you, lowering his hand and his head so that he was eye level with you.

“I love a bad bitch who can push me around and makes me their toy.”

He tilted his head, small curve on those beautiful lips, tiny mole underneath appearing with every smile.

“Which can only be you, you know.”

Jungkook didn’t try to kiss you. He only wanted to look into your eyes so you knew his conviction.

“I love you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you say it.”

He nodded. “And I’m going to keep saying it until the day you leave me.”

Silence.

Ah.

Your eyebrow lowered and you gave him an indifferent look.

“Hm. I wonder when that will be, Jungkook.”

You leaned in, but before you kissed him, he heard the whisper against his lips, felt the shape of yours as they brushed against his, words he prepared himself to never hear from you, words that he thought you would never say, and that was fine with him, because you showed it, and that was enough.

He thought.

“I love you.”

And then your lips on his and his tears fell onto your cheeks because Jungkook wanted to cry all this time and he could not stop now, knowing that he was so, so in love with you and you finally, finally said it back to him.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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erwinsvow · 4 years ago

Text

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐚𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬

a/n: hey everyone! hope you enjoy these college headcanons! part two can be found here! warning for nsfw in jean's, and mentions of alcohol/partying throughout!

jean kirstein

jean shows up to college thinking it’s gonna be high school part two, and quickly gets put in his place

his old antics (for both school and girls) won’t fly anymore, so he tries his hardest at both

i personally see jean as not the smartest, most gifted kid (in college!) but definitely one of the hardest workers

this man comes in pre-law and changes to sports management real quick

he definitely plays some kind of club sport, lacrosse or basketball or maybe even both and he is way too into it

like club lacrosse is his life.

he 100% has eyes for cheerleaders, because he loves idea of someone rooting for him, and if you are one, then it’s instantaneous

he notices you at one of his games, giving a shove to conny and asking if he knew who you were

which is met with “what do i look like, a phone book?”

he builds up the courage to ask you out eventually, to which of course you agree, and it’s pretty much a happy ending after that

makes for a lot of sweaty, post-match sex, with him still in his jersey and you in your uniform hiked up

reiner braun

frat bro reiner is a business major with a focus on finance

reiner is the guy who dedicates 100% of his time to school during the weekdays, and the weekends are for the bros

he’s the first in the library, last to leave lecture because he stayed behind to get clarifications, and pretty much aces everything

halloweekend, he decides to drag annie and bertholdt to a party, because they are in desperate need of letting loose

probably dressed up as something mildly douche-y that didn’t require a lot of thought: a foot ball player jersey with eye black improvised by annie

he is a heavy-weight if you’ve ever seen one, probably on his fifth cup of cheap beer and not even slightly buzzed

annie and bertholdt are sloshed, so he keeps one eye on them to make sure they’re alright

you, on the other hand, are serving as designated-driver for the night and sipping on soda

i think any kind of sweet, innocent costume (angel, fairy, woodland creature) would get his attention immediately

he goes over to you to try to make conversation, and finds himself stumbling over his words even though he just swore he wasn’t tipsy yet

but you find it cute, and given how you have seen him before around campus, studying all the damn time, you’re pleasantly surprised to find a sweet, interesting guy making conversation with you at a halloween party

eventually, your friends take off with their hook-ups, and reiner is left behind alone too after making sure everyone had a safe ride home

with no one left besides you two and his passed out friends, you offer him and his roommates a ride back to his dorm

after dropping annie off, you arrive at the dorm and help lug a blacked-out bertholdt to their room

you say goodnight and as you leave, feeling bold, you leave your number on the whiteboard hanging on their door

so that then turns into coffee-and-studying dates, and eventually a relationship before too long

armin arlert

i think we all know what armin is like in college: marine biology major and history minor

this is an effortless genius, so unlike reiner, he doesn’t have to spend all his time studying

i think armin would be the kind of guy who has school and life figured out, and he slowly realizes a healthy relationship is the one thing missing from his life

there’s honestly plenty of people who want to date him, if he had ever cared to return any of their gazes

i honestly see him being oblivious, so when a fellow classmate asks if he wants to study together, he goes “oh, sorry, i wasn’t really planning on studying, but maybe eren wants a study-buddy, i’ll let him know for you!” instead of realizing that was someone flirting

so it’s the same for you

you’re taking the marine sci class as a last resort, everything else was completely filled up, and you just had to get out of that physics class

but all this talk about oceans and sea-creatures is even worse, somehow. to put it short, you’re struggling, and armin is the kid who raises his hand at every question without so much as jotting down a note during lecture

you know mikasa through a friend-of-a-friend type situation, and ask her if armin would be willing to tutor you sometime

doesn’t matter that part of the reason you’re doing so poorly is because you’re staring at the back of his head most of class

armin and you get together to study on a saturday evening, and what began as a recap on the history of the ocean quickly turns into laughing, talking, and then “you wanna go grab something to eat?”

for someone so smart, he’s really dense

he thinks you’re being friendly and doesn’t want to assume you’re thinking this is a ‘date’ even though you’re internally screaming

it takes you leaning in for a kiss after he’s walked you back to your dorm for it to click

needless to say, he wasn’t quite so oblivious after that

eren yeager

eren was determined to get into the same college as armin and mikasa

my man is undecided, and then sociology after he’s forced to pick

not exactly a fuckboy, not exactly a stoner, just somewhere in between

procrastinates doing work and submits every thing a day late, even though he probably would have gotten full marks if it was on time

him and mikasa decide to take a marine bio class with armin, and he ends up falling asleep during lecture

i don’t see him going for a goody-two shoes type that wants to reform him, because he just wouldn’t want to deal with that

it’s not a toxic relationship, but pretty close to one

on again, off again ever since the two of you met in a dingy frat basement, absolutely hammered, and hooked up

this boy does not want to admit that he’s caught feelings, but eventually it comes to that because he is very much the jealous type

catches you engaging in polite conversation with reiner and he is seeing white in seconds

he realizes he has to make you his

marco bott

the most wholesome nursing major with a minor in english because he is a sucker for lit

i don’t think there is any shortage of girls who want to be with marco, just given how sweet and genuine he is

that being said, i feel like the few time he’s wanted to pursue a relationship with someone, they haven’t reciprocated/just saw him as a friend

which isn’t the easiest thing to deal with, but because he’s a mature angel, he doesn’t hold that against anyone

instead, he kind of succumbs to this false idea that people want to be his friend, and not his girlfriend, which he’s a little insecure about

that’s why i think you and marco would have idiot best friends to lovers, featuring everyone around you knowing how head over heels you both are except the two of you

you two meet in a particularly challenging class, and not recognizing anyone, you both turn to the friendliest face in the room to make study-buddies with

over a whole semester of late-night cramming (and talking), scribbling smiley faces on flashcards, and good luck texts before the exam, you realize how much you’re gonna miss constantly hanging out with marco

and on his end, he’s complaining to jean about how after the final, you two won’t have any reason to keep talking

“so ask her out then, you idiot”

“she probably doesn’t think of me like that…”

“are you blind?” jean says, with a roll of his eyes

after the class has ended and you’re both headed back home for winter break, you work up the nerve to text marco one last time

“let me know if you ever need help studying for another class :)”

you have no idea that he’s over the moon, and that finally brings an end to your friendship, and starts your relationship

bertholdt hoover

mister bertholdt is structural design and architecture major

there’s basically six of those total in your entire college, so he definitely gets a bit isolated/lonely sometimes

he basically came to college with reiner & annie, and figured he didn’t really need more friends than that

so when they’re busy, he’s just by himself

annie definitely makes fun of him for not spreading his wings and flying out of the metaphorical nest, but he’s comfortable with how it is

not a huge fan of the party scene, and prefers a quiet night of studying

i feel like you and him would be the last two studying in the library most nights, and sometimes walk out together after the librarian reminds you both the building is closing

so, when reiner and annie drag him to a party one weekend, he’s shocked to see you there too with outgoing friends of your own

he’s used to seeing you in the bright fluorescent lighting of the library, so this dim, hazy room after the shots have already gone to his head is hard to take in

you two eventually end up talking after your friends push you towards him

“funny seeing you here.” “i could say the same to you.”

he already has a crush (you do too, but he doesn’t want to accept that) so the alcohol inhibits his usual caution

a little bit of dancing, a lot of sitting on the pavement outside while looking at the moon, stars, and each other, topped off with a first-kiss starts your relationship

levi ackerman

teaching assistant levi is a staple of your college

almost infamous, really

you count your lucky blessings that he’s still a year or so away from graduating with his ph.d. in molecular biology and that he’s ta’ing this microbiology class

you’ve definitely heard all sorts of rumors, but you really don’t know what’s truth and fiction

he definitely hasn’t slept with a third of his students (right?) but the lingering way he looks at you isn’t helping quell your thoughts

technically speaking, teaching assistants and students are not allowed to date, interact, etc

until the semester in which you are their student is completed, at least

it doesn’t take long after that for you two to constantly run into each other

“how’re your new classes going? any hot ta’s?” he asks, sipping his tea from the bookstore cafe. you choke on your hot chocolate.

all this being said, you’re an upperclassmen about to graduate, possibly start a ph.d. or masters program yourself. i see him teaching upper-level courses exclusively.

it’s not long after that you admit your feelings to each other, since after all, there’s no time to waste

erwin smith

you’re a second year masters program in the history department. your specialization is military history, so of course professor smith is assigned as your thesis advisor.

i mean, he’s only written several textbooks on the subject

on first sight, you can’t believe he’s a professor. because certainly, this is a some cruel twist of fate. he’s closer to your age than some of his colleagues.

you both try to keep it strictly professional

at first least. this gets gradually harder and harder

there’s a certain chemistry there neither of you can deny.

having a mutual interest in the same subjects doesn’t help too much either. suddenly, you guys are spending hours pouring over topics for his next textbook and your thesis.

the conversation continues over chinese food in his office, long after the rest of the building has cleared out for their friday evenings

“well, i won’t keep you any longer. i’m sure you have much better plans on a friday night than talking military policy with me.”

“there is no where else i’d rather be.”

hope you all liked it! :)

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weelittleweasley · 4 years ago

Text

sheer brilliance (f.w.)

prompt: being a teacher’s assistant at a local college, you are assigned to a philosophy professor who is notorious for being young, cocky, and undeniably handsome. does his arrogance get in the way of you getting or job done? or is it his looks?

pairing: professor! fred x teacher’s assistant! reader

warnings: typically frowned upon relationships (oopsie i love forbidden romances that are legal and consentual mwah), language, food, drinking, alcohol

word count: 15k (I am so sorry I really couldn’t help myself)

author’s note: there won’t be a direct part two of this, but you can bet ur sweet booty that i will be writing more prof!fred in this universe because he’s just so HNNNGG

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff @harrysweasleys @gcdricreads @lumos-barnes @whizboingies @lumosandnoxwriting @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h @lol-idk-oops @another-lonely-heart @kaseyrose96-blog @hufflepuff5972 @amourtentiaa @parseltongueswriting @shilohpug @peachypotter @spacexcowgirl @PaintballKid711 @vogueweasley @freddie-weaselbee @freds-slut @missmulti @gryffindcrghost @wand3ringr0s3 @valwritesx @sweeterthansammy @loonylovegood13 @lostaurorax

“It’s so nice to see another young face here,” a blonde haired girls sighs next to you as you swipe your ID card to enter the university building for your first official day of work. “I thought I was going to be the only new TA here,” she confides in you as your shoes click down the corridor as you make your way through the halls.

You flash her a comforting smile, “Same here. But I think there’s more of us on the way. Besides, we’re relatively early.”

As a last year graduate student, you needed to be a teaching assistant in order to get your degree and finish your course requirements. It wasn’t an opportunity you were thrilled about, but it would give you hands on teaching experience in a university setting that could be very valuable. That was, if you had the right professor.

“I’m Luna, by the way,” the girl next to you chimes as she fixes the strap of her purse, offering you her hand to shake, gladly accepting it. “I’m a TA for Women and Gender Studies,” she adds proudly.

“I’m (Y/N),” you smile, “TA for Philosophy.” Luna looks impressed as you tell her about your area of study, making you laugh. “I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds. I quite like it, actually. Just hoping the professor I’m assisting is a good one,” you nervously speak, turning the corner to walk to the Dean’s office.

Luna shakes her head, “I hear you. It’s definitely nerve wracking, but Hogwarts University has some of the top rated professors in the country, so I really don’t think we’ll have many problems in that department.”

You suck in a deep breath as you nod. The university was quite prestigious, you were shocked when you were informed you would be assisting here, but honored nonetheless. However, there was still a pool of nerves that swam around in your stomach as you thought about the professor you would be assisting. You could have a someone who was so knowledgeable in your field of study or someone who was a complete ass. It was a dice roll. “One can only hope,” you sigh before arriving in front of the Dean’s door, placing three knocks on the wooden door.

The door swings open to reveal a happy looking man, brown hair combed back and a toothy grin on his face. He wore houndstooth pants with a white button down tucked in and a neatly tied bow tie around his neck, matching the color pattern of his pants. His face glowed with excitement as he beamed, “Ms. Lovegood, Miss (Y/L/N), so glad to finally have you with us!” You and Luna offered him a warm smile in return as he opened his office door wider for the two of you to enter. “Welcome to Hogwarts! I’m Dean Longbottom, but you two can just call me Neville,” he smiles as he sits behind his desk adorned with small succulents and stationary. “I’ve been anticipating your arrival along with the other teaching assistants for awhile. It’s so nice that we have such a large pool of you for this semester. The professors are quite lucky to get quite a brilliant bunch like you,” he compliments.

