#midnight's writing

[the-midnight-post]

Before I go on my usual fic-posting spiels, I'm so excited to say something about how serendipitous it was to put this whole fic together! I had never written for a ship week before due to straight up never finding out about them in time, then learned about All-Ships Ship Week ahead of time, and planned out this fic for it! And then, last night—yes last night!!—I learned about Reguri Week! And that it was going on right now too, and that the prompts for today also fit in perfectly with what I'd just written! How could I NOT make sure this fic would make it onto the internet in time for this kind of celebration, y'know!??

So here we go! I truly hope you enjoy this fic if you choose to read it, it was a joy to write something so self-indulgently celebratory for this ship ❤️💚

| Written for @ficwip's The All-Ships Ship Week & @reguriweek's Reguri Week Thursday Prompts |

Rating: G Fandom: Pokémon (Gameverse) Relationship: Red/Green Characters: Green | Red | Green's Eevee | Red's Pikachu Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence | Established Relationship | Domestic Fluff | Slice of Life | Selectively Mute Red | Memories | Food | Cooking | Showing Off | Communication Words: 4,065 Chapters: 1/1 Summary:

It’s all so perfect, he doesn’t dare waste a second of it.

Or, where Green and Red spend their day off treating each other (and their pokémon) to what they know makes the other happy, while reminiscing on how they ended up here.

Read The Road to Viridian City on Ao3

[midnightg0dd3ss]

Chapter 5

[mournfulroses]

Kim Addonizio, from What Is This Thing Called Love: Poems; "''Round Midnight,"

[linipikk]

Aziraphale shielding Crowley from water

and Crowley shielding Aziraphale from fire

[hexhomos]

dress me in midnight (hold me tight)

[im-not-a-pleeb]

After Midnight

John Price X Fem!Reader

John Price steps in as Reader's fake boyfreind when her ex stalks her in the club.

.

"Put your hands on me, dove."

"What?" You chirp.

"He's comin' over. Put your hands on me."

"Fuck."

Your muttered explitive is completely drowned out by the music shuddering through the air in the club.

You'd recognize that godawful haircut anywhere. Apparently even through a dimly lit room crammed with people. Flashing lights and all, there was no doubt that your ex was here, and that he was scanning the crowd for someone.

You.

Panic laces your bloodstream on the middle of the dance floor. Your lungs seize abruptly and the sheen of sweat on your skin cools, leaving you shivering. You weren't a party girl. You didn't go to clubs. You were only out tonight because you wanted- no, you needed to prove to yourself that you were still desirable after all the nasty things he said about you during the breakup.

It's like dropping a pebble down a well and listening for the splash, left with the anticipation for some eventual sound that could come at any moment. And every second the stone doesn't plunk into the water below, time stretches until it's still. Until it snaps. Your eyes meet his across the room. Your stomach pits.

You run.

Taking off, you aim for the back of the club where it's darker. You nudge and slide your way through the sea of grinding couples and a spike of anger parts your fears momentarily. Because isn't it just like him to show up and ruin your night. Not that you were having a particularly fantastic time to begin with- but still. It's the sentiment of it all.

You stalk towards the dingy 'staff only' hallway where a few people ( who definitely aren't staff) are making out. Hopefully your ex will take one look at the blatant PDA and head the other way, because yeah. It does make people uncomfortable.

The soles of your shoes stick to the floor as you duck next to a mountain of a man - who is thankfully standing alone. He towers over you by at least a foot and you use his wide, sturdy build to hide yourself further from the room. If he does notice you, he doesn't show it. Instead, he seems more focused on sulking down here in the tunnel of shame and fumbling hands. 

You groan and fall back against the postered walls, covering your eyes. The papers advertising various underground DJs are a little soggy from what you hope is beer (at least it smells like it) so you straighten back up with a grimace. Definitely showering when you get home. A draft of cool night air slips through the hall from beneath the exit, making you wrap your arms protectively around your middle.

You bite your lip, eyeing the door. You could slip out into the alley and leave that way... with that route you'd be able to avoid your ex, but you'd only be trading your bad situation in for a worse one. Frankly, you weren't terribly keen on the idea of dealing with whoever would be hanging around the back lane at this hour. It might be better to risk leaving through the front...

"A'right?" The big strangers deep, gravely voice tugs you back from your spiraling thoughts. It hauls you to dry land as easily as a mother cat grabs her wet kitten by the scruff and delivers it to safety. You tilt your chin to face him and with one look up at this man's eyes, you knew that's exactly what he offered. Safety.

His face was a little weathered. Big nose, smallish, blue eyes that would make the ocean jealous. Well-maintained beard and mutton chops. He was built masterfully, too, all shoulders and hard lines. All in all a gorgeous man, but more than that- he exuded a sense of protection and control that was damn near palpable.

It was unexplainable. In the same way that you knew your ex was here for you, you knew that this man would help you. So you answered his question honestly.

"No." You weren't alright.

"What's wrong, then?" He shifts his body to sheild you further, while still keeping half an eye on the rest of the room. Your gaze roams quickly over the bulge of his arms as they fold over his broad chest.

With a deep, albeit shakey breath, you recount how your recent breakup went bad. How your ex won't leave you alone. How he keeps showing up to your home, your work, and now you're almost positive that he is here to confront you. You'd hoped that blocking him on everything would be enough to dissuade him from talking to you, but clearly you'd been praying to a false God on that account.

Much to your surprise, he doesn't try to inturupt you while you talk. The man simply listens, his chin tucked down and expression unreadable, brows furrowed and eyes fixed intently on your face. He nods once when you're finished speaking, grunting when he spots your fingers playing nervously at your sides.

"Can you describe 'im for me?" He asks, stopping you from peering past his shoulder with the mere lift of his pointer and middle fingers that rested on his bicep. "Without lookin'."

"Oh. Yeah." You rub your own arms, trying to soothe away the goosebumps. "Tall- well- not as tall as you. Green eyes, blond hair. Horrendous man bun and shaved on the sides, you know?" Making a gesture beside your own head, you look up to make sure he's understanding. His mustache twitches.

"Mm, I know the type." He rumbles, a smirk playing at his lips. "What's he wearin'?"

"I don't know." You deflate. You'd been more focused on getting out of sight than on what he'd been wearing.

"S'alright." He touches your arm, attention slipping away from you momentarily. His easy posture doesn't change, but he stiffens. "Dark jeans, white jumper?"

"Jumper?" You wrinke your nose in confusion at the unfamilair british term.

