#please leave feedback!!! id appreciate it so much | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

evanescencelovrr · 1 month ago

Text

Operation: Unforgettable

The Craving (Price x Reader)

notes: MDNI, reader is legal age, no y/n, female pronouns, possessive!price, cursing, violence, smut scene, filthy thoughts. Mentions of a bomb. Pls enjoy! Id appreciate any feedback & your thoughts on this series. smut scene but no p in v.

Masterlist here

Of course there you were—getting around. A young charming man had whisked you away, although your focus was on the mission. You positioned yourself nearby the Konnis’ to listen in, swaying with the man who introduced himself as Alexander. Even as he waltzed with you, there was a disinterested look to your eyes and your head was tilted to the archway.

“Do let me know when you’re home.” The man muttered and your eyes snapped to his, in slight surprise.

“What? You look too good to not have.” He whispered in your ear, and instead of it electrifying you the way Price did—it made you pull away. Your mind wandered back to Price and you found yourself swallowing, processing how you felt.

“That I do.” I muttered, “But lay off the flirting, mm?” You hummed and he laughed, grinning. It seemed like he then eased up and then let go of you, his hands resting gently at your waist.

“You know, I’m not stupid. I can see how much he wants you.”

You scoff.

“Why don’t you both—“

“Both what?” You snort and Alexander grins. His teeth sparkles in the light and he guides you so your front faces Price. You met eyes with Price who was burning holes in Alexanders back, hand wrapped firmly on his flute. His head was tipped low to send a crude, intense stare. He was not pleased with you.

You could faintly see the gun peeking out under his suit and your legs wobbled.

“Tell me you don’t see it in his eyes.” Alexander huffed, and you furrowed your brows, struggling to maintain composure.

“What does it matter to you, you’re just a stranger.”

He laughed and his body shook. “I find myself needing to see what’ll happen next. For the plot.” He whispers in your ear and you tilt your head up to him, eyes meeting his chocolate brown ones.

He winks and you immediately catch onto the plan.

And that’s how Price ended up completely wrapped up by you. His gaze never wavering. He had half a mind to rip you off this Alex—whoever he was. At the same time he held himself back, not wanting to create a scene. But the more he watched the more his chest got tight and his blood pumped. He kept holding onto the fact that he wouldn’t make a move.

He couldn’t forget the way you and Alexander swayed too closely for his liking. And he knew you had moves. The same one you pulled on him, you were doing as well. Each circular movement of your hip made him nearly see stars. It only made him remember the way you rode him in bed, ontop and hair flowing down your shoulders in vivacious waves. How it brushed his cheek, the fat of your skin rippling as you moved back and forth harmoniously.

He watched the way the taller slender man grabbed more drinks for you, your red lips teasing the rim of the glass. And then your thinner hand slipped to grab his bicep, leading him to the floor.

How it burned in his gut to have held you instead. To feel those curves pressed against him again, and to trail his hand up and down, the way Alexander was doing. He clenched his jaw and the muscle jumped. To have your hand touching his bulging muscles instead, to feel your nails digging in from ecstasy and overstimulation.

“Another one.” Price muttered to the bartender. This time he got rid of the damned wine and went heavy. Whiskey, neat, half a glass.

He downed it, having shifted. The light obscured his intense gaze, leaving it darker. He no longer lounged against the bar but stood upright, a hand shoved in his pocket to hide his fist. Brooding. It was almost as if the person next to him had noticed and awkwardly glanced—before moving away.

The last straw was the way you leaned in, back facing Price. But he could see so clearly how your plump lips met Alexanders ear, a tongue swiping to lick.

Price nearly crushed the damned glass. His tie felt too tight and he found himself closing the distance on long legs, grabbing your arm in a swift move.

“Price—“

“Now.” He growled.

As he dragged you off the floor, your heels clicking, Alexander shot you an excited look and waved, brow raised. He then turned into the crowd and disappeared. Your wingman.

You huffed and nearly fell on your heels—your arm aching by the way he held it. Price brought past two doors and now it was secluded. He backed you against the foyer walls, although not wanting to hurt you, and towered over you—his breaths coming out in ragged exhaled.

“God, Price—“ You shuddered, eyes wide as you realized what you had done. The plan worked. But now you couldn’t pull away. There was still more to be done. You bit back a grin—a bit too bold for his liking, and tilted your head up, meeting his darkened gaze.

Did you have a death wish?

Under him, probably.

“The fuck did you think you were doing?” Price gritted out, nearly spitting. His leaned in sharply, shoes crowding yours as he pushed himself between your legs. His hips hit yours, and you sucked in a breath. The movement had your stomach quivering and tightening.

Your heart raced at the tension and bass in his voice. It reverberated through you like ripples, resting at your core where it clenched and unclenched. You shuddered under him.

“God help me, woman. I have a lot of patience. But that—that back there.” Price shuddered for a moment and inhaled through his nose, eyes shutting. He seemed to calm himself down and then looked down at you, a hand reaching up to tangle in your hair. It stroked the nape of your neck gently.

You’re surprised at his touch, softening slightly against the wall. You could tell he most certainly did not like that—no he despised of it. Seeing another man on you.

It excited you, to see him this way.

“What…? It was just a game.” You whisper and glance at his lips now. He knew exactly what you needed, what you conveyed through those hazy eyes.