“Speaking on behalf of all the TAs, I think I can confidently say we feel honored to be here,” Luna smiles softly as the dean chuckles and you nod.

Neville nods his head, “We are honored to have you.” You and Luna thank him before he begins again, “So, the two of you have some time before you are reporting to your classrooms for lecture. How about I give you the tour of the campus? A proper Hogwarts welcome?”

You and Luna excitedly agree and Dean Longbottom starts to walk you through the hallways of the beautiful university. The university had once been castle during the Gothic era, still maintaining the same structure. Beautiful hallways, paintings of founders hung in the walls, windows adorned with stained glass as sunlight seeped through. “The dining hall is on the left over here,” Neville gestures, revealing a large room lined with tables, school flags hanging high as students varying in year gather to chat and eat. “And if you look ahead, you’ll find the campus courtyard. It’s beautiful this time of year with the flowers in full bloom,” Neville smiles to himself. “Across the street are the campuses houses. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Syltherins, and Hufflepuffs,” he points as you see tall houses, coated in paint of their respective colors. “I myself was a Gryffindor when I was a student,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you and Luna. “Other than that, I think that concludes the tour. Here are your staff lanyards and your professor assignments have been forwarded to you in your emails. There’s still some time left before lecture, so feel free to hang around campus or in the staff lounge. If you need anything, please, don’t hesitate. I’ll see you two very soon!” he waves before disappearing down the hall.

In this moment, you take the time to look around the hall to see the bustling student body, smiling and laughing as they make their way down the halls. You softly smile to yourself, reminiscing about when you were an undergraduate. A freshman in the halls, excited for university. Now, you were nearly done with graduate school, soon to be a certified professor. Time had flown by in the blink of an eye.

“You want to take a peak in the staff lounge?” Luna disturbs your thoughts.

Turning to her, you give her a smile and a nod before walking up the stairs three levels to reach the staff lounge. Inside were a few professors scattered here and there, but mostly there were TAs. The room radiated buzzing nervous energy as red lanyards signifying TA status hung around a few necks. One of the boys sitting at the table spotted the red lanyard and spoke cooly, “You’ve found the right place.”

He rose from his chair and walked over to you and Luna with a shocking amount of confidence. His jet black hair was gelled back neatly, a crisp light blue button up and handsome tie clung on his neck as he stuck out a hand for you to shake. “Name’s Harry,” he proudly shook your hand. “I was a TA here two years ago, now in charge of the TA program and coordinator for the math department. You two look new. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just I could sense it,” he laughs.

“(Y/N),” you shake his hand firmly as he smiles. Luna does the same with a small smile. “You’re right about the new part. It’s both our first semesters here,” you confirm.

Harry nods and walks back to his chair, leaning back, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Nice. What’s your area of focus?” he asks.

Luna grabs a seat and speaks, “Women and Gender Studies. You by any chance know a Ginevra Weasley? She’ll be the professor I’m assisting this semester.”

Harry lets out a chuckle before an unfamiliar voice speaks up, “Oh, Potter is familiar here with Ms. Ginevra Weasley. That’s his fiancé.” You turn around to face a smirking face as he sips on his piping cup of black coffee. “I’m Seamus Finnegan. Head TA for the chemistry department,” he introduces. “You’ve lucked out,” he tells Luna. “Ginny is the best in the department. She’s a hard ass, but you’ll learn a lot from her.”

Luna smiles to herself, “Very excited to get started then.”

“What about you?” Harry nods to you as Seamus slides into a seat next to Harry. “Area of study?”

“Philosophy,” you reply cooly. Seamus gives you an impressed look as Harry smiles lightly. “Specifically Ethics,” you add on. “I’m assisting another Weasley, actually?” you look at Luna. “Are they by any chance related?” you ask Harry and Seamus.

The two of them just chuckle as Harry sighs, “Yeah, the whole family basically teaches here. You’ll learn fast. They all got jobs at the same time since their father is on the board of directors. All of them deserve to be here though. Brilliant professors, all of them.”

You let out a sigh of relief that you didn’t realize you were holding in. Confirmation that you had a more than capable professor was good news.

Seamus continues on Harry’s tangent. “Basically one in each department,” he shrugs. “Ginny is a women and gender studies professor, Percy is the head of the business department, Charles is in the vet school, Bill is an adjunct professor now, but he’s in the language department with a focus in French, Ron is the European History professor and by the looks of it, he’ll be the head of the department next year, George is the chemistry professor I assist, and then there’s Fred w-”

“That’s the one,” you interrupt. “He’s the one I’m assisting this semester. How’s he? Do you have any intel that could help a new bee out?” you ask hopefully with a glimmer of jest in your voice. But the look on Harry and Seamus’ faces make your stomach do a flip. They look at each other knowingly as Seamus lets out a small chuckle. He mutters a small yikes before sipping on his coffee and excuses himself from the table to go attend his lecture with George. “What was that look about? Is he a lazy professor?” you groan.

Harry lightly laughs and shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Fred Weasley is a great professor, no need to worry about that. He’s just...how do I put this without getting fired?” he whispers the last bit to himself as your eyes widen and you lean in closer with a what?, making Harry shake his head. “It’s not bad, I swear, he’s not like...unstable or anything. He’s just very cocky. Fred is good at his job and he knows it. He doesn’t let anyone forget it. He’s been ranked top professor at the school for the past three years and wears it like a badge of honor.”

Great, a cocky professor. A narcissist. Just what you needed when starting a job that could determine the fate of your career. You sigh and flop back in your chair as Luna gives you a sympathetic look. “Bloody brilliant,” you huff.

“He’s a great professor though!” Harry tries to make light of the conversation. “Fred has been teaching straight out of university, so he knows what he’s doing. Students really admire him and his lectures are some of the best that I’ve seen. He knows how to have fun in the class, but he doesn’t take any bullshit,” Harry reassures you as you give him a weak nod. It was nice to hear that he was at least respected and admired by the students. Maybe you could learn to do the same.

Luna takes a look at her watch and gives you a nudge. “It’s twenty minutes until the new lecture block. Reckon we should introduce ourselves to our professors?” she asks as you sigh with a reluctant nod. After that bit of information you just received, you were less excited to meet your professor. “It was nice meeting you, Harry,” she beams to Harry as you two rise from your seats.

“Lovely meeting you two. I’m sure I’ll catch you around in the halls,” he winks friendly before you both exit the staff lounge.

Nervously, you played with the cuffs of your turtleneck, walking down the halls, parting with Luna, wishing the other good luck in their first lecture. As you strolled the hallway of the fifth floor, searching from room 523 where Philosophical Ethics would take place. You wondered how he would look. Old, no doubt. Harry said he’s been teaching since he graduated which had to mean he was in his late forties. Was he a cranky old white man? Great. Just fantastic. He probably had the traditional way of teaching which meant he sat at the front of the classroom and spoke at the class for three hours. Your worst nightmare. How could someone ruin something you loved?

You stumble upon the wooden door with golden paint etched into it 523. With a confident inhalation, you push the door open and enter the classroom, neatly set up for the next lecture. Three rows of eight, one next to the other. In the front of the classroom was a large chalkboard with the words Welcome to Ethics written in sloppy handwriting. Gently, there was soft jazz music playing from a small speaker, filling the classroom, saxophone and trumpet melodies echoing. Everything looked normal. Except for who sat at the desk.

At the front of the classroom, sitting at a dark brown desk was a tall, lean young man with tuffs of orange hair styled back. He wore a freshly ironed white button down that was tucked neatly into a pair of chestnut corduroys with matching brown chukka boots. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off his muscular biceps and toned arms. A shiny silver Rolex watch was strapped on his left wrist as he tapped a pen against his desk. But you couldn’t get over how young he was. The youth in his face was lively as his dark chocolate eyes scanned over a paper in front of him. Your presence was unknown to him as he continued to flip through papers, dragging his pen across the margins.

Politely, you clear your throat, causing him to look up from his paper, looking up at you. When his eyes landed on yours, you gulped thickly. His whole face was undeniably attractive. His angled jaw, full lips, soft eyes. He gave you a confused look. “Lecture isn’t for another twenty minutes,” he told you before looking back down at his paper, almost dismissing you. “But feel free to have your choice in seat. I hope you don’t mind the music. Let me know if it’s distracting,” he tells you before flipping the pages again.

You inhale deeply. “Actually, Professor Weasley, I’m (Y/N),” you introduce yourself. Professor Weasley looks up at you with confused eyes, trying to put together your identity. “Your TA for the semester?” you speak with a small smile. “I’m very excited to get started with you.”

But before you can ask him what you could do to help set up the classroom, he speaks, “I didn’t ask for a TA.”

His words take you aback for a moment. Instead of an introduction or even a simple hello, he told you he didn’t ask for a TA. “I beg your pardon?” you ask with almost a laugh.

“I didn’t ask for a TA. I don’t need one,” he clarifies to you, rising from his desk as you gulp, taking in how tall he was, standing proudly above you. “I’ve never needed a TA in the past, and I don’t know who decided I needed one this year. After being voted best professor since I got here, I don’t understand why this is the year I need one,” he laughs, making his way around the desk, leaning against it, tucking his hands in his pockets.

You give him a disturbed look. Harry telling you that Fred Weasley was cocky was a damn understatement. The bloody guy was telling you to your face that you weren’t wanted or needed here. That he could do his job perfectly fine without you. “I’m sure you don’t need one, Professor, but this was my assignment. Dean Longbottom assigned me here and I’m just following what I was told to do in order to get my degree,” you tell him, trying to remain cool and polite when you’d rather tell him to suck it up and deal with it.

Fred run his fingers through his hair before placing them on either side of his body, leaning back into his desk, tongue pressed against his cheek. His biceps flexed underneath his tight white shirt, making you gulp, trying not to get distracted at the fact that your professor was not only a dick, but an incredibly handsome one. “Neville assigned you?” he laughed. “Alright. Well, I’ll go down to office and get this sorted away,” he huffed before standing up straight.

But before he could take a step further, you stopped him, now getting frustrated that this guy didn’t even try being nice to you. “Hold on,” you stopped him, fixing the strap of your purse on your shoulder before placing it on the desk next to you. “This job was assigned to me. There are no other TA positions available in the philosophy department this late in the game. I’m not gonna lose this job just because you allegedly don’t need a TA,” you try to keep cool, but the venom leaks out every now and then.

Fred gives you a light chuckle before speaking, “Not allegedly. I don’t need one. There’s a reason why I’m one of the most successful and youngest professors. I can run this class by myself without some grad student’s help.”

Now, you are pissed. “Alright, you know what?” you fold your arms over your chest. “I don’t appreciate being spoken to like this. I’ve worked very hard to get where I am and I will be respected. Regardless if I am a TA, or a student, or a co-worker. I am here to do a job and I will do that job no matter what anyone says,” you tell him as he just stares at you, a cocky smirk on his face that makes your blood boil. It was like he wasn’t listening to a word you were saying. “So how about we save ourselves the dramatics and just be satisfied with the fact that this is the situation?”

Fred just exhales and rubs hand over his face. You could tell he didn’t want you here, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to be here either after his little stunt. You were quite sure he was capable of running his own class, but you weren’t here to take his job. You were here to be an assistant to his teaching, being there to support and help him. This was a requirement for you, not a pastime. “Alright then,” he eventually states, making the way back to his desk. “You can grab a desk from the rows and bring it up to the front, I guess,” he huffs as you remain standing with your arms still folded across your chest.

He looks up and gives you a look. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” you ask with venom pouring from your glossed lips as you give him a sarcastic smile.

Fred gives you a sarcastic smile back as he drops his pen and speaks, “Fred Weasley. MA in Philosophy and Human Ethics. Cambridge Graduate. Cum laude.” The pride dripped from his voice as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “And you are?”

You wanted to throw your shoe at his head, your blood was boiling at how arrogant and prideful this man was. “If you were listening before, you would know my name is (Y/N). MA in Philosophy and Human Ethics. University of Oxford. 3.98 GPA,” you mimic him.

Fred gives out a chuckle as you grab your purse and start to settle yourself in the room. “Oxford student? Fitting that our universities are rivals,” he huffs before pulling a desk and chair over for you, placing it near his desk.

“And why would that be?” you ask sarcastically as Fred bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to snap a snarky response back at you. “Listen, Fred, I’m just here to do my job and do it well. I’m not here to step on your toes. I’m here to finish my requirements so I can get certified,” you tell him as you stand beside your desk, smoothing out your plaid skirt that your turtleneck was tucked neatly into.

As you stand there, Fred’s eyes rake up and down your body, taking you in as a whole. The first time he’s done this since you walked in. His eyes are like magnets, scanning every inch of your body and how you carry yourself so confidently in the space. When his eyes reach yours, you inhale deeply, trying to prevent the heat from rising to your cheeks as your handsome superior checks you out. “I’m not worried about you, darling,” his thick accent coos. “You’re the least of my worries.”

Just as the words slip out of his mouth, students start to file into the classroom, greeting Fred with good mornings and how are you’s. You tell yourself to calm down, to remain friendly, and cool. As the students file in, Fred greets them all with a warm smile. “Welcome back everyone. This is Philosophical Ethics with Professor Weasley. You all can call me Professor, Professor Weasley, Fred, Professor Fred. Just not Freddie, that one is reserved for my mum,” he teases, earning a few chuckles from the class. He glances over to you with a small stare and begrudgingly introduces you, “This is (Y/N), my TA for the semester. She will be here with us for...?”