"Hoodie." He translates for you.

"Oh. Yeah. I mean- maybe?"

Before you can blink, he's caging you in against the wall, both hands planted on either side of your head. Maybe you squeak, but the music swallows your surprise readily. There's no time to react before he leans in next to your ear, beard tickling your cheek as he murmurs:

"Think he's lookin'."

Automatically, you go to turn your head only to end up brushing your lips along his jawline. His facial hair prickles and you think you like it. Blushing furiously, you open your mouth to apolagise but the words die on your tongue when he moves closer. He consumes you without being invasive, crowding you now, but still careful not to touch you directly. He's so near that you can feel the heat radiating off of him between the scant distance of your chests.

"Put your hands on me, dove."

"What?" You chirp.

"He's comin' over. Put your hands on me." It's a demand this time. There's something in his tone now that you can't ignore, something that compells you to shiver and obey. He drops his head, nosing along the curve of your neck and collarbone as you slip your hands inside of his unzipped cargo jacket. The warmth of him instantly envelops you, seeping into your very bones. You're not cold anymore, you're almost too hot.

It's a casually deceptive act from both of you, and there's something so respectfully intimate in how he breathes you in, lips skimming up to your chin and leaving behind a trail of sparks. A hot puff of his breath tousels your hair and you ball your fists in the back of his shirt. It's only at his chuff of laughter when you realise you've tilted your head for more...

"Hey man, what the fuck you think you're doing with my girl?" Your ex's voice breaks whatever spell this man had put you under. The breath you'd been holding whooshes out of your lungs like you were punched, and the muscles that had turned to honey from just his proximity grow tense again at the unwanted presence.

The towering man doesn't lift his head immediatly. Instead, he hums beside your ear - a low, almost annoyed sound - and lets his beard rasp along your cheek lazily before looking up at the intrusion.

"Doesn't look like she's your girl anymore, eh?" He says casually, but there's an edge to his voice as he sizes up the other man. You're still practically engulfed by him. He hasn't given you back a millimeter of space, keeping himself all but pressed up against you. His hands haven't moved either, you note. They're both still beside your head, braced on the wall. Haven't even touched you and your knees are weak.

"Well she is, so I reccomend that you get the fuck off her, pal." Your ex repeats, tone haughty and he squares his shoulders like he actually thinks he could go head to head with this guy and come out victorious. He turns his attention to you then, still for the most part hidden by the stranger's frame. "I didn't come here to see you throwing yourself at whoever will take you like some common whore." He sneers.

Your cheeks flush in agitation at the insult. He's said such things before, but never to embarrass you in front of other people. The man previously dominating your personal space finally takes a step back, rolling his shoulders and expanding his chest. But before he can say anything, you're pushing in front of him to stand up to your ex. Because how dare he?

Ever since he got comfortable in your relationship, your ex had treated you like shit and you'd put up with it because really he was a sweet guy when he was happy. But you were done. He'd crossed the final line by insulting you in front of someone else, and the burly man standing behind you gave you enough confidence that your ex wouldn't deck you the second you laid into him.

"I don't know what part of 'never talk to me again' is so hard for you to understand! I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to call you... nothing! You need to accept that this-" You gesture between the two of you, "Is over. It's been over for a long time and I've told you every way I know how. We're finished, Okay?" You explode.

"Okay, but I just think you should give me another chance. I'll change." Your ex tries, pathetically trying to sweettalk his way back into your life. It might have worked on you once, but not anymore.

"No! I don't need to do anything else for you. I 'just think' that it's your turn to do something for me, and you can start by getting the fuck out of my life."

"Baby, I-" your ex starts, but you cut him off with a humourless laugh.

"Are you even hearing me right now? Are you hearing yourself!? We. Are. Over. I'm not your baby. I'm not your girl. I'm not your anything. Clear?"

He blinks stupidly. It was the first time you'd actually held your own against him. The first time you'd talked back and clearly he didn't know how to take it.

"Am I fucking clear?" You snap.

"Yeah." He swallows, brushing it off with a shrug. "Yeah, it's clear. It's whatever." He clears his throat, trying to play off his discomfort with an attempted smile. A smile that you mock and twist right back at him.

"One more thing." Your grin is sugary sweet and poisonous. Pure saccharine. "Call me whore again and I'll break your fucking nose."

The slapped expression on your ex's face is priceless. He wisely decides not to say anything else before walking away, seeming stunned.

Still grinning, you turn to the man behind you. He's stood unwavering, looking entertained and seeming more than a little impressed. With a surge of confidence and heady elation, you reach up and tug him towards you by his neck.

His eyebrows raise a little in surprise, but he leans down to meet you where you've stretched up on your toes to close the distance. He ducks his head, lips barely skimming yours before pulling away. You pout, glancing at him in displeasure. And then he's kissing you.

This time, he doesn't hold back. An arm snakes around your middle and heaves you against his chest, keeping you anchored to him with a heavy palm pressed to your lower back. His other hand tangles in your loose hair, tugging your head to angle you how he wants.

A breathy groan slips from your mouth, lips parting beneath his as thunder rumbles behind his sternum.

"Knew you'd be a needy little thing."

You feel your cheeks flush but you nod, just wanting more of him. The pulse of the bass hijacks your system and you're not sure if it's his heartbeat or yours that pounds in your ears. You tug at him desperately, and he huffs, smirking while you card your fingers through his hair. The scent of burnt spices envelops you just before he does.

"Christ, you're a sight."

His lips are on yours again, licking into your open mouth. He tastes like whiskey, you think leisurely, and you eagerly sip the flavour from his lips. The man - you still don't know his name - steps you back against the wall and slips a knee between your thighs.

The movement elicits a gasp as you clutch at him, hips pressing forward. He greedily swallows all the sounds that he draws from you, letting you grind against him for a moment before he stops you. His fingers tightens at your waist, stilling your restless motion. He doesn't want you to be greedy. He wants you to take what he gives you.

Instead, he rocks his thigh against you, letting the feeling build. You're gasping shamelessly against his lips, beard scratching your chin while he brings you nearer and higher. It makes it all the more cruel when he begins to slow before you can reach the peak you crave.

"Not here, dove. Not tonight." His voice thrums in your ear.

Protest leaves you in a whine. As badly as you want more of him, you have to reluctantly agree. The shame that would come with getting off in some dirty hallway with a guy you barely even know... it would fester the rest of the night.