Price clenched his teeth and his resolve snaps. Immediately he crashed his lips into yours, knocking your head against the wall. You have no time to protest before his veiny hand is yanking your hair back, demanding you tilt your head up to feed your breaths into his mouth. The kiss is nasty. Feral. Teeth nipping and his body weight drowning yours. His body heat surrounds you.

“Nasty, nasty girl. I think you need to be taught a lesson.” Price growls against your mouth—the words trickling down your throat like fire. It burns in your stomach and you shudder and grab at his biceps to steady your dizzy form from the euphoria and blood rush.

“I thought it was just sex. I thought you didn’t care.” You breathlessly say, lips swollen from his feverish kissing. Your lipstick smudged slightly and Price pulls his head back, gazing at you. His hungry eyes roam all over your face, taking in the sight of you all dazed and lit with arousal.

“We never agreed on there being anyone else. You get that?” He says lowly, grabbing your chin to make sure you understood.

Strange, you thought. He didn’t directly answer your question.

His hand in your hair releases and slides down the front of your throat, then down to your clavicle, where he traces the bony area. It’s sensitive.

You shiver and gulp—mouth going dry. Even your own words were gone.

“If I see you with anyone else, I’ll strangle them. You’re mine.” Price said firmly before a hand groped at your chest—squeezing the flesh. Not hard enough to hurt but definitely enough to remind you of his position.

You gasp and your jaw hangs open, to which he finds satisfaction in. His hand lingers, and you feel your core tremble and drip.

Before you could talk—Johnny chimes in over your lines. You switch your comm on shakily, and Price moved away. You fix your dress and take in a breath, trying to calm down as Price adjusts his tie with a harsh, angry pull. “Damned cockblock.” You thought you heard Price mutter.

“Armed suspects approaching the north hallway. 7-2 your closest.” Johnny says to you, and you nod.

You fix your hair and Price stares, eyes narrowing before he responds, “Copy that.” His voice is rough with desire and tension.

You give him a glance before swallowing and moving away. What else could you do or say? As much as the ache between your legs begged for release, you had work to do.

As you turn to face the tall white doors leading to the main hall—Price stalks behind you and ushers you in.

“Report in five.” He said stiffly.

Parting against your will overwhelmed, you knew you also needed the space. That was bloody intense. You usher in and then wait by the arched hallway in the shadows as the men seperate. One is sent for drinks, and shortly after Price follows—who strikes up a civilized conversation about their suits. Most likely discussing brands and where they imported their fabrics from.

Of course, comparing them.

You could hear them faintly.

The other man is sent off—as you heard the leader discuss something about, “Check the Harmonica.”

Now the leader was alone. Sweet. He was tall, towering at 6’4 and had shiny slicked back hair. Lower set brows to reveal a more menacing look, and a chiseled jaw. He tucked his card in his suit front pocket before turning away, down the golden hallway.

Harmonica? Who the hell’s playing a harmonica? You hesitate on whether to tell the team and tap your finger against your thigh. You need more information and without it—it’s considered a distraction.

“Going in. Comms off for now.” You report.

You then make your move, wobbling drunkenly on your heels and on your phone. Clumsily, accidentally on purpose, you bump into the leader. Your phone catches and falls, landing with a thump and you bend to grab it but he is faster first. His nimble fingers pass it to you.

“Oh god—I’m so sorry!” You put on your barbie ecstatic voice. You knew he would be the type to fall for it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” The man grins and eyes you, shadowed by the hallway lights as you two stand. Far behind is the crowd and music—and you can hear his voice sharply, “Qattara.” He reads your card momentarily, rolling the words out smoothly.

You carry on, plastering a smile on your quite excited features.

“It should be me asking that, you look a little too fine tonight to be alone.” You give him a flirty once over, one he can’t mistake. That pulls him in.

“I assume you’re here for the vault meeting, mm?”

This was going to be a long night.

“Weapons are coming in from Dubai, then he will receive his blood money.” He scoffed, lanky form walking smoothly ahead.

He sounded russian. Typical for any Konni man. The one thing that made it easy to identify them. You stare at his back.

You were poised as you followed him up to the vault room—a suite. You eyed his key card he pulled out, knowing it would come in handy for later. There’s a beep—then the door opens with a soft hiss. Luxurious, you note.

He enters first—you last. You watch your back before shutting the door, your hand pushing it.

“Makarov must be havin’ a helluva time receiving it, then.” You scoff, playing along. You cross your arms, a finger tapping on your bare arm as he strode forward to the table. Soon enough chatter is heard down the other room, and a few tall men enter. One woman.

You’re outnumbered in case it all goes sideways. You remain firm, eyeing and taking in their details. Armed as usual.

“Alright, alright. Enough.“ The leader silenced them. You could hear a pin drop. The woman eyed you, having shorter hair.

He then turns to you quite comically—with a little spin on his heel, tilting his head. You didn’t like the look he’d given you.

Now you felt like his prey. “This fine little lady joined us, Qattara was it?” He asked, slowly walking forward.

But the real Qattara was found and held in Laswells’ quarters for investigation. You were simply her replacement. You could see the other men getting ready to sit—the smell of musky cologne clogging your nostrils. The woman also sat at the end of the table, pressing her skirt down with her manicured nails.