“The whole semester,” you remind him with a sweet smile contrasted by your daggers for eyes. “Looking forward to working with you all,” you tell the class with a warm smile, receiving a few back in return.

Fred sighs, “Right. Well, anyway, let’s take roll and then get right into things, yeah?” The class nods as you sigh. “Alright, who can talk to me about Nietzsche?”

This was going to be a long semester.

Three hours of the class went by at a sluggish pace. Not to mention, Fred didn’t extent an invitation for your opinion or thoughts during the lesson. You didn’t expect him to let you teach the class, but instead, you just sat and listened to him run the class.

Although he didn’t let you say much, you had to admit that his lecture was quite good. He led the class in a really interesting way, almost like a Socratic seminar type. He let his students make observations and create open dialogues about the philosophy you were covering. Fred encouraged student’s thoughts rather than shut them down and he tried to encourage everyone to participate to make sure everyone said what they wanted to say. But you, he didn’t extend that offer.

Instead, you took notes. Notes on Fred Weasley. The way he spoke with his hands, how he sloppily wrote on the board with chalk, underlining words, circling, and drawing small diagrams. How he folded his arms across his chest when someone brought up a provocative thought. How he nibbled on his bottom lip when a student asked him a question. How he glanced over at you every once in awhile, catching your eye and smirking when he caught you looking at him. You would roll your eyes and continue to scribble down his mannerisms, what he focused on in class, and how he conducted it.

The students ate up everything that fell from his lips. It was like magic, the way he could capture 20 students attention about something as niche as existentialism. But you couldn’t lie, Fred Weasley was captivating.

“Okay, for next week’s class read Nicomachean Ethics and start drawing comparisons and differences between Aristotle and Nietzsche,” Fred announces as he closes his book and dismisses his students for the day, a chorus of thank you’s and have a good day’s echo in the classroom.

The final student exits as Fred retires back to his desk, sorting papers and filing away miscellaneous papers. You click your pen as you watch him, waiting for him to break the silence. But instead he sits at his desk and starts scribbling into his planner. With a sigh, you break the silence and speak, “You give a really informative lecture. You engage with the students really well.”

You thought a compliment would be a peace offering. An olive branch of sorts. But Fred took it as an opportunity to dig into you. “I know. That’s why it’s a full class and I’ve got a waitlist 30 kids long,” he speaks without looking up at his desk.

The guy was cocky as all hell and he was letting you soak it all in. The grip on your pen grows tighter as you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth in irritation, trying to maintain a steady facade. “So,” you breathe out as you grab your bag, pulling your notebook from your back. “You want to talk about lesson plans? I see that you’ve assigned Aristotle for the next week and a half. Maybe a smooth transition would be going into Kant and talking about the categorical imperative?” you suggest, sitting on a desk in front of Fred’s.

He peers up at you through his lashes, your legs dangling from the desk. He gives you all of his attention as he pushes his sleeves further up his arms, fiddling with the lock on his Rolex. “I’ve already taken care of the lesson plans for the rest of the semester. It’s all planned out. It has been since last month,” he explains to you as you nod your head, thinking he would offer something else for you to do.

“Okay,” you trail off. “Is there...anything you want me to do? Coordinate office hours? Set up my own as well so I can be a resource to the students. I can give you my phone number and email to put on the syllabus, so the students know they can reach out to me if they have any questions,” you tell him as you start to scribble down your email and number.

But Fred shakes his head, “Won’t be necessary. If a student needs you, they’ll come to you. Besides, they should really come to me if they need anything since I have more knowledge about the course.”

His passive comments were starting to pile up on you as you inhale deeply, your chest heaving. The turtleneck around your body felt very warm as anger started to bubble in your chest. “Maybe if you told me about the course, I could be a valuable resource to students. Remember, I’m just as qualified as you. I just haven’t graduated yet,” you remind Fred as you lean back on the desk, legs swinging back and forth as Fred starts to pack up his briefcase.

“Yet,” he looks up at you with a smirk, pink lips curled upwards as he leans over his desk, gathering his things. Even though the smirk was condescending as all hell, it did something to you. In more than one way. It made anger gather in your chest, frustration tingle in your temples, but butterflies pitter patter away deep in your stomach.

“So what exactly do you want me to do?” you ask, folding your arms across your chest as Fred grabs his jacket with one hand, his briefcase in the other as he does a once over his desk.

Calmly, Fred speaks, “You can start by filing away those papers on my desk and then once that’s done, make a list of the students in grade point average order. I want to know who needs the most help and who is fine on their own.” After he gives you that direction, he starts for the door.

With a scoff, you hop down from the desk. “And you’re just going to leave?” you laugh at him as he place his hand on the door with a shrug. “You know I am a teaching assistant. Not your personal assistant,” you spit at him.

Fred swings the door open and stands there with a smile. “Teaching is more than just standing front of a room as talking out of your ass, dear,” he tells you as the nickname makes you bite your tongue from yelling at him.

“You really are arrogant, you know that?” you sneer at him with your hands on your hips, glaring at him. You stare at him as he stands in front of the open door, jacket laid over his forearm, leather briefcase in hand, his other hand combing through his fire red hair.

Fred smiles lightly to you before sighing, “I’m bloody brilliant, (Y/N). You would be arrogant, too.” His words make you shake your head with a scoff. “Sort those papers for me, won’t you? I’ll see you tomorrow in here. Early. 9am sharp.”

But before you can ask him why, he’s out the door and calling after another professor, leaving you alone to your own devices. You let out a frustrated groan as you cover your face with your hands. Of course, you got stuck with the prick professor who takes advantage of an extra set of hands. You walk over to his desk and see a small stack of papers to be sorted and filed away along with the list he wanted you to organize.

You plop yourself into the desk seat and carefully start going through each file, examining each student’s credentials, organizing them by GPA and last name. You note who could be a tutor and who needs a tutor, who is at exit level, who is at entry level, so on and so forth. The task was interesting, but so time consuming. It was a way you could start to learn more about your students, even if it was through paper.

It had been an hour and a half and you were on your last file when you hear a gentle knock at the door. Slowly, it creaks open to reveal Luna and Harry together. Luna carries two lattes in her hand and smiles, extending her arm out to give it to you. “You are a saint, you know that?” you laugh as you accept the warm, caffeinated beverage.

“You’re still working?” she asks in disbelief as you finalize some last notes in the margins of one student’s file. “But class ended almost two hours ago.”

You look up at the both of them. “Oh, I know. But Fred left after the lecture and insisted I do the filing and note taking whilst he got to leave on time,” you speak through gritted teeth, finishing scribbling your last note and flopping the pen down, leaning back in the desk chair with a huff. “You weren’t lying when you told me he’s a self-righteous fuck,” you talk to Harry.

Harry laughs and digs his hands into his pockets with a huff. “Well, I didn’t use those words,” he laughs as you give him a look through your mascara coated lashes. He gives you a sorry sigh and leans over the desk, “Fred is a great guy one on one, but as a professor...he just likes having reign over his classroom. It’s not just you. His last TA was three years ago and he made the kid miserable. The kid, Dean Thomas, was so sick of philosophy after he switched to psychology. Now he’s a first year professor.” You roll your eyes and push yourself out of the desk, grabbing your purse and notebooks, piling them all in as Harry continues. “What happened today?”

Recounting the moments of the day made you frustrated, but you allowed yourself to vent to your co-workers. “Well, when I walked in, he thought I was a student,” you speak as Harry and Luna give you an apologetic look, Harry muttering an ouch. “Oh, that’s not even the worst part. Then I told him I was a TA and he told me he didn’t need one, because he’s more than capable of running his own classroom,” you mimic his pompous attitude. “He had the gall to threaten me to go to Neville’s office and find me a replacement class! I mean, sure, he’s a great professor, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only good one in this bloody school!” you exclaim, frustrated failing your arms, earning a small chuckle from Harry and Luna. “I’m sorry, I’m just very frustrated that this is how my first day on the job went,” you run your fingers through your hair, shaking your head.

“No need to apologize,” Luna walks over and touches your shoulder gently. “He sounds...unpleasant...” she tries to be as cordial as possible, earning a giggle from you. “But maybe you’ll warm up to each other? It’s only the first day. We have a whole semester ahead of us,” she looks between you and Harry cheerfully. In a weird way, her light, happy tone made you feel a little better.

You sigh, “I guess so. Ugh, a whole semester with Fred Weasley...”

The three of you start out of the classroom and start to make your way down the halls, retiring to the staff parking lot and bus stops. But before you can make your way to the public transportation, Harry suggests, “Hey, a few of us are headed to the bar to grab a drink before headed home. Do you both fancy coming?”

Luna perks up and shakes her head with an eager yes please. The idea of grabbing drinks sounded great and just what you needed after this gruesome day. But the looming thought of having to get up early and meet Fred in the classroom tomorrow at nine sharp hung over you like a storm cloud. With a sigh, you speak, “Wish I could. But Fred is making me meet him at nine to talk about lesson plans or something. Last thing I need is showing up hungover to my second day on the job.”

Harry and Luna groan in protest. “Oh, come on! You can’t let Fred rob you of your autonomy!” Luna stomps her foot and grabs your hand. “One drink won’t hurt! We’ll both have one pint and then I’ll take the bus back with you. We’re only one stop away from each other on the blue line,” she tries to convince you.

Harry starts dancing backwards to his car as he beeps it open. “I’ve got an extra seat,” he sing songs as he opens up the door for you.

A small smile creeps up on your face as you sigh. One drink couldn’t hurt. Just one cheeky little drink and then home away you would go. The night was still young, so you’d still be in bed at a reasonable hour. One drink. “You guys suck,” you laugh as you start walking to Harry’s car as Luna claps her hands in glee and Harry triumphantly punches the air, making you laugh.

-------

The morning sun creeps through your window, making you groan and roll over. The sunlight hurt your eyes and made your stomach churn as a headache pounds through your cranium, making you feel sick. “Bloody hell,” you whisper as you sit up and rub your eyes.

You slowly start to remember the events of last night and everyone there. It was all the TAs, including some of the younger professors. You met another Weasley, Ron you think. The history professor. Absolutely nothing like Fred. He was charming and goofy in a lovable way as he sat next to his wife, Hermione, a classical literature professor, an arm draped over her shoulders. Seamus was also there along with a few other chemistry TAs as they sat at a high rise table, pointing and whispering about the business professors and TAs who sat all the way in the back, drinking scotch and making mild chatter.

“No bother meeting them,” Seamus told you as you sipped on a gin and tonic. “The business professors and TAs are all little shits. The one with the blonde hair is Draco Malfoy. He thinks he’s better than everyone because he got his PhD, but everyone knows his dad paid off the university to give him the doctorate. His TAs all kiss his ass to get in his good graces. Zabini, Nott, Goyle, all of them,” he groans before taking a long sip of his ale, making you laugh.

You had tried to tell yourself that you would only stay for one drink, but then you started yourself in conversation with the other TAs about undergrad and grad school, realizing the mutual friends you had with each other. And then, you found yourself being convinced by Ron to do a green tea shot with him as he toasted to all of the new TAs of the semester. And with that, one drink became six.

With a groan, you slump yourself up in your small studio apartment and rub your temples. As the sunlight leaked in through your white linen curtains, you check the clock. The hands pointed to 8:25am which made you gasp and rise to your feet. “Motherfucker,” you huff to yourself as you run to the bathroom. You had to meet Fred at 9 and it already took you twenty minutes to get to campus which left you with virtually no time to get ready. “Shit, shit, shit,” you turn on the shower quickly, running to your closet to grab a fresh pair of plaid pants and a jumper. “I’m so dead,” you whisper to yourself as you scramble to get ready.

You frantically rub soap all over your body with one hand and brush your teeth with the other, needing to freshen up after a long night out. The shower was cold and unpleasant as you shivered before hoping out and throwing your clothes on, opting to skip a full face of makeup and just pop on tinted moisturizer and lip balm.

Checking the clock again, it was 8:35 and you groan in frustration. “I am a fucking moron,” you curse at yourself, grabbing your purse and notebooks and pens and papers, trying to get yourself organized before racing out the door to catch the bus. You run to your pantry to grab a granola bar as your phone starts buzzing on your nightstand. “Who the fuck is it?!” you scream as if your phone could hear you.

Stomping over, you grab it and see it was Harry calling you. “I’m kinda rushing to get out the door, Potter, make it quick, what’s up?” you babble as you slip your shoes in your Oxfords, lacing them up quickly.

Harry chuckles over the line. “I figured as much. You were a bit of a mess last night,” he tells you as you groan. “I’m only teasing you. But that being said, I’m passing your street in like two minutes, do you wanna catch a ride instead of betting on the bus?” he offers.

You sigh the biggest sigh of relief as you immediately respond. “Harry, you are a life saver,” you huff as Harry laughs. “I’ll be downstairs in a hot second. I just need to grab my coat and keys,” you tell him before hanging up.

Someone had your back today and sent Harry Potter to you. Rushing over to your coat rack, you grab your trench coat and your keys, doing a once over of your apartment, making sure you had everything, turned off all the lights and faucets. With a confident sigh, you exit your apartment, lock the door, and rush down the stairs.