He kisses you a little longer though, a little deeper. His lips are softer now, less demanding. Like he's trying to gradually calm the storm he evoked within you, to soothe that same ache he is responsible for.

When he finally breaks the kiss you're left flushed and panting, clinging to him to stay standing.

"Oh god." You breathe. "I don't usually do that- kiss random men in clubs."

"That so?" He asks, seeming amused.

"Mhm. I don't even know your name." You touch your fingers to your mouth and hope that your lipgloss isn't smudged to oblivion.

"S'John, sweetheart." He brushes the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, smearing some of the remaining moisture.

"John." You repeat, trying it out. It's a good, solid name. Hefty on the tongue. "Thanks for... you know, scaring him off and everything."

"Oh I think you did all the work there, love." John chuckles, and you can't help but laugh too. "I wouldn't like to be on your bad side."

"You'd be hard pressed." You murmur, marveling at how the blue strobes highlight his features, dancing across his face and blinding you. But they dim in comparison to those eyes.

"Would I?" He lowers his voice to a pleased rumble. The hand on your hip kneads the flesh there gently.

You nod, blushing. The few shots you had earlier must be filtering through your conciousness now, because everything's a little hazy and your cheeks are hot. Hotter than just a blush.

The floor dips gently and you sway into him, barely bracing yourself with hand slapped haphazardly against his ribs.

"Sorry." You giggle, pulling back. He doesn't let you go far, though, holding tight at your waist to keep you from tipping over again.

"Alright, dove?" He asks, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"Mhmm." You hum, still captivated by the lights playing exquisitely over the lines of his face.

"How'd you get here, sweetheart?"

"Took a cab." You tell him.

"Let me drive you back."

You hesitate. "Are you sure?" The last thing you want is to take advantage of his goodness.

John just hums and presses a kiss to the corner of your lips.

"Course" He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Gotta make sure my girl gets home safe, don't I?"

GUYS I'm so excited this is my first work in years! I'm still getting back into writing, but i hope you enjoyed it <3. Personally I'm not thrilled with how it came out, but my perfectionism needs to calm down, I'm sure it's good enough.

I realized there isn't actually that much Price in this Price fanfic.... I'm sorry! I swear there will be more of him in my next work!! You guys are gonna go crazy, I promise 😏😌

[the-wegg]

keep thinking about hit ao3 fic midnight strangers by @seriouslycalamitous . so have more doodles!

below are!!!! chapt 7 spoilers!! bewareee!!!!

and also a fair amount of shipping :7

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Sunrise, Parabellum.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[dumblr]

Have you ever stayed up all night thinking about someone who wasn’t yours?

[chericos]

BLOOD SUCKING FREAKS!

your faves as vampires— multifandom headcanons

fandom list— vnc (the case study of Vanitas), bsd, jjk, mha, one piece, aot, kny, csm, genshin impact (brings back memories…), haikyuu, soul eater, hxh + more!

cws: nsfw?, blood, biting, possessive/yandere themes, dark themes, bites can be used as a sort of aphrodisiac, overstim themes, mentions of bruising, chasing, “hunting”, mentions of being tied/chained up, some are darker than others due to the characters being more inherently “evil”, unedited, you can tell who my favs are, sorry if some are short... tell me if I missed anything!

MDNI

He’s so sweet and kind with you, always ensuring you’re fully prepared to take him. His big rough hands toying and prodding in such a gentle manner that you can’t help but cry out for more. Tears prick the corner of your eyes at his slow pace, you’re not sure how much longer you could keep going like this. His hands trail up and down leaving goosebumps across your skin. His eyes sharpen as he peers down at the junction of your neck. He tilts his head down, inhaling deeply as he drags his tongue up your collarbone. He hovers over your pulse point, sharp fangs grazing the sensitive spot and you shiver at the feeling.

“May I?”

His voice is thick and laced with lust. you feebly nod your head, letting out a small whimper. He hesitates slightly before biting down. It is weak, and only just pierces the skin enough for it to bleed. But what did you expect your hunk of a vampire is just soft.

Maybe a little too soft.

— Izuku, Tamaki, All might, Nighteye, Nanami, Higuruma, Ino, Rengoku, Gyomei, Kunikida, Fukuzawa, Jouno, Atsushi, Roland, Zack Fair, Armin, Shiro, Kunigami, Reo, Kurapika, Cyno, Aether, Gepard, Hinata, Sugawara, Yamaguchi + your fav

Your skin is already littered with bruises and teeth marks. Small beads of blood trickle down your chest and he carefully laps at them. He's been at it for hours, marking you up, making sure whoever dares to look at you knows you belong to him. But who could blame him

Your flesh is so soft and tender between his teeth he can’t help but want to take a bite. It's like you've put him in a trance. His gorgeous girlfriend, who's so eager and pliable to his touch. You were practically made for him. And the sweet sounds you make when he pushes deeper inside of you, it's not his fault your moans are so hypnotizing.

He doesn't normally get so worked up, but you've been riling him up all day. Teasing him with your touches, whispering dirty words into his ear, it's only natural he would break at some point.

He didn’t mean to get rough, but you just tasted so good he couldn’t resist. You won’t blame him… right?

— Xiao, Ayato, Zhongli, Diluc, Alhaitham, Aizawa, Shoto, Shinso, Bakugo, Gojo, Noritoshi, Vanitas, Uzui, Giyuu, Zoro, Akutagawa, Chuuya, Aki, Rin, Isagi, Shidou, Sae, Tobio, Suna, Oikawa, Reno, Leon, Eren, Jean, Levi, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan + your fav

He's so messy.

Spending hours in between your thighs, kissing the supple skin, and also leaving his claim in their place. he's basically eating you alive, bite marks indented in the flesh, and he hasn't even touched you yet. You're whining for him to stop teasing, pleading for him to give you what you want. And who is he to deny?

Arms hooked under your thighs, keeping you in place from thrashing around. He buries his face into you, his nose nudging up against your clit, and the sensation has you jolting. He gives a tentative lick, eyes shooting up to look at your reaction. Your hands nestle into his hair, tugging at the roots as a moan slips out from your lips. And after that, he's ruthless, eating you out like you're a 5-star meal (you are). He's kissing and licking and sucking, and god, whatever the hell he's doing it's making your mind blank.

You don't have it in you to care about how loud you're being, and he doesn't seem to care either. In fact, they seem to encourage him to rip those pretty pretty sounds from you.

“So sweet f’me baby,”

Slick is practically covering the lower half of his face, but he doesn't seem to care. His eyes are blown wide, giving you a dazed out stare as he continues to lap at your core.