The man ahead tilts his head this way and that as if trying to figure you out. He then comes close and whispers in your ear, “If I find out anything that I don’t like, well. You know where it’ll end.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Let’s talk guns and weapons shall we?” You say, although trying your best to conceal the sarcasm and bitterness as he leaned in. You knew he was trying to assert some sort of dominance over you by instilling fear, yet you knew you had to play compliant.

“Feisty. Давай, join us.”

And so, the meeting began. You mentally made a note of everything, having switched on your wire so the team could hear. You sat across a man, eyes set on the leader who elaborated his plan with his arms, a drink in one hand. No surprise to see it was vodka.

“Good, you’re doing great.” Price said through the comm whilst you nodded your head along to the man.

His voice made you feel tingly—almost comforting through the overpowering masculine presence in the room. Your mind flashed as you remembered the moment in the foyer where he held to you the wall—legs clenching slightly. It was an amazement to you how he managed to do this—switch from absolute madness to team leader.

If anything, it encouraged you. Even though earlier he was absolutely feral.

Teamwork, right?

“Shipment container is being sent here. We’ll have our men stationed there ready to receive the equipment.”

You fold your hands together on the table, catching eyes with an older gruff man. His gun is settled in his lap, hand resting on it. He eyes you with a curiosity and intrigue, and you tilt your head just a bit.

The man doesn’t look away. He’s got a buzzcut, a scruffy jaw and dark eyes. His suit lays flat and firm.

“Where is Makarov located to receive the money?” You ask the most important question. For a second it falls silent as if the misogynistic men did not expect you to have talked. You straighten up and stare down the Leader, firm.

“Why do you need to know that?” The room went still as all eyes were on you.

“I need to know if the money is an international wire transfer.” You reply smartly. You raise a brow and you thought you heard Price chuckle smoothly.

“That’s the lass we know.” Johnny said, before going quiet.

Once given the location of him, you nearly ease up, and nod your head.

You glance up as you stood, the rest of the men leaving the room. You wait, watching their bodies leave single file.

“Where is your accent from?” His gruff voice sounds out. He sounded like a smoker. He’s busy at the bar and you slip the key card the leader left, that rested on the chair seat. You slip it into your bra as if adjusting your girls.

You then pause and still, gathering your thoughts. Moving your hands, you sling your purse over your bare shoulder. Your dress glints in the light and you never remove your eyes from him as he stood across the table.

The door shuts softly.

“Do I sound too american for you?” You give a vague reply, meeting the question with a question. There’s a slight humor to your voice.

The man cocks his head and stares you down. He’s serious, not one for joking.

“You sound much too american for the Qattara I know.” He said sharply, eyes cutting into you like ice. Your blood runs cold and you swallow, eyeing him. It was as if the room dropped several temperatures.

He goes to drink his whiskey from the glass, pouring it back. Something irks you know. The drink was almost like a kicker for him, for what’s to come.

You know you’ve been figured.

Your heart patters as you hear Price growl in the comm line, “Get out.”

Your head spins and you straighten up, smiling slightly and stepping back. Your back faced the exit door.

“And what was that quote? From the Quran? I’m sure you know it.”

“There’s many.” Your answer only confirms his suspicions. Your breath hitched and you know you’re about 10ft away from the door. His eye twitched at your smart ass response.

Price growls and you hear something slamming like a door on his end.

The man slowly stalks closer, holding the glass of whiskey. Until he stops, staring at you. He does not move, but holds the whiskey in his hand.

Your heart pounds and all you could do was stare.

When you don’t say anything—you see the slight movement of his hand gripping the glass and you hurl yourself in your heels, grabbing open the door.

You fling it open just in time for the glass to crash, missing your head. You could hear a barrage of laughter from behind, his voice booming, “I’ll give you ten seconds, before I rip your throat out.”

You’re blazing down the hall, and eventually you throw off your heels, grabbing them. You curse as it threatens to slip off. Again, you think back to the Harmonica. The Harmonica, check on it.

Your heart batters in your chest like a ram, and you could hear a crash and the sound of shoes thudding as he chases after you.

“Harmonica—harmonica—“ You rehearsed, breathing harshly.

“Harmonica what?” Price snaps on the line and you panted. You glanced up at the chandelier, knowing where you were approaching. Soon enough a cold gust of wind blows down the hallway.

“It’s code, Price. Code for something.”

“Like Bravo?”

“Like bravo in the water.”

“A fuckin’ bomb?” Price seethes, “We got a bomb threat unconfirmed in the building.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon hashes out over the line.

“Steamin’ Jesus, we need t’find it.” Johnny says urgently.

“On it.” Kyle said.

“Kyle stay in position.” Price demands, “Simon, where did you last see the men walk off upstairs?”

“Towards the north wing.”

“Fuck, that’s where I am.” You shouted and grab a waiters pan. A loud thunk and clank is heard as you toss it against the mans face who chased you.

“The hell was that—“ Kyle muttered.

“Bonnie—“

“Focus! Simon find the bomb.” You shouted.

“What’s your position?” Price says lowly, although you’re sure you could hear his voice tremble. You focus on turning the hallway—as the cold gush of air worsens.

“North side of the balcony.” You shout and the man follows, his dress shoes slamming rapidly against the carpeted halls. You take off even faster if it was possible, hair flying behind and gun gripped tightly.

To slow him down, with your free hand you yank your gun out the thigh strap. You take a shot but miss. Too hard to do it when you’re running and your gaze is unsteady. The bullet bounces sharply off the wall, and the man grins wolfishly as if hunting his predator.