As expected, Harry sat in his car with a ginger haired woman in the passenger seat. You give him an exhausted smile as you open the back seat and slide in. “Morning,” he chimes as you shut the door and buckle your seatbelt. “How are we feeling?”

You give him a knowing look. “Fuck off,” you grumble as he laughs. “I can’t believe I let myself get carried away like that last night.” You never let yourself loose track of time like that; you felt so irresponsible. “If you didn’t call me, I would surely have my ass handed to me by Fred today.”

“Fred?” the woman in the passenger seat chimes in. “Are you the poor TA who has to deal with my brother this semester?” she asks as you sigh and nod. “Good God, I apologize on his behalf. He can be a dick sometimes. I’m Ginny by the way.”

She turns to you, offering her hand to shake as you gladly accept it. “The women and gender studies professor, right?” you ask as she proudly nods. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m (Y/N), philosophy,” you tell her with a smile. “You and Harry are engaged, if I remember correctly?”

Ginny smiles happily and flashes you her engagement ring. “Just recently, yeah,” she confirms with an admiring look to Harry as he drives down the road, a small smile on his lips. “We met when we were both TAs and have been together since,” she recounts with a smile. “Enough of that though, how are you finding Hogwarts so far? With exception of my bothersome older brother,” she reframes the question.

“So far, so good,” you tell her honestly. The staff at the university was class. Everyone was so warm and welcoming and made you feel at home instantly. “I think last night I also met your brother, Ron. He kept handing out shots to the new TAs,” you recall as the pang in your head agrees.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s him. Ron likes to mess with the new bees every year,” she speaks. “Here, take this,” she hands you a piece of spearmint gum and a tube of mascara. “It’ll make you feel better, trust me,” she winks as you thank her. “Harry should have given you a heads up on that one,” she elbows him.

Harry shakes his head, “Ron has been my best mate since grad school, I’m not revealing his tricks to anyone no matter how good of a friend they are.” And with that, Harry pulls into the staff parking lot of Hogwarts as the time reads on the dashboard 8:55am. 5 minutes to spare.

As Harry puts the car in park, you unbuckle yourself and say, “I hate to rush out like this, but I quite literally have to dash to get to this meeting with Fred on time. Ginny, it was lovely meeting you. Harry, I owe you one. Thanks so much for the ride,” you slide out of the car as you dash towards the school.

“You can buy me a round of drinks!” he teases after you as you shake your head, dashing through the halls of Hogwarts to get to classroom 523.

You dart in between students as you run up the stairs, purse in hand, hair flowing as you make a mad dash. Finally, you reach the classroom and push the door open to reveal no one in the room. “Seriously?” you huff out of breath. You just ran here for no reason. Fred was no where to be found. But after closer inspection, there was a small sticky note on the chalkboard that read be back in ten. You huff and throw your bag down, walking around the classroom, trying to distract yourself from your throbbing headache.

The classroom is neatly decorated, plants here and there, the windows open to draw in fresh air as you inhale deeply. Then you remember from yesterday. There was a small speaker by Fred’s desk, connected to the desktop on his desk. You walk over and press the power button, making the speak bleep on with a blue flashing light. You press play and see what was on the queue. Soft jazz music starts playing, specifically Frank Sinatra’s I’ve Got You Under My Skin. You smile to yourself, how fitting.

As the jazz music echos lightly, you allow yourself to sway gently to the music, smiling to yourself. The song reminds you of working late in the library when you were in school, listening to music to maintain your focus. You hum the melody to yourself, dancing around the classroom, looking at the bookshelves, letting your fingers trace down their backbones. You allow yourself to start softly singing the lyrics as the tempo picks up, swaying back and forth as you pluck a book from the shelf, scanning it’s contents.

The song picks up, the brass section wailing as you dance around, reading the first few pages of a random book from Fred’s collection. You continue to sing out loud, a little off key as you smile to yourself. In this moment, you were content, regardless of how gross you felt. “’Cause I’ve got you under my skin,” you sang gently as you continued to dance back and forth, cradling the book in your arms.

But you are pulled from your day dream when a voice speaks, “You’re a fan of old blue eyes?” You let out a light squeal as you see Fred standing there, watching you with a small smirk on his mouth, holding two coffees in his hand.

You place a hand over your heart, monitoring how it thuds against your chest from being startled. You looked at Fred and sighed. He stood there, in a light tan khakis, crispy white shirt with a maroon tie hanging from his neck. A pair of square glasses sat on the bridge of his nose as his chocolate brown eyes peered at yours through them. “Sorry you had to see that,” you chuckle. “Sinatra is one of my favorites.”

Fred chuckles, “No need to apologize. Frank is one of the greats.” He walks over to you and hands you a coffee as you tuck the book in your hands under one of your arms. “Figured you’d need one of these,” he refers to the coffee. “TAs usually have quite the night out of the first day of work,” he recalls with a small smile. Was he...being friendly? But before you could ask how he knew you went out, he answered, “Ron is my brother. I know his ways. Because he learned them from me.” You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t know how you take your coffee, but I assumed a latte with an extra shot would suffice?”

You give him a soft smile, “Yeah, that’s perfect. Thanks so much. I appreciate it.” Fred nods and sits as his desk with a huff, pulling himself close to the desk. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Fred pulls his glasses off of his face and twirls them in between his fingers as you watch the glasses spin around and around. “I wanted to talk about expectations for the class and for you,” he speaks as you nod and take a sip of your warm latte that almost instantly helps with your headache. “I...I realize that we may have not gotten off to the best start yesterday...and I apologize for my behavior,” he speak as you nod.

An apology was a good start. “You’re forgiven,” you simply state.

“Thank you,” he adds before rubbing a hand over his lips. “As for the class, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. This class is a prestigious course. One of the harder ones in the department. That being said, I think it’s best for me to have the reigns on the class and lead class lectures. You are free to observe and aid in answering questions about assignments or papers,” he tells you as he leans back in his chair, thinking he made a reasonable bargain. But it was quite the opposite.

You weren’t here to sit around and listen to another philosophy professor spew a scripted lecture. You did that for four years in undergraduate school. You were here to learn how to teach a classroom, how to run a lesson plan, how to gain hands on experience. Being a puppet in the corner was not going to accomplish any of those things. “Fred, I appreciate the apology. But this offer is not acceptable,” you state calmly. “I’m your teaching assistant. I’m here to help in any way I can, of course, but I’m also here to help teach and instruct the class. You are suppose to help me learn how to teach the class.”

Fred nods, “And you can do that by matters of observation.”

His way of brushing you off made you infuriated again, just like yesterday. Did he do this to everyone? “But don’t you think it would be more helpful for me to have some actual hands on experience? Like actually teaching the class?” you tell him more than ask him.

He rises from his chair and sighs, “I don’t need you creating a new lesson plan. I’ve been using this one since I got here and it works. If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.” Fred walks over to the board and writes in bold letters, Aristotle, preparing for today’s lecture. The way that he so nonchalantly stated that to you and started writing on the board as if he didn’t insult your intelligence made you infuriated.

“You’re a fucking prick,” you flat out spew. You wish you could take it back, you really did. As soon as the words left your lips, you regretted what you had said to him. Insulting your superior was surefire to get you fired and released from your job, making you ineligible to graduate. But damn did it feel good to say.

Fred turns around to look at you, eyebrows furrows as if you just spoke in a foreign language to him. “I’m a fucking prick?” he repeats, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back on the chalkboard, crossing his legs as you stand in front of him, completely enraged, fists tight next to your sides. “Wouldn’t be the first time I heard that,” he laughs, combing his fingers through his hair, as if what you said was a compliment.

“Well the people who said it before were right! You’re cocky and arrogant and self-righteous and pompous and self-absorbed. You clearly have no intention of helping anyone but yourself! That’s probably why you like being a professor! So everyone listens to every last bit you say,” you start to ramble. Now that you had said what was on your mind, it was almost impossible to stop. The words flew off your tongue like a jet.

Boldly, Fred pushes himself off the chalkboard, hands dug into his pant’s pockets as he walks closer to you. A small smirk dances along his lips as his tongue darts out and drags across his lower lip. The action makes your breath hitch in your throat as you mentally curse yourself, wanting to be annoyed with him, but yet you found yourself aroused. “Keep going,” he urges. “Go on. Tell me how unbearable I am. You’ve only known me twenty four hours, but it seems like you have me all figured out,” he speaks, just a foot away from your body.

Adrenaline is coursing through your veins, your lips slightly parted as you take heaving breaths, making your chest rise and fall quickly. Fred’s eyes scan your face, soaking in your annoyed and confused expression. You suddenly become very aware of how close he is to you and you shake your head, taking a step back. “I only need a day to know an asshole when I see one,” you simply state, folding your arms over your chest. Your expression reads as if it were Fred’s turn to take a dig at you.

Fred chuckles lowly before speaking, “Here’s your problem, darling.” The endearing terms makes your stomach curdle. “You don’t get the hands on experience your second day on the job. You’ve gotta prove to me that you can run a class and keep their attention for three hours. You think it’s easy keeping the attention of a bunch of twenty year olds when you’re talking about philosophy? It’s not as easy as you may think it is,” Fred explain as you roll your eyes. “I was in your shoes once before, so I know what you’re experiencing.”

You laugh, “Oh, don’t pull that card. You’re a professor now. You did your time in my shoes. Don’t pretend like you’d give anything to go back.”

“Oh, honey, you couldn’t pay me enough to go back!” Fred retorts, now with an edge. “You know what. I could let you run today’s class,” he chuckles at the thought. “I could let you run it and watch you crash and fucking burn,” he emphasizes with a shrug. “I could watch those students trample all over you, you know why?” he asks looking at you intently as you gulp. “Because they don’t respect you! They don’t know who you are. In fact, they see you as one of them! If I mistook you as one of them on the first day, then what made you think they wouldn’t?” he asks as you inhale deeply. “Respect is earned when you are in a position of authority. Even if you’re just a professor. And you, (Y/N), haven’t earned that yet from the students. And I honestly don’t know if you have it from me.”

And with that last dig, the first student enters the classroom signaling that the first lecture of the day was ready to begin. Fred and you don’t acknowledge the student, just staring at each other. Fred’s words stung. Like a fresh wound, you were bleeding out. His words were sad, but true. You were a TA, but you were still a grad student. Fred worked to get to the position he was at. You just needed to prove to him that you were capable of handling yourself in a classroom setting as a teaching assistant.

You retreat back to your desk at the front of the room and sit down with a small huff, pulling out the attendance sheet, marking students as present as they enter the classroom.

Fred rubbed his hands over his face, feeling guilty for his out burst. He knew you were brilliant. To be quite honest, Fred knew he was going to get a TA. He had checked out your academic profile, seeing that you graduated undergrad with a nearly perfect grade point average and extra circulars that were sure to blow any one away. Your thesis statement made Fred laugh to himself, it was similar to his own when he was in university; the effect of utilitarianism on free will in our post-modern society. In a weird way, you reminded Fred of himself. Confident, smart, and ballsy. But where you differentiated with Fred is your adaptability. How you could adjust and go with the flow, that was Fred’s downfall.

Soon the classroom was full of students again and Fred took a deep breath, trying to regain his focus and composure to teach the class. He didn’t dare look at you, it would just make him upset. And you didn’t want to look at him. Fred sat on his desk, his long legs almost hitting the floor even when he sat. “Hello everyone,” he addressed the class, some students chiming back. “Let’s get started for the day. Shall we?” he claps his hands together. “Who can talk to me about eudaemonia?” he asks the class.

You looked out at the classroom along with Fred, anticipating a slew of hands but instead you got nothing. Students sat in their chairs in silence, some twiddling their pens, others scribbling in a notebook, some still groggy this during the ten o’clock lecture. “Someone’s gotta know about it. Come on then,” Fred probes the class as they remain silence, only sound is some kid yawning in the back. Fred allows the class to remain silent for a moment. “Alright,” he huffs. “Rough morning for a lot of us,” he speaks, hoping to catch your attention with that line, but you scribble nonsense into the margins of your notebook. “Maybe (Y/N) could give us a definition?” he suggests.

Your head shoots up like a rocket from your paper as you look at Fred with panic in your eyes. He looks at you with a small smile and encouragement, almost as if this were his way of making amends. A twisted way. You look towards the class and see twenty sets of eyes on you as you gulp before shaking away your nerves. “Um, yeah,” you clear your throat. “Eudaemonia is the greatest good, the aim for all human thinking and rational. Another word for eudaemonia is happiness,” you simply state, making the students start scribbling in their notebooks. Pride swells in your chest as you realize what you was valuable to the students. “Eudaemonia is achieve through action in tandem with the human soul and psyche. When eudaemonia is at its highest form, it is known as virtue,” you explain further as the class continues to scribble down what you were saying.

Slowly, you look towards Fred who gives you a small smile and a nod as you just give him a curt nod and turn back to your desk. But when you look away, it’s hard to cover up the small smile on your lips as you fiddle with the pen in your hands. Fred notices your grin as smiles to himself before speaking, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Maybe today would be better than yesterday.

--------

Another two weeks had gone by and the work relationship you had with Fred improved significantly. He let you interject at certain points in his lectures, let you pose questions to the class, and even assigned you students for office hours. Finally, you started to feel like you were doing what you came here for and you were loving every moment of it.