This was going to be a long night.

— Noè, Choso, Connie, Luffy, Tighnari, Kazuha, Itto, Kaeya, Leorio, Ranpo, Techou, Tachihara, Cloud, Bachira, Chigiri, Nagi, Kaiser, Aiku, Kuroo, Tanaka, Miya twins, Hizashi, Mirio, Jin, Hawks, Tamaki, Sero, Denki, Kirishima, Sampo, Jiaoqui + your fav

You're such a brat.

You're lucky he still puts up with you after everything you've pulled. He glares down at you, the eye contact making you uneasy. Your mewling and whimpering did nothing to sway him. Your hands are still tied behind your back as his thighs continue to spread your legs open. His hands as roaming your body, squealing and pinching in places that make you jump, before he leaves them to play with your nipples.

His touch is light and teasing, driving you insane. Your nipples harden under his touch, embarrassing sounds escaping your throat as he continues to toy with them. You shove your face into the pillows next to you to muffle them. One of his hands leaves your chest to grip your chin, tilting your head back to stare directly at him. He wants to see every expression you make.

The tension between your legs becomes too much to ignore and you begin to discreetly hump his thigh, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you. At least you thought you were discreet. You don't far before his hands are off you and he's shoving you away. With teary eyes you stare at him confused, why did he stop you?

You're needy and sensitive and you want him to touch you again. You beg for him to continue, but all he does is let out a low chuckle. He doesn't plan on letting you off the hook so easily. He wants to make sure this stays ingrained in your head so that you'll never make the same mistake again.

Because you're his, and he'll spend every second reminding you of that fact.

— August Ruthven, Sanemi, Iguro, Akaza, Geto, Dazai, Mori, Fukuchi, Shigiraki, Overhaul, Blade, Reiner, (s4) Eren, Feitan, Chrollo + your fav

He doesn't know why you keep trying, why you continue to run away. He doesn't understand whatever false sense of freedom you feel when he lets you out. Did you really think you could outrun him? Oh, how idiotic. If he had it in him he would pity you, so dumb and naive. It seems like you still haven't learned your lesson.

Your wrists and ankles are bound together, chained up to the wall. Tears prick your eyes but you know he won't care. He's leaning over you, peering down at your small form as you keep yanking at the restraints in hopes of being set free. You and he both know it's futile, so why keep fighting?

He grips your arms, sharp claws pinching the skin. Without warning he hastily leans down to sink his teeth into your neck. You scream out and thrash at the pain but he holds you still, makes you take it.

It doesn't take long for the venom to enter your systems, an intoxicating feeling clouding your mind and a strange but familiar heat coursing through your body. Your body tensed, heart-beat picking up as you tried to deny what was happening.

He licked the wound closed before stepping back. his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you squirm as the aphrodisiac set in. You scream at him, curses getting mixed in with small yelps as your body becomes sensitive to your clothes. But he isn't too worried about that. He'll break you one way or another.

And then you'll see that there is no way of escaping him.

— Sukuna, Kenjaku, Muzan, Douma, Fyodor, Dabi + your fav

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FREAKS!

Anyway just another disclaimer: I don't romanticize the actions performed in the last one, idk it just doesn't do anything for me, I also (personally) think it's unhealthy but wtv floats your boat ig!! (I say this like it isn't the longest section) IDK, it was just kinda fun to write, I've been meaning to get into darker themes(I have a Douma fic I've been meaning to write) so I wanted to go all out and see how it felt.

I love writing heacanons, ahhhhhhhh, I probably won't edit these so hopefully they aren't too bad!

@ CHERICOS 2024 all rights reserved do not repost, edit, copy, translate or plagiarise my works

[running-with-kn1ves]

Exhaustion

A/N: Hey I should be working on everything BUT this. do NOT blame my ass if this is ooc (I can't handle criticism and I'm aware :,>)

PART 1

L Lawliet Yandere! X GN! Reader

TW: Stalking, breaking and entering, obsessive thoughts/behaviors, nonconsensual touching

It was an invasion of privacy; he knew that. It was against everything he stood for, what he strived to prevent-- an act familiar to the criminals he faced. And yet, he had no inclination to turn away, to retreat from your blackened bedroom and leave you alone in the dark. 

There was something comforting about how silent you slept. Even with your body sprawled out like a crooked starfish, with your legs tangled in sheets and clothes wrinkled, you were in pure sleepful delight. A nuclear bomb could go off outside and this little sliver of the world would remain untouched, your eyes so gentle and shut, with soft eyelashes falling against your cheeks as if it were nothing, as if an angel hadn’t fallen asleep on the softest patch of grass away from the rest of the world.

L observed you from a distance, brazen enough to take your desk chair and sit in his peculiar way as a spectator. He did not dare to disturb the sanctified corner that was your bed-laden body. 

You breathed in heavily, a quick heave through your nose that developed into a great exhale of pure exhaustion. It didn’t take a genius to see the weight witnessing your professor’s death left on you; L forgot how distressing morbidity could be for those not used to it, those who had not studied gruesome photos and rewinded videos of countless hours in crime and death. 

You shift just slightly to sling an arm over your face, the streetlight beaming in through your window and casting a glow on your eyes and hair. It made you shine which in any instance would have been mesmerizing, but currently it threatened to expose the felony your stalker was committing. 

Wobbling out of the desk chair with a catlike stare, L watched for movement as the chair creaked. His light, barefooted steps reached the curtains with a swiftness not expected of someone so gaunt. Your bedroom was curtained in complete darkness as his eyes adjusted, seeing the way your shirt rode up to expose just above your belly button, the sheets lined between your legs as you remained spread out, peaceful. It was an odd fascination he had come to realize-- not like one he had for solving crimes and convoluted mysteries, but a pleasant and simple interest in each little reaction you had. From the twitching of the tips of your fingers at times, to the way you’d swallow if your mouth was open for too long. 

Most especially the different vocalizations you made, from snore-like grunts, to hums and sighs of pleasure as your back cooled against the linen. L intended to return back to his place of distant observation, feeling a lump the size of a plum seed burrowing in his chest as he imagined you waking.

Oddly enough however, your skin caught his eye. So unbothered and untouched, barely hidden by the white background you laid upon. Human bodies were a tricky, messy thing; purely biological, and often betraying our more advanced mental capacity for what was right and wrong. But yours… Even beneath that flesh being bone and muscle and meat, it looked… right.