“7-1, take the North side. You’re closest.” Price orders.

“On it.” Johnnys accented voice sounds in your ear and you know he’s on his way.

“Watcher 1, position to the North Side balcony.” Price orders.

You ran under an archway, feet thudding on what sounded like tiles now. The cold air of the night blew rapidly and you turned, having nowhere to run. The balcony columns were there, guarding your fall.

You wheezed and panted, wide eyed. Looking for the man—he soon approached and rounded the corner with a haste and dangerous glint in his eye. He crossed the area and before you knew it, instincts kicked in.

Your heels hung in your hands, swaying with the breeze. Damned if you were going to lose these expensive Louboutins.

As he strodes forward with vigor—training kicks in. You kneed him in the groin earning a sharp groan—then without time wasted, with your free hand, you bashed his head against your knee as well. A sickening crack was heard and he cried out. Blood sprayed, and you then grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pushed him to the balcony railing.

“Got him, 7-1.” A minute later, Johnny strides in and glaring. His jacket is thrown off revealing underneath his black dress shirt, tight and pulled from each movement. His gun on display.

You move aside, and he grabs the wanker by his suit and hoists him up against the wall roughly.

Time is running out, you panic.

“Johnny, go now.” Johnny growls. His teeth bares at the sight of the wanker just laughing and drags him along.

Just then Simons voice made you two pause.

“Bloody hell, 7-2, we got a bomb. North wing. It’s situated bad near an oxygen line.” Simon mutters and you freeze up. Your hand reached up for the comm, eyes meeting Johnnys’ wide eyes. The man scoffs.

Soon a loud bang is heard on Simons’ end. And then gargling and a thud. He most likely dispatched one of the Konni soldiers.

“Time?!” Johnny growls out. He discards the man, shoving him roughly to the side. The man was useless at that point. He scrambled nearly tripping over on his feet—before dashing off like a cat.

Johnnys’ long legs strode to keep up with you, as you’re running and down the hall, hair flying behind you. Desperately looking out for the foyer doors.

“Blows in 10.” Despite the situation, Simons voice was flat and gruff. You panted and felt your heart racing with realization. It almost sounded as if he accepted this—part of job. Dying at any moment. It sounded too real. Your heart was shriveling.

“Ghost, get out of there now.” Price warns and you hear a, “Copy that.”

“Did he hurt ya?” Johnny immediately looked over you—hearing screams echo about as you both neared the main hall. You shake your head and look at him, eyes wide.

“No. Stay sharp.”

“Hope Simon is able to dispatch the bomb.” Johnny cursed, hurrying you along down the red carpeted hallway.

“No time.” Simon barks over the line.

Property of evanescencelovrr. do not modify, repost, or translate.

42 notes · View notes

itslottiehere · 1 year ago

Text

mors tua, vita mea — h.s

hello beautiful people 🤍 welcome back! i know, i know, it’s been a while, but i truly hope this story makes up for the lack of writing! i’ve had so much fun while writing this, and i hope you’ll like it as much as i do <3 please, let me know what you think! you can do so in your reblog, in your tags, or in my asks! if you enjoy the story, please consider reblogging! it really helps me and also make me want to keep going!! without further ado, happy reading! <3

— inspired by “getaway car” by taylor swift.

cw: angst, a bit of kissing, some swear words

word count: 6.5k

gif by @londonharry

masterlist | leave your feedback or requests here

—

the backstreet was dark, a few spots of light showing her the way to the car she hid before the heist took place. before chris could know that there was only one way that night could have ended, and that was with him locked up.

she had been planning this for months now: their biggest heist, her biggest betrayal.

she wasn’t sentimental about it at all, it was just pure business: she knew the cops were closing in on them, so she had to leave before shit hit the fan. simple as that.

also, chris was becoming way too attached to her as it was, so it was really a two birds with one stone deal for her: she had always made it clear that their “relationship” was nothing more than work, but sometimes the nights in the safe house got boring and lonely, and the company was appreciated.

still, a few nights of sex didn’t mean there were feelings involved or anything of that sort, and no matter how much chris said that he “got it”, she noticed the changes in his attitude, how protective of her he became, how his touch would linger for a second longer, how he would double and triple check with her if she got wounded, how he would always make sure she was safe before worrying about his own safety.

how he made it so easy for her to manipulate him.

the poor thing never saw it coming. the pink lenses of infatuation making him painfully oblivious to the fact that he was never gonna see her again.

both her and the outside world, from her calculations: the cops would find plenty of evidence on him, in the safe house, that would tie him up with a pretty little bow and send him off to prison for god’s know how long, all the while making him the perfect scapegoat for her.

she couldn’t know if chris would rat her out, — although she thought it not likely, given the lovesick puppy look he had ever since they slept together, — but even if he tried to, she made sure not to leave any trace of her identity in any document, in anything that had to do with any illegal activity.

and even if she did, they wouldn’t have found her: the identity she used wasn’t hers, and she was gonna stop being the person chris knew as soon as she drove away, her new id card safely stored in the pocket of her jacket, the old one burnt to a crisp.

the soles of her shoes were scraping against the gravel, the ground wet from the light november rain, while she jogged to what would bring her into a new life, a new start. she had to get out of there, immediately.

what she wasn’t expecting was a dark silhouette appearing on the other side of the alley, seemingly jogging towards her.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

she was so sure she had locked the exit door on the back, so how did chris manage to get out? he would have had to figure out she was planning on framing him.

if that was the case, this wasn’t gonna end well.

she opened up the door to her car, ready to bolt, when the unknown figure spoke slowly: “wait.”

that was not chris. the voice was deep, rough, and the way he pronounced just one single word made chills run through her body.

or maybe that was just the adrenaline of it all, the fear of getting caught betraying her partner by said partner.