Fred was a great professor and an even better mentor. He commanded a classroom unlike any other professor you have ever seen. He spoke with confidence and coolness and the students ate him up. It must be rewarding for him, watching students love his work as much as he did. You would watch him with a small smile as you jotted down notes here and there. Fred would catch your eye every now and then in class and gave you a small smile or cheeky wink that made your heart stop every now and then as you turned away from him, biting the inside of your cheek to make you stop smiling.

“Remember to finish Kant’s Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals for tomorrow’s class! If you haven’t turned in your paper on Nicomachean Ethics yet, do it by 4pm or else I will personally send (Y/N) to find you and hunt you down,” he teases the class as you roll your eyes, making the class laugh. “Happy Friday. Now scram,” Fred dismisses class as students file out.

When the majority of them have dispersed, you walk over to Fred’s desk and huff, “Good lecture today. Katie brought up some good questions about the differences between hypothetical imperatives and categorical imperatives.” Fred leans back in his desk chair, flopping his notebook down on his desk.

“Yeah, she did. But god, I wanted to punch Brian in the face. He kept talking over her while she was saying something poignant. I get it, Brian, there are different formulations, but damn, shut the fuck up,” Fred groans, making you laugh as you grab your bag and get ready to pack up for the day. “So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news...” he trails off as he rises from his seat.

You groan and throw your head back as you spin on your heels to face him. “Please, don’t tell me...” you start as Fred nods his head sadly. “Come on, Fred. It’s Friday night! Beginning of the weekend! All of the TAs are getting drinks at the pub tonight and quite honestly, I’d rather be doing that than grading philosophy papers,” you whine to him.

Fred mockingly places and hand over his heart and speaks, “First off, I am offended that you don’t want to spend time with me grading papers on the brilliance of Aristotle through a twenty year olds eyes.” The comment makes you chuckle, but he pushes on, “But I want to grade this papers tonight and finish them tonight so I, well we, can have the weekend free. You can get drinks any other night with the TAs. But we’ve got to do this tonight.”

You stomp your foot in frustration like a toddler, making Fred chuckle as he places his glasses on his face. “But tonight it’s dollar drafts! Dollar drafts happen once a week!” you beg him. “Why can’t we grade tomorrow?”

“Because I need to put these grades into my grade book before the students start wondering if they’ll ever be graded for something in this class,” he explains. “How about this?” he proposes. “We meet back here at 4:30pm. I’ll get take out for the both of us and we can drink coffee and energy drinks like we’re back in undergrad cramming for an exam. It’ll be fun,” he shimmies his shoulder making you giggle.

With a huff, you say, “Fine. But if we’re here past midnight, I’ll never forgive you.”

You start out of the classroom as Fred calls after you, “It’ll be fun!”

Shaking your head down, you start down the hall and see Harry and Luna talking as they leave their respective classrooms. “Heyo,” Harry calls out to you before slinging an arm around your shoulder. “So, for dollar drafts tonight we were just gonna take a cab there at around 5:00. Ron is going to be late because he’s going to wait for Hermione to get out of her night class and they’ll come together. But Seamus, Luna, Cho, and I will all be there and I think Dean said he’s coming and bringing some friends from grad school. It should be a great time,” Harry explains with a big grin.

Your ‘fomo’ was kicking in hard core as you sigh and speak, “About that...I can’t make it tonight.” Luna gives you a sad look as Harry groans and throws his head back. “Fred and I need to grade papers tonight to make the first quarter grades. If I get out early though, I’ll call and see if you guys are still there,” you offer as Harry slumps over.

“At least it sounds like things are going better with you and Fred,” Luna tells you and you nod with a smile. “Are you learning from him?”

“Absolutely,” you tell her. “Fred is actually a great professor and the class adores him. I’ve been enjoying it a lot recently.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows, “Yeah, I’m sure you have.”

You slap Harry’s shoulder at his cheeky suggestion that something was going on. “Oh, quit it, Harry,” you say through gritted teeth. “Fred and I have a strictly working relationship. He and I are co-workers and are professional. All of my relationships are here. That’s more that some people can say,” you tease him about his engagement to Ginny as he rolls his eyes and mimics you. “Besides, there is nothing romantic or sexy about grading papers about ethics. In fact, it’s the opposite thing.”

Harry laughs, “You never know. Maybe you two will get so caught up in talking about morals that you just start to...” he mimics the sounds of sloppy snogging and moaning as you slap his arm again, Luna giggling. “Okay, okay, I’m just teasing you! But if you can meet us at the pub, give one of us a call and we can hail you a cab,” he tells you as you hug Luna goodbye and then Harry.

“Will do. Have a drink for me. Lord knows I’ll need one,” you huff, watching them walk off to catch up to Dean and Seamus.

Instead of getting drunk at a bar after a long week of work, you would be grading papers all night with Fred. Which honestly, maybe, didn’t sound so awful.

A few hours past and you and Fred were at on opposite sides of his desk, empty Chinese take out boxes scattered around you along with empty coffee cups and cans of energy drinks. It was ten o’clock at night and you had hardly made a dent in the papers. You throw your head on the desk with a thud, making Fred chuckle. “This is hell,” you groan. “Do they even proof read their sentences?” you ask Fred who shakes his head. “Seriously. Some of these papers are just bad. Weak thesis and an even weaker argument,” you slap the paper in front of you.

Fred scribbles in red ink on one paper and circle the letter grade on it before shifting it to the done pile. “Honestly, if it’s horrid and you struggle to make it past the third page, just skip to the end, read the conclusion and if it reads fine, give them a C minus. If they have a problem, they can come to office hours and talk about it with me,” he tells you as you laugh. “I’ve done that with two of them already.”

You place a C minus in red ink at the end of the paper and shift yours into the done pile. “How many more do we have left? We’ve been here for nearly six hours,” you tell him.

Fred examines the pile and huffs, “About four more. So two more each and then we’ll be done. The papers are ten pages long, so only twenty more pages of absolute garbage to read before we are done.”

Eh, that wasn’t so bad. You sigh and examine the room around you. Your eyes land on Fred whose eyes scan over the page as he nibbles away at his lower lip, glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose, red pen tucked behind his ear. He made markings on the paper here and there, adding comments as he sees fit. He’d mumble a bloody hell here and there if something was really bad, making you giggle. He’d catch your eye and a proud smile would form on his lips when he saw that he’d made you giggle.

After another hour and a half of grading, you were finally finished with the thick stack of papers on Fred’s desk. The two of you let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back in your chairs. “Freedom!” Fred cried out as you laughed, running your fingers through your hair. “And before midnight!” he points to his watch, the hands pointing to 11:37pm. “I think I know what this calls for,” he speaks wiggling his brows as you watch him stand up and pulls out a drawer to reveal a small handle of whiskey.

You laugh and shake your head. “Ohhhh, no,” you laugh and wave your hands.

“Really, (Y/N)? Eight hours of grading papers and you don’t want one drink?” he pours one glass, waiting to pour yours.

You think for a moment. You were supposed to call Harry and Luna and tell them that you would meet them at the bar. But quite honestly, you didn’t feel like leaving the classroom and the pleasant company of Fred. Maybe some one on one time could strengthen your relationship...as co-workers, of course.

In defeat, you sigh, “Fine.”

Fred smiles and pours you a nice, hefty glass of the brown liquor before handing it to you and sitting in his chair. “To a job well done,” he toasts as you clink your glasses together, sipping from the glass. The whiskey is smooth and warms your chest up delightfully as you relax further into the chair. The two of you rest in comfortable silence before Fred starts, “So...after you’ve finished your job here, where do you hope to go?”

You think for a moment and lean on your elbows on his desk, letting your hair flop forward. “Not too sure really,” you admit. “I know I want to teach at a university level, but it’s just a matter of where positions are available. Maybe I’ll go back to Oxford and see if there’s any availability in their department,” you toss around as Fred boos you, knowing the rivalry between Cambridge and Oxford is still fierce. “But I’m trying to go with the flow and see where the demand is.”

Fred nods his head and huffs, “Well...what if I told you that there is going to be an opening in position here at Hogwarts for next fall?” You give him a confused look as you sip from your whiskey. He says, “Professor McGonagall? She’s been here for ages and she’s retiring after nearly sixty years of teaching.” You widen your eyes and nod your head. Impressive. “The department is looking to hire a new, fresh face and I think you might be right for the job...” he takes a sneaky sip from his glass.

“It’s a really kind offer, Fred, really thoughtful of you,” you tell him. “But I want to know that where I apply for a job I’ve earned it. I didn’t get the job because someone pulled the strings behind the scenes,” you tell him. This was true. Anyone would kill for a job at Hogwarts University, but you wanted to know that you earned your title here and not because a friend handed it to you.

He leans forward and speaks, “This wouldn’t be me pulling any strings. (Y/N), you are a brilliant person and the students adore you. Just last week four students asked for your contact information to reach out about private tutoring. Neville loves you and the department sees the work that you’ve been doing and is throughly impressed. You’ve earned this position and the respect that comes along with it,” he tells you, honestly shining in his eyes, making you melt in your chair at his gaze. You feel heat rising to your cheeks as you look away from him, sipping from your glass. The sight makes Fred’s heart skip a beat.

“Are you saying I’ve earned your respect?” you ask him with a teasing smile as he chuckles.

“Yes. You earned it awhile ago. You’re an incredible woman,” he tells you as you smile, looking down at the glass in your hands, too meek to meet Fred’s gaze now.

It’s quiet for a moment before Fred clears his throat and stands up, turning on the speaker as Frank Sinatra softly starts playing again as you laugh to yourself. It Happened In Monterey starts to echo in the classroom as you smile at Fred. “One of my favorites,” you tell him.

Fred nods, “One of his best hits,” he says as if it were a fact. “Give me your top three. Go.”

You think for a moment before speaking, “It Happened In Monterey, The Way You Look Tonight, and Girl From Ipanema. I think those are his best.”

Fred smiles, “Agreed. His version of The Way You Look Tonight I prefer much over Tony Bennett’s.”

“Oh, easily! Don’t get me wrong, Tony Bennett has some great hits, but he doesn’t hold a candle to Frankie,” you tell Fred, making him chuckle. The two of you chat about music for a little while longer before Come Fly With Me comes on and Fred claps his hands. “My mom loves this song,” you smile, fondly remembering her singing in the kitchen to this song.

Fred rises to his feet and immediately grabs your hands and brings you to his feet. He places your drinks down on the desk as he spins you around, making you laugh. “You can’t not dance to this song,” he tells you, placing his hand on your waist, the other holding your other hand in his larger one. The contact makes your heart flutter in your chest as you giggle as he spins you around again, this time into his chest.

Your back is pressed against him as he sway with you in his arms before spin you back out, dancing around and around the classroom, the two of you laughing messes as you dance to Frank Sinatra, still in your work clothes from this morning. As you dance, you steal glances of Fred. How his hair was messy from running his fingers through it, his tie loose around his neck, impressions of his glasses in the bridge of his nose. He was so effortlessly handsome and it made your stomach sway at the sight of him. How he could be so handsome without even realizing it. Without even realizing how he made you feel. All warm and fuzzy inside, giggling like a child as he spun you around in his arms, making this moment feel like something out of a movie.

The song slowly fades away before Autumn in New York starts play, changing the tone of the room. You two catch your breaths before looking at each other in the eyes, Fred’s hands on your waist as your hands rest on his chest. The two of you look at each other, and slowly start to sway as the orchestra of the song starts to swell. Frank’s clear voice echos in the empty classroom as you slowly wrap your arms around Fred’s neck, him pulling you close to his body as you start to slow dance in the middle of the classroom, neither of you registering what is happening. You two were purely acting on instinct. But god, it felt so right.

The two of you dance gently to the music as Fred’s hands rest on your lower back, his thumbs tracing small circles into your jumper as you lace your fingers around his neck. No words are spoken. You just listen to the music and stare at the other, taking each other in during the dance. How could something that started off so innocent turn so beautiful?

Your mind was reeling, watching Fred look at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You wanted to tell him everything that’s ever happened to you in this moment. Everything that you’ve gone through that brought you to this moment. Something about Fred made you feel safe. Something you hadn’t felt in years.

As the music starts to come to a close, you can feel Fred lean down gently and press his forehead to yours as you inhale a shaky breath. So desperately you wished to close the gap between you two, pushing your lips together, giving into him. But before anything can happen, the horns blare over the speaker, Brazil blasting over the speakers, making the two of you jump, startled at the change in pace.

You place a hand over your heart as Fred races over to the speaker to lower the volume. “That scared the living hell out of me,” you breathe out as Fred laughs and nods. The two of you stand there, wondering what to say, knowing that you were both thinking the same thing. But no one says anything. “Um,” you clear your throat. “It’s quite late. I should probably get going...” you trail off as you walk over to grab your purse and notebooks.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he tells you with a nod, cleaning up the mess of take away boxes on his desk. “You need me to call you a cab?” he asks.

“No, no, it’s fine, I got it,” you tell him with a smile as he nods, throwing out the garbage and sorting away miscellaneous papers. “Um, I, um...”

“I had fun with you,” Fred finishes your sentence for you as you exhale and smile gently with a nod. “I’ll see you on Monday then?”

You nod your head, “Absolutely, yeah.” He grins and digs his hands into his pockets.

You start to make your way towards the door, but Fred stops you and says, “Hey, (Y/N)? On Monday, I’d like you to run the lecture. For both classes.” Your eyes widen as you look at him in disbelief. You try to protest, but Fred speaks, “I think that the class would benefit from your perspective. And your sheer brilliance.”