This must be the ‘aesthetic’ that draws so many people in, why love and lust are so often confused… L did not need to dwell on the idea to recognize this was one of the few ‘firsts’ for him.You were by no means exempt from his cynicism or brutal comprehension-- but something here spoke more to him than mere logistical sense. It was appreciation, interest.

What did you feel like, what would parts of you taste like? 

A pale, spindly hand reached out to you, gracing the exposed flesh of your midsection. You were hot to the touch, near burning; or perhaps he was just so freezingly cold. It wasn’t enough to disturb you out of sleep, just enough to send a shiver up your chest at the iciness. L’s hand found comfort resting there, his palm against the soft flesh as it rose and fell along with your chest. 

Dare he… lift his hand higher, hand jaggedly moving up to the middle of your ribcage, slowly disappearing under your shirt. It was warm there, against the heat of your skin and the air trapped against your pajamas; his palm buzzed with a kind of painless sting. 

Gracing the smooth ridges of skin, L’s fingers moved, almost in a ticklish motion as each pad searched to understand what allured him so much, what kept him here, drawing in his desperation to understand. Above all else L was an investigator, one with the all encompassing desire to expose the truth. He felt closer to an answer when he was near you, as if he could touch the reason why he was infatuated with you-- but still, he couldn’t make sense of it. There was no answer to be found, none that would satisfy him enough to leave you alone. 

You unconsciously push your shirt down with a limp hand, drawing away from the cold air creeping up your stomach.

L sharply pulls his hand away, a look of surprise almost making its way to his face. His hand stood outstretched, curled and hovering from above as he watched you shift to lay on your side. 

The anticipation keeps him alert, wondering if this will be the moment your snores turn to a panicked scream. The room is quiet, drifting… the perfect environment for a deep rest, no clear indication of a gangly body watching from the edge of your bed. Your phone occasionally lights up on the nightstand silently; it takes a wrongful amount of force to prevent L from picking it up. 

He could attempt to delude himself into thinking he was just watching over a witness, protecting you from whatever violently lurked in the shadows; whether it be Kira, or an unfriendly fly. Even going so far as to say the reason he adjusted your sheets and lingered his fingers over your hot forehead were to keep you warm, unbothered. 

 But there was no lying to himself, that immoral feeling wouldn’t be dissuaded so easily. And L wasn’t stupid enough to try and pretend he didn’t know what he was.  

The detective retook his seat in the desk chair, finding comfort in the distance between it and your mattress. This way, no movement of his would deter you from the unconsciousness he hoped to keep you in; though, was it truly for your benefit, or for his? His sunken eyes wander, grazing the soft darkness shrouding your silhouette. 

Bringing his chin to his knees, L busied himself with thoughts of what you’d look like when you woke up, how you’d act all sleepily in the morning, and if you’d be just as forgetful tomorrow as you were tonight in leaving your windows unlocked. 

[the-midnight-post]

trick or treat binch 🥰🍬🎃

Thanks for stopping on by m'dear, I'mma yeet some fun-sized (3-sentence) FloRid candy just for you! Happy Halloween 👻🎃🍬

A series of knocks against the dorm door just as Riddle finishes pulling on his gloves brings a satisfied smile to his face—his boyfriend arriving to pick him up for Diasomnia's Halloween party precisely on time is a surprisingly good sign—but when he opens the door, the sight that greets him wipes that smile right off in favour of a scandalised scowl, "—what are you wearing, Floyd!?"

"Aww," instead of their mutually-agreed-upon (technically by only Riddle's request) matching costumes, Floyd is beaming at him from inside a banana suit of all things, "I knew you'd like it, Goldfishie!"

"You..." with an ever-suffering sigh, Riddle steps onto the Heartslabyul porch and takes Floyd's outstretched hand, squeezing it with an affection that he barely manages to keep from bleeding into his voice as they set off, "...of course I do."

[midnightg0dd3ss]

Writing the next (and probably last) chapter of Narcissus on my phone because my laptop is packed for my flight, and I don't want to turn it on.

[the-midnight-post]

Any hope that he could try slipping inside whatever the building he just landed on was before getting spotted were dashed as soon as he heard an unmistakable shout behind him; so with another burst of desperation, Yuuri jumped onto the next roof.

This week’s word is…

✨ SHOUT ✨

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[moo-blogging]

Nothing in my head but there are signs that Levi is in love with you.

Levi was not an easy person to read. The cadets always found him quiet and stoic and strict. There was always a distance between the cadets and the Captain anyway.

But the Captain was a human as well. He had a beating human heart beneath the uniform jacket, and it started beating differently the moment he realised his heart chose you.

Levi was sure his nervousness was obvious on his face when you were giving a presentation on the lastest findings on titans, but all the other cadets could see was a grimace and thought he was hating the meeting.

And it often crossed his mind if you liked tea too. He had never seen you drinking tea (or at least he couldn't recall seeing you drink tea). At the end of one of the smaller meetings where you were attending too, Levi made tea for everyone just so he could study your reaction to his tea. When you grinned and took another sip, his eyes lit up with satisfaction.

And when you were tasked with running errands in nearby towns, Levi would volunteer to join you too as an escort or to "collect information in the towns" quoted Levi. But truth was, he wanted to spend time with you. With you being in Nanaba's team, Levi had close to no reason to talk to you. He had to create the opportunities.

With Levi by your side, you managed to complete your errands smoothly. The folks were extra happy to see the famous Captain in their stores and giving discounts and allowed you to negotiate prices easily. Levi would help carrying the things you bought. Initially, you declined his help, but he insisted and took the bags from you.

As a token of appreciation, you treated Levi to a cup of tea. He ordered a cup of plain black tea while you ordered one with milk. As you took a small sip on your tea, Levi spoke about how he had never had tea with milk before. You lifted your eyebrow with surprised, and offered Levi to try your tea. He hesitated for a moment before he gently accepted the cup and took a sip. The tea was warm and welcoming, sweet with the aroma of milk and honey with the refreshing tinge of black tea at the end.

You were studying his face as he placed the cup onto the saucer. "Well?" You asked. He nodded, "not bad". But all he could think of was you shared a cup, and now tea with milk would always remind him of you. This moment where you sat together crammed on a small table, drinking overpriced tea from delicate ceramic tea cups with saucers, and you beaming like the sun, would forever be that moment where he knew he would love you for the rest of his life.

[zepskies]

10 'Til Midnight

Pairing: Professor!Dean Winchester x Student!Reader

Summary: A chance encounter outside of the classroom shifts the way you see your professor. Forever.