“wait.” the figure spoke once more, getting closer to the car. “i need a lift.”

what the actual fuck? did he take her for an uber driver or something?

she scoffed and got in the car, keys inside the ignition, ready to drive off.

which couldn’t be done since the tall figure decided to stand in the middle of the alley.

she couldn’t really honk, not when the alarms inside the building were about to go off and the place was about to be stormed by cops. she had to leave, and if she had to run over him, then so be it.

she put her foot on the gas, put in the first gear and was very much convinced that the man would decide to move out of the way.

but she had no such luck.

his hands hit the hood of her car, hard, while she pressed on the breaks with all her strength in order to not make him flat on the ground.

so much for survival instincts, she thought.

“were you really about to run me over?” the man spoke — his figure now becoming clearer since he was nearer than before. a lazy smirk cut his face. “mmh. i like you.”

and just like that he was opening the passenger’s door, seating down and buckling his seatbelt.

she was utterly shocked, what the hell was going on, why was he- “who the fuck are you? and what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing in my car?”

the man chuckled lowly, casting two deep indents in his cheeks. “oh wow, they didn’t tell me the owl had such a filthy mouth.”

the name made her eyes go wide: the owl. working in the darkest hours of the night was her distinctive trait, hence the nickname she chose for herself while doing business.

“‘m harry, by the way. don’t have a cool nickname like yours yet, but perhaps i should find one. what about the puma? what do you think?”

she scoffed, looking straight and finally driving away. “well, harry or the puma or whatever you wanna be called-”

“harry is just fine.”

“alright, harry, would you mind telling me why the fuck are you here?” her patience was wearing thin and she really didn’t want to lose any more time on this.

“oh right, sort of forgot to tell you, didn’t i? okay, well, my dear owl- hold up, don’t i get to know your name? i told you mine.” he turned his body to face her.

judging by the deep frown of her eyebrows and how set her eyes were on the road in front of them, he assumed he wouldn’t get it that easily.

“well, doesn’t matter for now. so, back to where i was: i have been checking you out for a while, saw your latest works and was very impressed. i’m in need of a partner, and from what i saw tonight, so do you.” he spoke, and in the far distance they could hear the police sirens and spot the blue and red lights: everything was about to go down.

harry coming to bother her on that particular night was really somewhat karmic, wasn’t it? she screwed over her partner, so fate had to bring an annoying man in her plans, once again. she cleared her throat, her tone dry.

“how did you know what i would do?”

harry turned once again towards the road. “i knew the police was closing in on you, so i thought that if you played your cards right you may have the chance to get away, and the better escape plan would have been to ditch your partner.” the man in her passenger seat stretched his legs, his arms raised up, his voice coming out a bit strained. “word on the street was that tonight something was going down, i thought to check it out to see if it was actually gonna be you. my lucky night, i’d say.”

harry had heard plenty about the owl’s operations and was extremely intrigued by her. the plans were intricate, but incredibly well thought out, and often went down without a hitch, and the chosen artworks to be stolen being invaluable masterpieces made it all the more admirable. he knew as soon as he saw one of her biggest heists go down so smoothly that he desperately wanted to be in business with her, so he began keeping tabs on her, which brought him in that alley, that precise night.

he didn’t expect to be so entranced to her.

sure, he was in awe of her plans and the way she carried on her business, but he was struck by her. even more than her looks, it was the confidence she radiated from her stance, her set gaze, her clenched jaw, that was what drew him in immediately.

he knew she was trouble, especially given her line of work. but it seemed like he couldn’t help himself to fall under her spell, and that was saying something, since she tried to run him over not even 20 minutes prior.

oh, poor harry didn’t know what he was getting into.

she wasn’t dumb, nor blind: harry was a treat for the eyes, and obviously way more prepared than chris ever was. still to that day she couldn’t believe he didn’t see it coming, it was all so clear to her. she was sneaky, of course, but he must’ve had some clue, right? or well, she guessed that what people say is true: love makes you dumb.

harry was another league, though. he kept track of her, which must’ve not been easy since she always took so many precautions to keep everything on the down low; he discovered her plan and also understood that the better route for her was to ditch her partner.

he definitely had more experience than chris, and that could be an advantage: for once, she could have someone to bounce ideas off of, and since harry managed to find out her ironclad plans, it means that something wasn’t as hidden as she would’ve liked, and having him could help with that.

when she started her business, she swore that she had to be the one calling all the shots: being the perfectionist she is, she couldn’t relegate the responsibility of something so important like a heist to someone who wasn’t herself. she decided to get a partner — enter, chris — just because sometimes it was physically impossible to do it all on her own. that didn’t change the fact that he was merely a mean to an end, he had no voice whatsoever in planning anything, and not once had he complained about it, nor he had any reason to: the money was good, and once he even got to win her affection — or well, what he thought could’ve turned into something more — he was good with doing whatever she wanted.

she had the feeling it wasn’t gonna be like this with harry.

or well, at least not that easy.