A small smile forms on your lips as you let out a breathy laugh. “Wow. Okay. Yeah. For sure,” you tell him with a nod as Fred smiles. “Thank you, Fred. This is...wow. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” he tells you. “You’ve earned it. You’ve earned it all. Now, get going and get a goodnight’s rest. That you surely deserve.”

And with one small wave, you exit the classroom and start down the hall, feeling like you were on cloud nine. Nothing felt as good as this.

------

Monday rolls around as quickly as Friday left and you enter campus with a pep in your step. Today you were teaching the class and you were beyond prepared. You had your lesson plan in your bag, a coffee in your hand, and your favorite jumper on. You felt invincible.

As you walked into the staff lounge, Harry sat with Seamus, sipping on coffees and munching on provided breakfast. “Morning, you lot,” you chime merrily as you place your bag on the table and walk towards the breakfast tray and grab a crossiant.

“You’re too cheery for a Monday morning,” Seamus says with a look on his face. “What’s got you so bright eyes and bushy tailed?”

You smile to yourself as you walk back to the table, tearing open the croissant to slab some jam on it. “Fred is letting me run lecture today,” you reply happily.

Seamus looks over to Harry with wide eyes, the two of them in complete shock. “Wow,” Seamus says. “That’s...incredible. Good on you, (Y/N),” he tells you as you thank him with a smile. “I didn’t know Fred let his TA run a class. The most he let Dean do was take roll,” he told Harry.

Harry took a sip from his coffee and wiggled his brows, “I didn’t think so either. I guess our very own (Y/N) has made him have a change of heart.”

You roll your eyes and speak, “I earned this, Harry. I’ve been working my ass off and after a long night of grading papers, Fred offered me the opportunity which I gladly took.” Harry nods his head with a mhm as you throw as piece of croissant at him. “I’m serious!”

“I’m not saying you don’t deserve it, (Y/N)! You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met; you deserve this like humans needs to breathe!” Harry exclaims. “I’m just...shocked that Fred let you make a lesson plan, nevertheless teach a whole class,” he speaks as you shrug. “Guess you bring out the best in Fred Weasley.”

You smile, “Is that such a bad thing?” Harry chuckles as Seamus shakes his head with a huff. “Well, if you excuse me, I have to get ready for my lecture,” you joke as Harry rolls his eyes.

“Don’t let this thing get to your head!” he calls after you as you flip him the bird, making Seamus laugh.

As you walk to 523, your heart patter against your chest with excitement, but also lots of nerves. What if they preferred Fred over you? What if Fred was more engaging with them? What if someone fell asleep? What if someone asked you a question you couldn’t answer?

Soon your confidence began to waver as you entered the classroom, Fred clearing the chalkboard, getting the room ready for you. “There she is. Professor for the day,” Fred claps his hands. “You excited?” he asks. But you don’t answer him. You nervously place your purse on the desk and start gnawing at your nails. This makes Fred worried as he walks over to you and places his hands on your shoulders. “You alright?” he asks, concern washing over his face.

You relax into his touch as you sigh, “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just...nervous.” Fred gives you a sympathetic smile. “What if they like you better than me? What if I say something stupid and they all laugh at me? What if I forget everything? I mean, how much do I really know about Mill? Probably nothing,” you ramble.

Fred laughs and gives you arms a squeeze, forcing your eyes up to him. “Hey, look at me,” he speaks as you huff and look into his comforting gaze. “Everything is going to be just fine. You are brilliant and the students love you. You’re gonna get up there and smash it. I know it,” he tells you with a confident smile, making your heart flutter and your stomach flip. “I was nervous for my first lecture too, but once you start, the adrenaline gets pumping and you feel on top of the world.”

You give him a shaky nod, “Yeah. Okay. I can do this, yeah?”

“Absolutely,” he laughs. “You’re more than capable,” he reassures you. “I believe in you. I always have,” he speaks, tilting your chin up with his fore finger as you gulp thickly. Fred’s eyes dart to your lips back up to your eyes as he smiles softly. “You’ll be brilliant.”

“Thank you,” you speak just above a whisper as Fred nods.

Slowly, he pulls away from you and sits at his desk which prompts the first student to enter the classroom as you gather your notebook and a piece of chalk, writing on the board in bold letters, Mill and Utilitarianism. You wipe your hands on your pants and look over to Fred who gives you a thumbs up.

Soon enough, the classroom fills up with students as you try to keep yourself calm and not let the class see your nerves. “Happy Monday, everyone,” Fred speaks from his desk. “I hope you all had a great weekend. Your papers on Aristotle have been graded and the grades are posted online. Some of you did great, some of you did shit. If you have any complaints, you can see me or (Y/N) after class to discuss,” he speaks, earning a few laughs from the class. Fred speaks, “Brian, I wouldn’t laugh if I were you. (Y/N) couldn’t make it past page three of yours before handing it off to me.” This earns a loud roar of laughter from the class which eased your nerves. God, Fred knew exactly what you needed. “Speaking of (Y/N), she will be running lecture today. I’ll be playing the role of TA and you’ll give her the same amount of respect like you give me. Understood?” The class nods. “Brilliant. (Y/N), you have the floor.”

You smile at him, “Thank you, Fred, for the introduction.” Fred nods. You turn to the class. “Alright. Let’s talk about Mill’s Utilitarianism. After reading it, what are our thoughts? How do we feel about Mill in comparison to Kant or Aristotle?” you ask generally trying to ease into the lecture.

The class is motionless for a moment before Jessica raises her hand and you nod. “I found it interesting how he acknowledges the objections in his work,” she tells you as you nod. “Not many philosopher’s explicitly do that in their works.”

“Great,” you smile at her. “Let’s take a look at that. Everyone open up your copies and turn to page seven. Mill writes, ‘Life has no higher purpose than pleasure? What are we, swine?’ What do you think this means?” you ask the class. The stare blankly at you as you inhale deeply, this being a fear of yours. But before you can allow yourself to freak out, you think about what Fred would do. You repeat the quote again and add this time, “Are we swines? I mean, I don’t know about Brian, but I know that I’m not a swine.”

This causes the class to erupt with laughter, Fred included, and Brian blushes a deep shade of red before he raises his hand to answer the question. Ah, victory.

The class continues on and the discussion was incredible with both classes you taught. The students had such provoking conversations with fruitful discussions on the topic. It made your heart swell that they were so good for you and you felt like you were in your element the whole time.

Fred couldn’t help but smile to himself as he watched you give the lecture, bouncing off points, connecting ideas, and posing new questions that he couldn’t even think of. You were electric and the students were infatuated with you, even more so than they were with him. He couldn’t help but feel proud of you. He loved watching you smile and laugh as you talked to the students.

“Okay, well unfortunately we are at time, but next week bring in your annotated books along with your first drafts of your papers!” you tell the class as they thank you as they leave the class one by one.

After each student has left the classroom and the door shuts, you turn to Fred who springs from his chair and runs over to you, scooping you up in a hug and spinning you around as you laugh. “Sheer brilliance,” he places you down with a beaming smile. “I’ve never seen students so excited to talk about moral philosophy,” he shakes his head as you grin widely, holding your hands behind your back. “That was great, (Y/N).”

“I feel great,” you tell him with a smile. “Seriously. It blows my mind how smart they are sometimes. Bloody Brian had such great talking points today!” you beam as Fred laughs. “But really, I learned everything that I did today from you. You are the great teacher,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully.

Fred rolls his eyes, “Oh, don’t give me all the credit. I mean...give me some, but not all.” You laugh and shake your head. “Kidding, kidding,” he tells you as you smile at him, taking in the way his face looked as the sun started to set behind him, signaling the end of your day. “Um, I’ll walk with you to the lot?”

You nod your head as the two of you pack your things and make your way to the parking lot with Fred, the both of you making light chatter about the class discussions and how thought provoking they all were. As you walk in the halls, you pass Harry who calls out, “I’m guessing it went well!”

“Shut it, Potter!” you call back as Fred chuckles.

Soon enough, you reach the staff parking lot and Fred digs around in his pockets for the key to his car. “Well,” Fred huffs. “You did a great job today, (Y/N). I would say I’m impressed, but I knew you would do brilliantly.”

You beam, “Thank you, Fred. Really. I know how much this class means to you and I thank you for trusting me with it.”

He smiles and leans against the hood of his black Audi, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows before leaning on his hands. “It’s my pleasure. I know how much teaching a class meant to you and I’m happy I could help,” he tells you as you nod.

The two of you stand there, watching each other as the sun sets behind the castle. Fred’s eyes glossed over your body and how pants hugged your curves and how the jumper clung onto your figure. He took a deep breath in before smiling to himself as you gulped and cleared your throat, trying to diffuse some of the tension between the two of you. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, Professor,” you tease Fred as he chuckles.

You start to walk away and towards the bus stop, but Fred’s voice stops you. “(Y/N)?” he speaks as you turn back to him, walking back to him. “I’ve got a quick question for you.”

“What’s up?”

“So, Mill said ‘There's no time for all this calculating when we're faced with an actual moral decision.’ And I’m afraid that I have a moral decision of my own,” he speaks with a smirk as you heart races at the sight of the smile you’ve grown so fond of over the past few weeks.

You smile at your feet before looking up at him. “And what would that moral decision be, Professor Weasley?” you tease him as he chuckles.

“That night, we spent grading papers,” he starts as you tuck your hands into your back pockets. “I wanted to kiss you.” His confession makes your heart race as face heat up. “And ever since then, I’ve been trying to find a moment where I can finally suck it up and kiss you,” he smirks. “So, what I guess what I’m trying to say is, is it alright if I kiss my teaching assistant in the parking lot of this bloody school?”

You lightly laugh and speak, taking a step closer to him as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you place your hands on his chest, “Well, if we are talking about this in the terms of Mill, would kissing your teaching assistant bring you pleasure?”

Fred smiles, “Without a doubt.”

“Then I think you’re morally obligated to,” you tell him as he chuckles.

He hesitates no longer and dips his head down to connect your lips together as you inhale deeply, wrapping your arms around his neck. His lips are soft, but passionate against you as they gently move against yours. His hands squeeze your hips gently as you press yourself against his body, making Fred lightly moan into your mouth. His tongue slips past your parted lips, caressing his tongue with yours as you let out a soft moan, making Fred inhale deeply. Your heart is pounding against your chest as you gently pull at the roots of his hair, relishing in the way his lips feel against yours. His mouth moves slowly and lazily against yours, making your head spin and desire grow. It’s everything you imagined it would be as cliche as it sounded.

Gently, you pull away as Fred smiles lightly. “Thank you, John Stuart Mill,” he breathes out, making you laugh. “I’ve been dying to do that.”

“I’m glad you did,” you confess to him, arms still wrapped around him as Fred squeezes your hips, placing another soft kiss to your lips. “Now that you’ve accomplish that moral dilemma, do you have any idea what your next one is?” you tease him, wiggling your brows.

Fred shakes his head, “Oh, we’ve got the rest of the semester to figure that one out.”

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diffuserlover · 3 years ago

Text

High School Rivalry

-fem!reader x ot7 x Hybe Japan

-genre: angst, supernatural, friendships??

-TW: mentions of blood, kidnapping, killing, death, and teeth

-one-shot

-Description: You have been best friends with Jay, Sunghoon, and Jake since elementary school now you guys are in your last year of high school. But over the past year your friends have been acting different, keeping things from you, sneaking around at night, and hanging out with 4 other guys from your school. Soon after you confronted the guys of their behavior the other 4 took you in their friend group. Now in the present, the biggest football game of the school year was coming up. Bats vs Wolves. School rivals BigHit East and BigHit West. A school tradition is that a week before the game the football teams would prank each other. But this year the prank became personal when the wolves kidnapped one of the only things they cared about…you

You walk through the halls of your dark school, streamers of red, white, and black hanging from the ceiling to show school spirit. Posters posted on the walls saying “Friday the 13th come to the big game Bats vs Wolves” This is all you have been hearing about, one because every talks about it, and two because your friends are on the team. Speaking of your friends you spot them standing in probably the darkest part of the school.

“It still shocks me that they decided to paint a whole wall black, it makes the school seem so dark and gloomy” you say as you walk up to the guys.

“You say that everyday” Heeseung says.

“I saw it in hopes that a teacher will hear me and do something about it” you say.

“Anyways, are you going to the game?” Jay says.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” you say.

“When it comes to the big game you get kinda weird” Sunghoon says.

“Weird? What no?” you say. Jungwon raises his eyebrow at you.

“Last year you ripped all the posters off the wall and got detention for 3 days” Jungwon says.

“They were poorly made posters” you say shrugging.

“She’s in denial” Riki laughs. You roll your eyes as the warning bell goes off.

“See you guys later” you say walking off to class with Jay.

School went by in a flash, you start to walk out to your space grey SUV to leave school. All of the other guys claimed they had somewhere to go. Even though your close with them you still feel like they are keeping something from you. As you unlock the car you hear someone say your name. You turn to see a guy you have never seen before.

“Hi” a tall brown hair guy says to you.

“Hi?” you question.

“You are friends with Jake right?” He asks. you nod.

“Can you give this to him, he left it at my house, I couldn’t find him” He says.

“Yeah, what’s your name so I can tell him who it’s from” you say.

“K” he says. You nod, what a strange name. You look down for a second to look at the book he gave you but when you look up he’s gone. You look around confused before getting in your car and leaving. You decide to call Jake to tell him. It took him 6 rings to answer.

“What’s up?” He asks.