AN: Here’s a one-shot for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! This also fulfills a request for one of my lovely Patreon members, @redhoodieone, who wanted to see AU Professor!Dean with a plus-sized student!reader. The reader is a graduate student (mid-20s) and Dean is in his 30s in this, so not really a wide age gap, but we’re still flirting with a gray area here lol.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: graduate student!reader, plus-sized!reader, Shakespeare geekery, mythology and other nerdy classic lit. references, AU Brady sighting, sexual tension, mutual pining(?)

The ash cloud of exhaust rose up from the sidewalk steam grates. It infiltrated your nose as you hurried down a few well-worn concrete steps and into the bowels of the subway, a transition into deeper darkness.

To you, that acrid, mini plume of pollution was the smell of New York City; old cigarette buds and weed hash, fresh tequeños and hot dogs wafting from the open door of the bodega on the corner, mixed with a whiff of piss.

This was the city of broke creatives clinging to their fragile dreams with both hands, usually while the natives rolled their eyes. You were one of those shiny happy people with a dream and the battle-tested will to make it happen, especially tonight. You finally got to see a play on Broadway, an excellent production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

You replayed your favorite scenes in your mind like 1940s movie reel, except it was live in technicolor. An unconscious smile spread across your lips, but you had to hurry. Your train was about to leave in…

You checked the time on your phone—ten minutes to midnight—and compared it to the digital sign up ahead. Your eyes widened.

Shit! One minute?!

You had no choice but to try and run in your heels. That had you skidding to the open doors as they began to close, but you just managed to slip inside, albeit literally slipping with a yelp.

A man saved you by grabbing hold of your arm and waist before you fell, bunching the fabric of your coat beneath his hand. You gasped when you stared up at a familiar face. A sharp jawline covered with stubble, just neat enough to be respectable; dark brows shaded over green eyes, trained on you; bowed lips pursed with confusion.

“Professor?” you said, breathless and shocked.

He was just as baffled, but he finished helping you up as your name fell from his lips.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded and thanked him for the save, still catching your breath.

“Here, sit down,” he said, gesturing to a couple of empty seats on the subway. You joined him in sitting, though you ignored the stare of the guy standing closest to you who was holding onto a rail. He wore jeans and dirty hipster Vans, a brown bomber jacket and a gray beanie. The stench of weed and cheap cologne clung to him.

And his gaze followed you until you sat down. Slightly unsettled, you were subtle in the way you angled yourself toward the man beside you.

Professor Dean Winchester.

He really was the last person you expected to see on your way home tonight. You still couldn’t believe you ran right into him!

But then, you noticed the playbill sticking out of his coat pocket (his coat looked more expensive, a dark charcoal gray with a high collar, and it suited him).

“Oh, you…you saw the play too?” you said in excitement, showing him your own playbill that you fished out of your purse. You’d told him about it a month ago, after his lecture on fairy lore. You thought he might enjoy a play that was all about the convergence between the fairy realm and the human realm.

He’d admitted that he’d never seen a Shakespeare play live, but he said he’d look into it. You didn’t think he was actually taking you seriously though.

“Uh, yeah, I did. I’ve never been a big Shakespeare guy, truth be told, but you hooked me,” he said. When he smiled, it made the corner of his eyes crinkle a little.

You couldn’t help but smile too every time you noticed that…even though it made your cheeks warm in a blush. He really had no business being this handsome. And the suit? All crisp and black, paired with a classic, off-white dress shirt and a black pinstripe tie.

Clearly he’d dressed for the occasion of going to the theater, because usually he was one of the chillest professors you knew. He showed up to class in jeans, boots, plain henleys and jackets, though never without his watch, a classic leather time piece with a silver watch face and bold black numbers. It was so vintage, you’d asked about it once when you met with him to talk about one of your essays on Native American burial practices. He’d told you that the watch belonged to his father, who passed away a few years ago now.

“So what’d you think?” you asked. “Weren’t the sets beautiful? It was so ominous and creepy in the ‘forest,’ and ethereal too, like the fairy realm part of it.”

He nodded, smiling slightly wider at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, was a good production. The actors were top-notch.”

“Oh, incredible. That was the best Bottom I’ve ever seen.” You paused, realizing what you said, and a nervous giggle tumbled out of your mouth. “Well, the character. Not the ass—donkey—whatever. You know what I mean.”

The man laughed, rich and deep and washing over you pleasantly, even though you half covered your face in embarrassment.

“Can’t argue with you there. The ass was hilarious,” he smirked.

Another giggle, and you flipped through the playbill again to distract yourself from looking at his ruggedly chiseled face. Why, oh why did he have to be so fucking attractive? And somehow he was still single. You’d heard some of the girls in your class whispering about it after class one day—a full-on engagement that fell apart two years ago.

“But really, the actors who played the couples in the love quadrangle were awesome,” you said. “Helena was my favorite.”

He raised his dark brows. “Really? The girl who gets shit on the most in the play?”

That was another thing. He didn’t really talk like any professor you’d met in your life. You let out a snort.

“I don’t want to be her, I just think she did so well at showing that vulnerability,” you explained. “There’s nothing worse than being in love with someone who doesn’t even see you, you know?”

He tilted his head, his amusement fading as he listened. You felt emboldened to continue your thought.

“In her mind, she’s probably thinking, ‘Well, even if he’s yelling at me, at least he’s acknowledging I exist,’” you said, “which is incredibly sad and isn’t giving Shakespeare many brownie points for feminism, but it’s a reality that some women go through.”

After a moment, he seemed to see your point with a nod of his head.

“That’s fair,” he said, arching a brow. “Though I gotta hope you don’t let any guy talk to you like that.”

You shook your head with a smile, but before you could answer him, your phone slipped off your lap and tumbled to the dirty subway floor. You twisted away so you could reach down and grab it, but you caught that whiff of cheap cologne again. Gray beanie guy let go of the rail and bent down to scoop up your phone before you could. You offered a polite thank you and went to take it back, but he held it out of reach at the last second, giving you a teasing smile.

“How about I put my number in first, so you can call me when you get home,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.”

That oh-so-gracious offer was followed by a glance down your dress. You sat up straighter, adjusting the collar of your coat back over your neckline with a weary huff.

“Ah, you know what, I’m good with just my phone…please.”

This was why you kind of hated the subway. You didn’t know when you were going to have to interact with a creep trying to steal your phone, shoot his shot, or look down your dress as a consolation prize.