“that was impressive, not going to lie. it mustn’t have been easy to keep track of my movements. so, bravo.” she spoke, her eyes quickly glancing towards him.

a smirk took place on harry’s face, the praise of such a pro stroking his ego. “it was, but very much worth it.”

his voice was smooth like silk, and even the dumbest person walking on earth could’ve felt the flirty undertones of his words from miles away.

she quickly thought about it, a new plan. a new, better plan.

“okay, pretty boy. if you can keep up, i can think about being partners. that is, if you prove worthy of my time.”

“deal.” he smiled, and again the dimples on his cheeks made an appearance. “pretty boy, huh? should that be my badass nickname?”

“still better than the puma.”

that night marked the beginning of a new era, four years of the most lucrative, crazy, exciting heists the both of them could have ever imagined.

and over the course of those years, the inevitable and not so unexpected happened: they fell for each other, and they fell hard.

endless night of planning, scheming, and building trust with each other turned them into real life bonnie and clyde, absolutely drunk on adrenaline and love.

it was definitely not something she had planned, not something she had wanted either, but there was no denying chemistry: sometimes, things just happen, and you have no choice but to let them run their course.

harry was just as smitten: he was hooked from the beginning, and fought hard to win her over from day one.

it started as a ‘business partners with benefits’ kind of deal, a way to ‘pass the time’, — at least for her, harry was already harboring feelings for the woman — but it bloomed into something more, somewhat organically.

he still teased her that she became soft for him when he got injured during an escape: the rope attached to the top of the building didn’t hold up harry, who suffered a bad fall. his shoulder was dislocated, and she had to be the one who had to put it back in place, since hospitals weren’t really an option, and harry couldn’t ignore the look she held in her eyes, as if even just the thought of hurting him was physically hurting her.

he didn’t expect it, definitely not from someone like the infamous owl: she showed no remorse for her actions, no feelings for the first six months of them working together, and he made peace with the fact that that was just the way it was gonna be, but was pleasantly surprised when that revealed not to be the case.

the world knew her as a scheming, logical woman, but harry had the privilege of being her soft spot.

he was always a pretty open guy, not scared of having big feelings or of falling in love. he had already felt it in the past, he just wasn’t prepared to experience how powerful it could feel with the right person: what he felt for her was something out of a novel, a perfect mixture of infatuation, almost obsession, adrenaline and maybe insanity, and it was so incredibly addicting.

the last heist was a perfect success, their biggest bag as a matter of fact. the artwork they managed to steal had taken months upon months of planning, but it all went down incredibly smoothly: 7 minutes, in and out, exactly like they had wanted. they were already far when the police arrived, harry behind the wheel, driving their getaway car.

with chris, she had never let him drive, ever: she had to be in control of everything, of every little aspect, probably because she never fully trusted him. but she did trust harry, wholeheartedly so.

the drive to the dingy motel wasn’t too long, the night chill enveloping them thanks to the lack of a roof on their car. the adrenaline was running high still, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning in and leaving a kiss on harry’s smiling lips, their grins quite too big to properly kiss each other. but it didn’t matter, the feeling was all the same, the rush quite impossible to describe to someone who never felt it.

harry disconnected their lips, not before leaving a quick peck once again, and looked back to the barely lit country road ahead of them.

“very risky to distract me like that right now, sweetheart.”

“couldn’t help it, pretty boy. you’re just too damn good-looking.” she smiled at the nickname, and harry did too: it stuck ever since that first night, and harry definitely never complained.

“c’mon, we’re almost at the motel.” harry’s hand took its rightful place on her left thigh, softly squeezing the flesh, awakening a storm of butterflies and inviting them to bat their wings in her stomach. she rested her hand on top of his, gently toying with his rings.

the motel neon sign was missing a few letters, its occupants nothing less than unsavory, but she didn’t care: she wasn’t one to be scared in the first place, much less with harry by her side.

once they got to their room, she locked the door and quickly found her back pressed into it, harry’s lips straight on hers. she knew what was coming, it happened every single time after a hit: the euphoria of a successful heist was a very powerful aphrodisiac.

harry’s lips pressed slowly against her own, he was in no hurry now. after he felt her body relaxing in his hold, he moved onto her neck, and smiled against her skin when he heard a shaky breath falling from her lips after he sucked lightly on the spot he knew would drive her crazy.

her hand went immediately into his hair, tugging on the curls she loved to play with at every chance she got, while the other travelled down his torso, heading towards his belt.

knowing where she was going, harry detached his lips from her neck and looked at her: flushed cheeks, her eyes — his favorite feature of hers — slightly glazed over, her lips full and a raspberry colour. he smiled at the sight.

“sweetheart,” he murmured. “sweetheart, hey.”