“Some guy named K told me to bring you a book you left at his house, can I drop it by your place?” you ask. You look over at the book, it looked old, and was about vampires? You know Jake is like a major nerd but you didn’t kow h was into that stuff.

“K? he’s from the Wolves, you can drop it off” Jake says sighing.

“Are you home? or should I just leave it on the doorstep?” you ask.

“I’ll be home in a minute” Jake says.

“See you there” you say before he hangs up. It took you about 10 minutes for you to get to Jake’s house. When you pull up you can see him standing on his porch. You get out of the car with the book.

“Here, I didn’t know you were into that kinda stuff, I like how the author made the book look old” you say handing it to him. There was panic in Jake’s eyes as he sees the book you handed him.

“You didn’t open it right” Jake asks nervous.

“No?” you say confused on his sudden change of behavior.

“You should go home” Jake says.

“Oh okay, I’ll see you at school tomorrow” you say walking back to your car, you stare at Jake through your window, there is something wrong, something worrying him.

Now it’s the day before the big football game.

“I’ll meet you guys at Jay’s tonight” you say as they walk you to your car.

“I’ll pick up some snacks on the way there, anything you guys want” you say.

“No, were good and you don’t need to bring snacks, Jay has some” Sunghoon says. You nod. You swear they say the same thing every time. Now that you think about it, you really haven’t seen them eat much the past year. Always drinking out of their water bottles.

“Be careful driving home, it’s going to rain” Jake says as it starts to rain. You laugh slightly.

“I will, my house is only right down the street, now get in your cars before you get soaked and get a cold” you say signalling them away. You get into your car and start to drive off. As you were about to pull out of the school parking lot a hand goes over your mouth. You almost serve out of the lane.

“Keep driving straight” a man says. You start to follow his direction scared of he is going to do if you don’t listen. Soon enough you pull up to BigHit West. Another tall black haired guy walks up to my car and opens my door.

“Get out” He says. you nod and get up. You then see K get out from your back seat.

“What is this about” you ask confused.

“Revenge” K shrugs before hitting you in the back of the head and making you pass out.

“Drag her in” K says to Ta-ki.

“Why are we kidnapping her? Isn’t this illegal?” Ta-ki says before throwing you over his shoulder.

“To get those bats over here, so we can finally win” K says smirking.

“What do you mean finally win?” Ej asks.

“Over the decades it’s always been vampires verses werewolves, the vampires always win now it’s time for us to win” K says. They take you into the school and tie you up to a chair placing you in the middle of the gym. You start to wake up.

“Hello?” you say trying to get loose.

“There is no way your going to escape” K says. You see 3 other black haired guys behind him.

“Who are you guys?” you ask.

“Sorry where are my manners, boys” K says signaling back to them.

“I’m Nicholas” the tall one I remember who opened my door.

“I’m Ej” the even taller one says.

“I’m Ta-ki” the shorter one says.

“You know who I am pretty girl” K says. Your face curls up with disgust.

“What’s with the pet name” you say disgusted.

“Where are your friends” K asks me.

“I don’t know” you say truthfully. You observe the others. They stood back and never talked unless told to, what kind of friendship is this when there is clearly a leader.

“You really have no idea” K asks.

“If I knew I would tell you” you lie.

“Don’t lie to me” K says getting closer to me. you wondered how he knew that you were lying to him. You stay quiet as he stares into your eyes. You give him a cold look.

“Get her phone, call her friends to get her” K says turning around and walking away from you. Ej comes up to you and grabs your phone from your jacket pocket.

“Who should I call” Ej asks.

“Jungwon, their leader” K says. Leader? Jungwon? You wonder what are they talking about. Ej holds the phone close to your face,

“Act normal and tell them to come to the BigHit West’s gym to help you set up a prank” Ej says before pressing call. After a few rings Jungwon picks up the phone.

“Hey y/n what’s up” Jungwon says sounding happy.

“Can you guys come to the gym, at the West school, I have a great idea for a prank” You say.

“Are you already there?” Jungwon asks concern laced in his voice.

“Yeah, I have all the supplies we need, just hurry up” you say.

“Okay, uh are you alone” Jungwon asks. you pause staring at them.

“No” you say staring at K. They look at you mad. You saw K’s eye light up yellow. You blink and they were gone. You were so confused on how that happened.

“The janitors are here” you say.

“We will be there quick” Jungwon says. They hang up as you were about to say goodbye.

“You could have at least let me say bye” you say sighing.

“Shut up” K says. He signals at Nicholas. He gets up with a roll of tape.

“Hey no, can’t we just talk? There is no need for you to tape my mouth” you say rambling before Nicolas puts the tap on your mouth. You try kicking at him but your feet are tied to the chair.

“I never thought she would shut up” K says.

“I don’t think this is a very good thing to do” Ej says.

“Yeah, she’s just some silly human how is she going to help us take down the bats” Ta-ki says. As you sit not able to talk your thoughts take over. Silly human? your also a silly human for kidnapping me! What is wrong with these guys. Why do they talk like this.

“We have been over this before Ta-ki” K groans.

“She is our leverage, so they can give up the game tomorrow and then the rest of the pack will kill them on the field tomorrow, just like their ancestors did to ours” K says. You think, What in the hell are they talking about? Murders? Leverage? A pack? All of the sudden the gym doors fly open.

“Let go of her” Jungwon says.

“I will, if you give me what I want” K says standing up his friends follow behind him.

“Just give her to us and we will leave you alone, she doesn’t know about us, and we want it that way” Heeseung says.

“Oh she doesn’t know” K laughs.

“Oops” he says.

“This is going to be fun for her” K smirks before howling? Your eyes go wide. He turns into this giant furry wolf looking thing. The others turn into wolves as well. You try to escape the chair wiggling around.

“I could eat her whole” K says as he turns towards you, his eyes piercing yellow, his voice lowered now more creepy. K then growls in Jungwon’s face. you see Jungwon’s eyes turn red, his teeth grow into fangs, and he floats off of the ground. You look around at the other guys to see they were exactly the same. You scream through the tape wiggling around trying to escape. You’re friends are monsters. You fall backwards breaking the chair. You shake the ties off you and rip off the tape. Everyone stares at you.

“y/n-” Jake says.

“Get away from me” you say running off.

“Go get her” you hear K say. You look behind you to see Ej and Ta-ki running after you on all four legs. All of the sudden Jake pops up in front of you and grabs you and next thing you know your in the gym behind all your friends with Jake holding onto your arm.

“Let go of me” you say freaking out.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Jay says to you turning around. You look into his dead red eyes. This wasn’t your best friend.

“What are you people” you say struggling to get out of Jake’s grasp.

“We will explain everything in the car just calm down” Jake says.

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you” you say. They all looked hurt. You look to see Sunoo, Jungwon, Ni-ki, and Heeseung walk back with blood on them.

“We should go quickly, we were able to hold them off but K, I don’t know where he is, you know how strong an alpha is” Jungwon says. They try to leave but the door were locked.

“We can’t get out” Sunoo says pulling on the door.

“Move aside” Jungwon says. He pulls on the handles and rips them off.

“Look what you did, how are we supposed to get out now” Jake says freaking out.

“There are other doors” you say.

“Your not going anywhere” you guys hear K say. you all turn around and see the other wolves. They look wounded.

“Throw the game tomorrow and nobody gets hurt” K says.

“What are you going to to us? Bark at us? we just beat your best wolves” Jay says. Your head is spinning at the fact that this is real.

“I have more, our whole school is packed with wolves” K says.

“One call and they are here to kill you” K says. Jungwon sighs.

“Why do you want us to throw the game? What do you get out of it” Jungwon asks.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you” K says.

“They are going to kill you all on the field tomorrow if they win” you say. They all look at me. K sighs.

“I should have taped you ears too” K sighs.

“Get her” K says. Ej and Nicholas turn into werewolves again and then come running at you and the guys. Jake pushes you behind him and Sunghoon comes and stands on the other side of you. They were taller and bigger than all of the guys. They start to fight around you.

“We have got you, don’t worry” Jake says. You watch as Sunoo gets hit in the side and go down. Your head told you that he’s a monster, he isn’t the same person as before, he’s not the Sunoo you know. But your heart, your heart is telling you to help him, risk yourself to help your friend. And that’s what you did. You run to Sunoo and pick him up a little so his head rests on your lap.

“Sunoo, are you okay?” you ask lifting his shirt a little to see a deep cut.

“I’m fine, it will heal” He winches as you touch the wound to stop the bleeding.

“y/n, i’m going to be fine it just takes a few minutes” he says, as he said that you see the wound start to heal. Your eyes widen at the wound healing.

“I-” you say before you feel yourself being picked up. Nicholas had you and took you over by K throwing you to the ground. They transform back to humans. K grabs your hair and makes you stand up. He transforms and brings his huge, nasty claws to your neck.

“Throw the game, let my pack kill a few people and she won’t die” K says.

“We can’t let you kill innocent people” Jay says.

“We CaN’t LeT yOu KiLl InNoCeNt PeOpLe, stop acting all high and mighty, you drink from people’s neck killing them” K mocks Jay. K looks at you and laughs at your scared expression.

“Go on, tell y/n how many people you kill so you all can have a meal” K says. You look at the guys.

“7 people, so each of us can have one whole person to last us a week” says. They all look down.

“7 people, wow” K says.

“But we haven’t done that for months, we drink from blood bags now, that we steal from the hospital” Jungwon says. You sigh.

“How many people have you killed in total” K says. They all look around. You see Ni-ki counting on his fingers.

“35″ Ni-ki says. K laughs.

“You hear that pretty girl, your so called friends killed 35 people, 35 innocent people” K says laughing, the other wolves start laughing too.

“They weren’t important people, they were homeless and criminals” Jungwon says trying to make you feel better.

“You really are monsters, you all are” you say.

“I know I am” K says before slicing your throat with his claws. You go down trying to breathe and you start to bleed out.

“You had your chance” K shrugs before leaving with his pack. You look over at your friends, you could see veins pop out from under there eyes. You gasp tying to tell them to help. You hold your neck to try to stop the bleeding. He didn’t cut you deep enough for you to die right away but if you didn’t get to a doctor soon you would die.

“Her blood smells so good” Heeseung says.

“I know” Sunghoon says as his eyes darken. They all slowly walk over to you.

“We should share” Jungwon says.

“Of course” Jake says.

“I was starving anyways” Sunoo says. Jay sits right next to you smelling your neck. You try to wack them away, your body getting weaker from the blood loss.

“It’s even better up close” Ni-ki says. You use the last bit of your strength to scream as their fangs sink into your skin in different places.

“Local student from BigHit East was found dead in the rival schools gym all blood drained from her body. Her seven friends that were with her that night have now been reported missing. What went down that night at BigHit West? Is this really a prank gone wrong or is there foul play involved? We will keep you updated here on Hybe News thank you, back to the weather With Mr. Choi”

I hope you guys liked it!! If you want to see more stories like this and my Taehyun one you can always ask!! :)

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen vampire #hybe japan #enhypen jay #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen jake #enhypen jungwon #enhypen niki #enhypen sunoo #enhypen heeseung

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erensproudsimp · 4 years ago

Text

Celestial

Armin Arlert x reader

⚠ Sexual Content Ahead ⚠

Content Warnings: sort of public sex?, Cunnilingus, vanilla sex, masturbation, a lil bit of fluff too

Summary: A date with Armin at his family owned theater, Armin makes you feel like the luckiest girl alive. *cough*y'all bang too*cough*

word count:3.4k

Also, fanart is by atosaido on insta.

Gazing at the sunset at the horizon spreading its rich hues of red blended with orange, purple and cimsons into the grateful sky when you heard your phone chime. The name on the notification itself was enough to pull the corners of your mouth into a smile. Gently you placed the book that you were reading on the table to grab your phone and unlocked it to see the message. It was from your boyfriend, Armin. Your heart swelled reading the contents. Armin requested you to get ready for a date that he was coming to fetch you in like an hour, however he didn't mention where he'd be taking you. Not giving yourself a chance to try to assume the location, you looked at the time. It was currently six in the afternoon, plenty of time to dress up until seven.

Clothes thrown all over your room, scavenging the closet you were having trouble settling on an aesthetic for your outfit. Since Armin was the type of person to take you to places that could be either cosy or extravagant or both, you made up your mind to a dark academia getup. A brown checkered mini skirt complimented with a beige sweater seemed to be quite perfect for the date. Your hair straightener was heating up while you were doing a light make up. Ten minutes later you were ready. It was almost seven as you went outside to wait for Armin's car to pull up to your apartment.

A fresh chilly wind brushed against your face pickling your nostrils but it brought you out of your daydreams to your senses as you felt alive and connected to reality. You rubbed your nose for warmth with your sleeve when right at that moment a white BMW. You swore your heart leaped in your chest upon seeing him. Like a happy puppy running to its owner, that's how Armin saw you when you were running in your boots to him. Throwing your arms around his neck, you jumped for a hug. Armin being quite well-built was able to handle your weight as he lifted you up to spin you around.

"Ahaha y/n I'm so glad to see you," Armin's voice muffled against your hair.

"Me too Armin, me too," you replied pulling back to make eye contact with him.

You had no idea how Armin liked you saying his name, especially when you were screaming it.

"Let's get in the car shall we? It's getting a little chilly," Armin said opening your door to let you in. You gave him a light smile for his chivalry. Closing it after you sat, he went to take his place in the driver's seat.