You held out your hand expectantly, but still, “Brady” didn’t take the hint.

“Aw, what, you have a boyfriend or something?” he asked.

“Oh my God. Are you fucking serious?” You sighed and decided a white lie was best here. “Yes, I have a boyfriend. Now give me my phone, please.”

“Hmm. Is it like beginning stages, or...?”

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, maybe we can grab a bite to eat, theeen you know. If things are going well, we could take things back to your place,” he said, his brows popping with sleazy suggestion. He still held the phone away from your grasping hand in frustration.

“Hey,�� a deep voice cut in. 

You hesitated, glancing back at Professor Winchester. He glared up at Brady with a stony look that you’d never seen on him before.

“Give her the damn phone,” said the professor. His tone boded no argument.

Still, Brady pushed his luck.

“What, you her boyfriend or something?”

The professor didn’t bother to answer the question, but he stood from his seat, his long coat draped down all six feet and change of him, broad shoulders and calm confidence. He stared down at the lankier, scruffier pothead. Then he held out his hand.

Brady shifted back on his heels, seeming to realize that he didn’t want this version of Midnight on the Orient Express—the kind that ended up on the 6 o’clock news the next morning. With a roll of his eyes, Brady dropped the phone into your professor’s hand, complete with a dickish quirk of his lips. Professor Winchester gestured at him to fuck off.

“Walk away,” he said.

To your astonishment, the Brady just tossed him a “fuck you, bro,” and went to the other end of the car. You stood up too, just as the subway pulled to a stop. Professor Winchester handed you the phone.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Is this your stop?” he asked, still glancing back with a suspicious eye at the asshole still glaring at your backs.

You nodded, biting your lip.

“Okay, come on,” the professor said. He laid a guiding hand on the small of your back and joined you in stepping out of the subway car. To your relief, Brady stayed on the train.

“Thank you,” you said again. “Really, you didn’t have to miss your exit for me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, with a shake of his head. His frown was still in place just thinking of that fucking loser. “I’ll have better peace of mind knowing you got home safe.”  

Once you told him that your apartment was another few blocks away, he knew he was going to be walking you home. You told him you weren’t that new to the city, but in his mind, it still wasn’t a safe neighborhood for a young woman to be walking around by herself at this time of night.

He had no other motive than that, however…

He’d been pleasantly surprised to see you tonight. You were a flash of scarlet that tumbled into his arms, the scent of your floral perfume teasing his nose before he caught sight of that little dress clinging to your curvy form, ending just a couple inches above the knee. But you drew your wool coat closer to your body, hiding the tantalizing flash of red from view.

It was for the best, he thought, as he cleared his throat and tried to find something else to focus his eyes on while you two walked together. He couldn’t help but land on your face again, on your pretty painted lips.

A deep, full-bodied red.

It was a familiar shade. You’d worn it before, while chewing the end of a pen absently in concentration during one of his lectures on the difference between skinwalkers and shapeshifters—those long, pointed nails tapping a quiet rhythm against the plastic. It was one of your many quirks, but only now did he realize how much he’d actually noticed about you. If nothing else, he always knew he had your attention.

He also knew you were getting a master’s degree in English, and you were taking his class as an elective. You’d actually sought him out before the semester started to make sure you got a spot in his class.

“Sorry, sir, I know it’s early. I’ve just been trying since last year to get into this class, and I really wanted the chance to take it before I graduate this year.”

He’d shifted in his swivel chair with his jean-clad legs casually crossed. He bounced a tennis ball against the wall, as was his habit. (Mostly because it bothered Benny, who had the office next to his.)

The repetitive bounce really helped him to think sometimes; it was basically his version of a fidget spinner.

“You like mythology that much, huh?” Dean asked.

“Oh, yeah!” you said, as your eyes lit up. “I find it so fascinating how every culture in the world has their own stories that have still survived for thousands of years. Some of them even overlap. Like, maybe it’s technically a different creature, but they have the same name, just in another language. Or it’s the same creature, different backstory. It’s like any novel I’ve ever read—similar tropes, but the style, the packaging. That’s what becomes new and creative.”

Amusement tugged at Dean’s lips.

“Same candy, different wrapper, right?” he offered. His reward was your bright smile.

“Yeah, exactly.”

He’d approved your request without a second thought. Unlike 95% of the students who came and went through his classes, you weren’t just smart. You cared. You had a passion for this stuff…and it mirrored his own.

“So, uh, you liked that play, huh?” he asked. Wanted to rub his hand over his face right after. Smooth, Winchester.

But it succeeded in brightening your eyes again.

“Oh yeah. People tend to think of it as one of Shakespeare’s sillier plays, but it drops some interesting ideas about love, for example.” All while you spoke, you spun vivid gestures with your hands.

Dean’s remained in his coat pockets, but watching you made his smile deepen. He liked when you got like this, so animated and alive with your thoughts. It threatened to draw him out of his somewhat jaded shell.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he asked. Not because he really wanted to talk about what some sixteenth-century ye olde-y English douche thought about love, but because he wanted to hear you explain it.

You didn’t disappoint.

“Well, there’s the famous Lysander line, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” you said, “but that’s not even my favorite. That’s boring. That’s every rom-com ever, from Harry Met Sally to While You Were Sleeping, all the way to He’s Just Not that Into You, and Crazy, Stupid Love.”

Dean had to interject. “You watch a lot of chick-flicks, don’t you?”

Your lips puckered, but the amusement in your eyes answered his question.

“Like I said, I think Helena is the most underrated tragic figure in the whole story. Yeah, she’s pretty much a doormat, following Demetrius around even though he claims he’s in love with her best friend. Even though he curses at her, threatens to kill her if she keeps annoying him, following him around like an abused puppy. We can agree, he’s like, the biggest asshole in existence, right?” you said.

“Oh, very much agree. You want some coffee?” Dean asked, pointing to a guy selling warm pretzels and drinks from his vendor cart on the side of the road. It had stopped snowing a few days ago, but the February air was still sharp and bitterly cold at this time of night. If only it were midsummer.

“Uh, you know what, I could go for some tea. Thank you,” you said. But you didn’t let that derail you from your thoughts on Shakespearean love. You were still waxing literary analysis while you dug into your purse to find your wallet, but by the time you got it out, Dean had already paid for both drinks and a large soft-baked pretzel.