“mmh?” she hummed, her hands roaming under his shirt, feeling the expanse of his tummy and chest, pressing her lips in the dip of his throat.

harry hated to have to tear himself away from her and her touch, but a shower was in order, and also making her wait made the whole situation way more intriguing, her getting antsy waiting for him really did a number on him.

her forehead rested on his chest, a small whine falling from her lips when he felt him trying to move away from her, which made harry chuckle. he softly pressed a kiss to the top of her head, slowly walking backwards towards the restroom, but her arms refused to leave his body, so she was stumbling along with him, her cheek still smushed against his chest.

harry reached behind his back to untangle her arms from his waist, not without her protesting. he leaned in and planted a wet kiss on her cheek, murmuring a low “be right back”, before leaving the room.

she felt drunk, as she usually did whenever harry was in near proximity, but there was nothing she could do about it.

she laid down on the dingy bed, eagerly waiting for her lover to be back and, to kill the time, she decided to turn on the tv.

what she saw sobered her up real quick.

the news were reporting a robbery at a famous gallery, two figures with their dark hoodies up filmed from a camera at the end of the alley.

a camera both she and harry failed to notice.

they were lucky the camera was at the opposite end of the dark and unlit alley, and caught just a glimpse of their backs, but this wasn’t good. this was not supposed to happen.

never, in all her years of planning, had she forgot to notice a camera, and the fact that this happened with their biggest heist made the blood drain from her face.

she tried her hardest to lower her heart rate and to focus on what the newscaster was saying: two suspects, no faces identified, probably left by car, all the other cameras in the block were somehow off during the escape — somehow actually being the work of one of harry’s acquaintances — and the police had no leads for the moment.

all things considered, it wasn’t bad at all.

so why couldn’t she seem to catch her breath?

the bathroom door creaked open, a bit of steam filling the room. harry stepped out, a towel hanging on his lower half, his body glistening with little droplets of water, hair matted and still dripping a little.

he had a dopey smile on his lips, which soon fell once he noticed that she wasn’t ogling at him as she usually would when he stepped out of a shower.

“hey,” he called out to her, “something wrong?”

she didn’t even notice that harry had walked back into the room, so she slightly jumped at the sound of his voice. her head quickly turned towards him, as she just as quickly turned the tv off.

“of course, yeah.” she smiled. “missed you.”

“could’ve joined me, you know?” he grinned, “never would refuse a beautiful lady like you.” he got closer to her and pressed his lips softly against hers.

she reciprocated the kiss, disconnecting it quite a bit earlier than harry would’ve liked, and murmured still close to his lips, “can we cuddle for a bit?”

harry’s hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs slowly stroking the apples, “yeah, of course. want my shirt to sleep in?”

she excitedly nodded, staring at his back while he retrieved a shirt from his luggage.

sleep came quickly to harry, his arm holding her tightly against his chest, comforted by the feeling of having her safe in his arms.

she still couldn’t quite catch her breath.

harry woke up to an empty bed: the creamy rays of sun beamed through the worn blinds, rousing him awake. as he did every morning, he reached for her, looking forward to hooking his arm around her waist and feel her snuggle against his chest. but that day, his hand touched a cold piece of comforter instead of the warm, soft body of his girl.

his eyes opened immediately, trying to adapt to the light, his brows furrowed as he knuckled his eyes, trying to blink away the sleepiness. his slightly startled heart stopped once he saw her seated at the little desk the room provided, typing away on her computer, wrapped in his sweatshirt with her hair still damp from the shower she probably had just taken.

way too focused on adjusting the last details of the meetup with the buyer for that same night, she jumped when she felt two strong arms engulfing her.

“morning, love.” his morning voice was a gift straight from heaven, it never failed to make her feel warm and cozy. “don’t like it when i wake up without you.”

she could hear the pout on his face, and she smiled at the notion that he was so affected by her absence. “good morning, pretty boy. just had to take a shower and finalize the details for the drop off with the buyer tonight.” she turned around and looked at his still half closed eyes. she tilted her head up, puckering her lips a little, “kiss?”

harry didn’t miss a beat and laid his mouth on hers, moaning softly at the contact.

she hadn’t lied per se, she had to do all of what she said, but she also couldn’t stand lying awake in that bed for one more second: she had barely gotten any sleep the previous night, the video of them on the news flashing continuously in her mind.

so she tried to focus on work, to get things right before they could go wrong.

the day went by as usual, the two of them laying low, preparing for the meetup with this anonymous buyer. the sum of money this person was offering was definitely mind blowing, and there was no way they could turn it down.

in the late afternoon, they left the motel to reach the location given to them: it was a rundown warehouse, obviously abandoned, and they were under strict orders to arrive at 8pm on the dot, to leave the car outside the main gate, and proceed by feet till they arrived to the container with the number 258: that was where they’d find an employee of the buyer.

it was all routine, they almost never handled a deal with the buyer directly, and they understood the reason. she and harry never exchanged names as well, for safety reasons, or any other details, just informations about the drop.

at 7:50pm, they were parked outside the warehouse. the chill of the desert air made the hair on her arms stand, a shiver running down her spine.

“cold?” harry asked, after he noticed her shudder. it wasn’t that cold at the moment for him, and it was probably gonna be worse once the sun was set all the way, but nonetheless he put his jacket on her shoulders, his big hands running up and down her upper arms to give her some warmth.

she smiled at the gesture, and tilted her head up, “thank you.”

he reciprocated the smile and took her hand, in the other one holding the bag containing the stolen piece of art. “of course, darling. now let’s go, wanna be back in that motel bed as soon as possible,” he cheekily remarked.

they walked hand in hand till they found the container 258, and knocked three times, as instructed. the shutter was pulled up, a man dressed in a suit, who looked to be in his forties, appearing behind it.