"So, are you going to tell me where you're taking me?" you asked him.

"Hmmm, nope," Armin answered bopping your nose with his index finger, "I'm keeping as a surprise till we reach it, besides I think you'd probably guess it with the route we're taking."

"Well then, let's see if I guess it right. Let's go!" you excitedly shouted.

Analysing the passing buildings and blocks, a light bulb went off in your head.

"Wait, are we going to your family owned theater?" crossing your fingers you questioned.

"Heh, you've got a good memory," Armin smiled over to you one hand on the steering wheel, the other on your thigh rubbing small circles.

Shrieking in happiness, you couldn't help it as that theater was nothing but a comfort place for you. Pressing the button to pull down the transparent glass, you let the cold wind hit your face making your hair fly, a smile stretching your mouth aware that this was going to be a good night well spent. Across the seat, Armin admired you for a while before pulling into the parking. How he wished he could keep looking at you forever. You were like drugs to him, no matter how much he consumed of your presence or just you in general, he's never satisfied.

Before you could get out, Armin came to your door to open it, extending his hand. Taking it, he pulled you closer to him, faces millimeters away. Smiling against his mouth but you didn't kiss him. Instead, you placed your finger between your lips, "Quite a gentleman, aren't you?"

"Only for you my love," Armin replied dragging you to the theater's entrance.

Hand in hand, you both ran to the magnificent creation that was the building. Nobody was in sight signaling you that you two were the only beings present in that place. The only sounds that could be heard were you and Armin's giggling and the rustling of the trees with the wind. The moon was shining so bright in the sky lit up by thousands of stars. It's brightness was the same as the one Armin brought in your life. He was your sole source of joy alongside the reason why you adored being alive so much.

"You really like the night sky, don't you?" Armin asked as he looked at you staring at the moon.

"A lot. The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I could die happy."

Your heart felt lighter than air at his answer.

"Before we go inside, mind if I blindfold you? I don't want to ruin the surprise," Armin requested holding up a black cloth.

"Sure thing," you replied as he tied it lightly so as not to hurt you.

Rather than taking your hands to guide you inside, Armin choose an easier method which was to carry you in his arms. At first you were bewildered but then when it hit you, it didn't really faze you as he was always doing sweet unexpected actions like this. He treated you as though you were the most precious thing to him, which you in all honesty were.

While he was walking to take you to the destined spot, he couldn't stop himself to gaze at you. You gave so much meaning to his life and to every little thing to him. From the feeling of the first sunlight hitting his skin, he was reminded of your warm smile to the moonlight illuminating the dark sky, he thinks of the way you bring him positivity even in the toughest of situations. He couldn't be in anymore bliss as this was the definition of heaven to him. Your arms wrapped around his neck for support, he was carrying his literal embodiment of happiness.

Gently putting you down, he asked, "Are you ready?"

"I'm more than ready!" mirthfully you exclaimed.

"Okay then", Armin said removing your blindfold, "Ta-dah."

At that moment, you couldn't decide whether you were more likely to smile because of what you were seeing or more likely to cry because of what you were seeing. Your mind chose the later as tears started to run down your cheeks.

"He-Hey, don't cry, why are you crying?" Armin confoundedly wiped your tears with his thumbs as he cupped your face.

"Did you do all of this... for me?" sniffing you looked at him.

"For who else did I do this stupid? Of course it's for you y/n", he beamed.

Apart from the usual dark room with a dark vibe like a traditional theater has, for this date, Armin had set up projections on the ceiling. And it wasn't any type of projection, it was the space scattered all across the white roof.

In awe, your eyes widen at the celestial beauty in front of you. Stars twinkling like little fairy lights, even a nebula in vivid details. It doesn't stop at that as there were loads of other spatial phenomenons occurring. Not only did Armin set up a picnic on the stage but beside it was also a mattress big enough to accommodate both of you to 'stargaze'. The fabric set with Ratatouille in a bowl, a bottle of red wine glimmering under the light and various pastries sat in soliditary splendor in the middle of the wide open space which was the stage.

"I feel like I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have you Armin", you said sitting on the cloth spread on the wooden floor.

"No, I feel like the luckiest man to have the most perfect woman," he corrected you as he was pouring some wine into your glass.

Red tinted your cheeks.

"Cheers ?"

"Cheers," you raised your glass to clink with his.

This night couldn't be any more flawless.

A nice dinner in your favorite place with your favorite person, what else could you ask more?

As soft as clouds, the mattress sunk in with both of your weights. The wine coursing through your veins served as intoxication transporting you into this realm of abstractional interstellar.

Still mesmerised by the exquisite visual that resembled as though some heavenly artist had crushed crystals into his paint and then colored the cosmos with the finest of brushes, it didn't even compare to the beautiful man on whom you were laying on. Your hand on his chest, head on his shoulder, Armin held you so close to him as though you were going to disappear if he looked away. The blues and purples of the projection caressed his face.

Moving strands of your hair away with his finger, Armin asked, "What's the matter y/n?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering how pretty you are."

"I-I thank you," Armin blushed.

Gosh he was so cute.

Lifting yourself up, a frown on Armin's face at your action but then replaced by a astonishing look when he realised that you were straddling him. You had no clue of what you were doing, maybe it's was the wine or maybe it was just your desire for him, nonetheless, you craved his touch.

Your soft skin reflecting the light of the led made his fingers curl with the urge to stroke it. To his surprise, you grabbed his hands and placed it on your thighs revealed with your skirt lifted up. A light squeeze was given to them as Armin began stroking with his thumb waiting for your next move. The light illuminating from your behind aligned your figure making you appear as an angel in Armin's sight. Running your index finger from his cheekbones to his lips, you neared your bodies to press your boobs on his chest as you kissed him. His left hand dragged up your flesh to grab your ass while the right one entangled itself in your hair pulling your faces closer. Lips overlapping each other as you fought for dominance with him. Though Armin seems like a very sweet guy but looks may deceive, well, not completely. In bed he's like a cocktail, a combination of gentleness like flavored syrup or juice and of roughness like the alcohol in the drink.

Pushing your hips to his pelvis area, a groan leaving his lips cued you to further tease him. Up and down you grinded on him. Breaking the kiss to pull back, Armin went lower to your neck to pepper small kisses all over your sensitive skin, all the way to your jaw, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth to back on your neck to suck on your sweet spot. A light pain accompanied with pleasure made a tiny 'ah' leave your lips as he was marking your body. This only turned Armin more than he already was the moment he saw you.

Bringing his face back up , you collided your lips to his, more passionate than before. Sloppily you unbuttoned his shirt.

Abruptly he grabbed your back to switch positions with you. His chest now exposed was in front of your eyes. Removing the fabric off his body, his muscles shined in the light. This man was built like an art piece, his chest sculptured like the Greek soldiers.

"Allow me to be the one to please you," Armin's breath tickled your ear.

Feather like touches brushed your throat down to between your breasts to your stomach through your clothes. He took all the time in the world to appreciate the fact that you were with him and for him. You've probably never experienced such tenderness before meeting Armin. While making out with you, he his hands underneath your sweater to cup your boobs unaware of the dampness pooling between your legs.

With a swift motion, Armin took off your sweater and threw it across the stage. Black laced bra covering your breasts made you look more lustful. Armin's breath hitched in his throat.

"I don't think I'd ever get enough on beautiful you are y/n, everytime I undress you, it always feel as though it's the first time", he breathed.

You tugged at his belt, unbuckling it.

"Then show me how much you want me," you swiped your thumb over his lips.

Armin smirked. If looks could kill, you'd probably be dead by that.

"As you wish my lady."

Armin's big hands stroke your curves, brushing his lips from your collarbones slowly down your bellybutton but he didn't kiss your skin until he pulled down your skirt for your damp fabric to come in view to him. His soft lips didn't hesitate to press against your core.

"Ah- Armin-"

"You look so hot making that face, baby," Armin replied mouth still on you, you felt the vibrations of his voice through your underwear giving you goosebumps.

Armin dragged his tongue from the buttom to your clitoris, sucking on it making your underwear even wetter.

"Does this feel good?"

"Hmmm yes~," you reached out to grab his hair.

He chuckled at your reaction and proceeded to remove your last piece of garment. Your entrance dripping with anticipation, Armin gulped hard.

Like a wild animal out of cage, Armin attacked your pussy with his mouth. You leaped at his rough action and gripped on his hair for dear life as it seemed like this man wasn't going to leave you until he's had every part of you. Out of nowhere, Armin stuck his tongue into you making you arch your back. Thrusting it in and out of you, he gripped your hips in place so that you wouldn't squirm away.

"Gosh you have no idea how good you taste y/n," Armin panted sending chills down your spine.

Your tiny little pants and moans only fueled him to gain speed as he flicked your pearl in his mouth with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh-ah-Armin- Don't stop I'm close ~"

Taking your words into command, Armin didn't cease until you gasped and released everything in his mouth.

He swallowed every single drop of you as though it was his last time drinking any sort of liquid. While he was licking his lips to consumed everything he removed his pants as you were catching your breath. His dick sprung free from his cage, tip leaking with precum.

"May I?"lining his dick in front of your cunt he asked for consent.

"Just fuck me already Armin."

Slowly, Armin stoked it on your wet folds to lubricate it for it to enter more smoothly. Wet sounds of both of your excrements mixing filled the theater.

"Fuck you're so tight,"Armin groaned in his first thrust into you,"Are you okay baby? Do you want time to adjust? "

Still panting over his big size you nodded your head, your arm covering your eyes.

"It's okay love, take your time," Armin gently moved your hand away from your face to stroke your cheeks.

"Okay, you can move now," a minute later you told him.

Intertwining your fingers, Armin held your hand while the other held for support on the bed, Armin began to move.

With the projector in the background, this moment seemed so magical.

"You feel so good y/n arg-"

You hummed still doused in this dreamy state. The world around you blurred as the only thing visible in your peripheral vision was paradise. You could feel him moving so slowly between your walls, each of his popping veins so clearly. With time passing, your need for him grew bigger.

"Please go faster Armin."

"Anything for you," he replied as he picked up speed, this time more rougher on you.

Skin slapping, you arched your back, this time Armin slipping his hand on your back to make your bodies touch each other. Chests rising and falling rapidly, you brushed Armin's hair from his face to see his expressions better.Face twisted with pleasure, this man was so attractive.

It wasn't long until you felt the knot building up in your stomach.

"Y/n I'm-I'm close"

"Me too Armin, please cum with me"

Eyes boring into yours, Armin didn't hesitate to go even more rough with you.

Bending down Armin kissed you as he released his hot fluids into you.

"Are you okay? I hope I didn't hurt you my lady," Armin moved your hair away from your sweaty forehead.

"No Armin, I know you could never hurt me, that's why I love you."

"I love you too y/n," Armin kissed your nose.

Helping you to get up, he took some tissues from the straw bag in which he carried all the food in. While you were tying your hair into a ponytail, Armin wiped his cum from your body.

"I'm sorry I made such a mess on your beautiful skin y/n."

"Armin, why are you even appologising for this, please don't ," you giggled then grabbed his hands and kissed them.

Inhaling a deep breath, Armin got up to fetch your clothes and helped you wear them.

"Let me drop you home okay?" he carried you in bridal style to the car due to your legs shaking and being unstable. Throughout the whole voyage back, you just wished this night could last forever but alas reality is a bitch. His hands warming your thighs till his car reached your house and he took you to your bathroom to help you get into the bathtub.

Not wanting to hold him any longer, you reassured him that you were now okay and that he could take care of the theater to clean it for business the next day. The thought of people coming to a place where you and Armin banged without them being aware of it brought all the blood to rise up in your cheeks.

Parking the car, Armin entered the building with the scent of sex still lingering in the air. Taking care of all the stuff on the stage and cleaning it, he went to remove the projectors. Out of the blue it clicked in his head. Security cameras. Heaving a sigh of relief that he recalled this crucial detail, he rushed into the surveillance room to discard of the recordings for the night. However, before he did that, he did in fact consider to watch it. Debating in his head like attorneys in a courtroom he finally yielded to looking at them. He didn't even play the video that he was already blushing redder than his blood. Pressing the play button, he sat down on the wheelchair.

Holy shit did he not regret watching it. Even in bad lighting, you looked so hot on camera. It felt illegal for Armin to be doing whatever he was doing then.

"Ah-ah Armin-" you moaned his name and that awakened something in him or more like that hardened something in him.

"Fuck," he whispered under his breath.

From his pants, he could see the lining of his growing erection but he tried to ignore it. Eventually it began to feel a little painful from the restriction of release. Giving in into his urges, he unzipped his pants to let his dick breath from its suffocation.

He hissed as he spread the oozing precum across the tip looking himself eating you out. With his face buried between your legs, at that moment he couldn't clearly see your facial expressions compared to now.

The way your breath got stuck in your throat, your mouth made an 'o' when you tried to control your moans. The next time he was going to make love to you, he's keeping in mind to prevent you from holding back the sounds you make as he wants to hear each and every one of them.

Stroking his shaft up and down just like he's thrusting in and out of you, his motions rhythmic, he threw his head back on the chair hearing your sweet voice resonating the room.

Sinful.

To his shock, he came at the exact timing he came within you in the recording. Letting his actions absorb, still drown into the cloudiness of his mind, Armin couldn't wait for the day he could at last marry you.

Without further ado, he deleted the clips after he sent them to his phone as a token.

End.

Thank you for reading this. :)

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