Your brows furrowed. “Oh! I meant to pay for my part—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, take half,” Dean said, and he shot you a smile while handing over your hot tea and half of his pretzel. He got your eyes to light up for a different reason as you took the treat. You thanked him with a sweeter smile.

Then you took a bite, and you kept talking.

“But then she says, ‘Love can transpose to form and dignity.’ It can make us act like idiots, right? I mean, back in high school I wrote my boyfriend’s essays for a whole year because I didn’t want him to fail English, and let’s face it, he could barely spell his own last name.”

“Yikes,” Dean chuckled. Sounded like a GED and a gas station job in that guy’s future.

“Right? And what did he do? He dumped me the week before prom because he knew Ruby Summers would put out.” You rolled your eyes, accepting Dean’s sympathies with a gracious nod and a dismissive hand wave. Still, he hoped all you’d given to that guy was your time.

"Well, the guy you're seeing now better be treating you right," he said.

You blinked, your brows furrowing a bit in confusion, until realization dawned on you.

"Oh, I don't have a boyfriend," you said with a small chuckle. "That's just what I tell pushy weirdos on subways."

Dean was tripped up for a second, but he eventually quirked a smile.

“So anyway, my favorite bar of the whole play is what Helena says in Act 1,” you said. “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.’”

In that moment, Dean’s eyes were a little too captivated.

But you broke the spell.

You glanced ahead to continue along the crosswalk with him, taking another warm, soft bite of pretzel.

“And that’s why Cupid’s always painted like a blind baby…or something like that,” you said. You laughed a little, and you seemed to realize just how long you’d been yapping his ear off. You came to a stop at what he assumed was your apartment building, but you suddenly got quiet. Embarrassed.

“Sorry, once I open my mouth on this stuff, I can’t really stop unless someone stops me and tells me I’m literally killing them with words that don’t make sense.”

“You’re making a whole lotta sense to me,” Dean replied. And he realized that he meant it. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. I like that.”

Your mind seemed to be a hamster wheel on steroids, but he kind of liked that too.

“Well, did you like the play?” you asked, smiling in embarrassment. “Sorry, can’t remember if I even asked you that yet.”

He laughed softly. Even if you had, he didn’t mind answering again.

“I like it more now, hearing you talk about it,” he said. But maybe that was too honest. He padded it with something more appropriate, as your instructor. “It makes sense, since you’re an English major, but your passion always comes through in your essays. I’m really glad you decided to take my class this semester.”

You demured further at the praise. “Oh, thank you. It really is my favorite class so far this year, but…that’s because you’re the one teaching it. You're really good at telling stories. You make them simple and easy to understand, even when we're talking about hell hounds and old ghost stories, or the uh, Oedipus complex, or something.”

Dean smiled in amusement, but it was his turn to be touched, even if it surprised him too. You were just so honest and free enough to speak your mind. It was refreshing.

“Well, thank you. Glad to hear at least one person’s getting something out of it,” he said, his smile warming for once.

You smiled too, looking at him through your lashes. “All right well, thanks again for walking me home. I’ll, um…see you on Monday-ayy!”

You stepped up onto the first stair leading up to your apartment and caught an icy patch with your red-bottomed heels. A gasp fell from your lips as your arms spun out to catch yourself on anything that could keep you from falling, and that happened to be Dean—specifically his coat, and then his biceps when he moved in fast to keep you upright.

He ended up gathering you into his arms while you clung to his coat. Your red nails bit into the dark fabric. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine them popping the buttons of his dress shirt, carving shaky lines of heat and pleasure across his skin.

Fuck. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to rid himself of that image, his jaw ticking in response. But another one just replaced it when his gaze met yours, half-lidded and shocked, but…contemplating.

Hot breaths mingled in between, puffing visibly on the cold air.

“God, I’m sorry!” you breathed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat past the slight roughness in his voice. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, um…Take Two,” you said, laughing weakly.

You aimed to let him go and continue on up the stairs by yourself, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from trying to help you. He held your elbow at least, with a hovering hand by your waist in case you slipped again. When you finally made it to the door, you paused and turned to look at him over your shoulder. Again, that look in your eyes said you were debating something in your mind.

“You okay?” he asked again.

You nodded. “Yeah, I just, um…you know what? Never mind. Uh, good night!”

Dean nodded, giving you a casual salute. He didn’t leave until you got in the building safely, but for his entire long walk home, your face wouldn’t leave his mind. That look of internal conflict, like you’d been weighing some kind of pros and cons. He had to wonder…

Had you been about to invite him up to your apartment?

But no. Fucking no. He dismissed that thought as soon as it came. He was almost ten years older than you.

Didn’t stop Catherine Zeta-Jones from hooking up with Michael Douglas. She’s barely pushing fifty while he’s halfway into Senior Depends.

Second problem. Career ending and reputation ruining and his own clock punch at the local 7/11—kind of a problem.

You were a student.

Grad student, came a whisper from the back of his mind.

In Greek mythology, the golden apples of Hesperides in Hera’s garden were guarded by a dragon. The Norse gods also believed in their own version of immortal golden apples, harvested by the goddess Idunn. Sounded a bit like Eden, right? As in, the Judeo-Christian Garden.

As in, forbidden fruit.

What did they all have in common? There was always a consequence for the taking and sampling part. The question was, is the price worth how good it tastes?

Remembering the feeling of your soft curves under his hands, Dean had a feeling it would be more than fucking worth it.

But he shook the thought from his head, his fingertips digging into the soft insides of his coat pockets.

He was your professor. That was where those thoughts should end.

You didn’t even see him that way…did you?

You shucked your heels off as soon as you got inside your apartment. You heaved a deep sigh and shed your purse, your coat, your earrings and necklace, which you set down on the nightstand in your bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed and fell back onto the creaky mattress.

Your hands came to rest lightly over your stomach, a safe place, while you thought back to how Professor Winchester held you so tight. Secure. Gentlemanly.

How he looked at you, his green-eyed gaze falling to your lips, like he was contemplating the best way to close that distance, bowing his head those last few inches and…

You forcibly shook your head. He was your goddamn teacher.

It didn’t matter that he was probably the youngest faculty member on campus, and you were a twenty-five-year-old graduate student. Whether or not the man was “age appropriate,” he was still your professor. You couldn’t think about him like that.

And he absolutely didn’t look at you like that…

Did he?

AN: Sorry again for all the nerdy lit. tidbits, but I had fun. 😂 I'm thinking about expanding this into an actual little series, so let me know what you think! ❤️

⋆˙⟡ Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new chapter. ❤️

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