“welcome, you must be the sellers. please, come in.” the unknown man spoke, and she and harry made their way inside.

harry laid the bag carefully on the table, beside a briefcase, previously set down.

“thank you, sir. as per your request by email, the-”

“actually,” harry interrupted, “you didn’t speak with me. she,” he pointed to the girl beside him, who had a stony expression, “is the head of the whole operation, so if you want to explain something to someone, you can do so with her.”

this was also something they were both used to, but that didn’t make it any less annoying. if only they knew they were actually talking to the owl, they’d probably kiss the her shoes.

the deal was over in 5 minutes, the majority of which was spent with the two of them counting the money, making sure every penny was in that briefcase. after confirming so, they barely said goodbye to that sexist prick, and went back to their car.

the drive to the motel was quiet, but not uncomfortably so: harry’s right hand took place on her left thigh as usual, while her arm was stretched behind his headrest, playing mindlessly with his curls, scratching his scalp lightly.

“hey, pretty boy.” she called, a soft smile on her lips.

harry smirked at the nickname, he couldn’t help it, “yes?”

“i really love you,” she softly said, taking her hand away from his hair and moving it to stroke his cheekbone, “you know that?”

harry couldn’t help but feel his tummy warm up at her words, his cheeks getting a bit flushed. “i do know, darling, but thank you for the reminder.” he snickered, “i love you too.” he said, and took his right hand off her leg to grab her hand, planting a soft kiss to her palm, and to every knuckle.

once they finally reached the motel, harry turned off the ignition and turned to face her. his hand took a hold of her jaw, and pressed a kiss against her pouty lips. she sighed into the kiss, a thing that drove harry absolutely crazy.

“what if-” she tried to talk, but was quickly interrupted by harry kissing her again, “we go to the room to-” another kiss, “put down our things and-”, yet another kiss, “then we have a drink at the bar?” she put her hand on harry’s chest to push him a bit further, or else she wouldn’t be able to finish the sentence. “if i’m not mistaken it’s right by the reception. sounds good?”

harry nodded, and to seal his agreement he kissed her once again.

after making their way down from their room into the motel bar, they sat down at the counter, harry’s hand on her back while she climbed on the stool.

the bar was definitely empty, just a couple of old men sat in the corner of the room, a deck of cards between them.

“two old fashioned, please.” harry asked the man behind the counter.

it was a sort of a tradition, getting that drink after a deal: the first time they did a deal together, he was the one suggesting going for a drink, which she — surprisingly to him — did not turn down. once they reached the pub nearby, she ordered an old fashioned, and asked harry what he wanted, to which he answered “the same”, and it became a tradition ever since then.

“oh wait-” she said all of a sudden, which made harry turn his head towards her.

“oh i’m sorry, did you want something else?” he asked, unsure of even his question, since she had never ordered something else.

she quickly shook her head, “no no, don’t worry, i just realized i forgot my phone in our room.” she stood from the stool, “i’m gonna go get it and i’ll be right back, alright?” after she spoke, she left a lingering kiss on his cheek.

harry hummed and with a little smile, he playfully said, “be quick, i’m gonna miss you.”

she returned his smile, and opened the motel bar door, “i’m gonna miss you too, pretty boy.”

harry didn’t think any of it after ten minutes, she probably got caught up on something online, or had to answer to an email right away and couldn’t wait.

he didn’t think any of it after twenty minutes, thinking she may have had a call to make and it was taking a bit longer than usual. he settled on shooting her a message, asking if she was fine. the message was left on delivered.

but after thirty minutes, he needed to check on her. what if she was sick and he was there waiting for her at the bar like an idiot? what if there was a problem and she needed his help, even if she would most likely never admit it?

he left some banknotes on the counter, and rushed his way upstairs.

once he stood in front of the door, his blood run cold: the door was ajar.

something was wrong, very wrong.

carefully, he pushed the door, reaching for his pocket knife; once it was open, his eyes darted around the room, looking for something out of place.

the thing is, it wasn’t that something was out of place, it was that something was missing: her bag, her clothes, her laptop, herself, they were all missing. there was no trace of her, as if she had never been there.

“what-” he rushed in, the door left slightly open behind him. he hastily opened the bathroom door, checking if maybe she was there, but, alas, she was not.

“what the fuck is going on?” harry muttered to himself, so confused that he was sure that his movements weren’t even making sense. his head kept turning from side to side, trying to find something, anything to help him understand what was going on.

he was never one to panic, always been a pretty clearheaded guy in every situation he’s found himself in, but not when his girl was involved, and especially when he was totally in the dark about what had happened.

his eyes finally zeroed in on a piece of paper on the desk.

of course, of course she’d be smart and leave him some sort of trace, so he could find her and get her back.

he stumbled on his steps, his legs wobbling as if made of jelly and with frantic fingers, he opened the piece of paper, which showed just four, short words.

mors tua, vita mea.

“wh-what, no-”, he rambled, shaking his head energetically, choosing not to believe the reality that was downing on him. “no, no, it can’t-” he kept chanting, over and over, but his rambling was cut short.

in his peripherals, he saw the red and blue lights bouncing off the dirty white walls of the motel room, the sound of the police car doors closing and of the steps of the officers coming up the stairs, but the sounds were almost muted, the shock making his ears ring.

the door was pushed open, three officers coming in first, guns blazing, while the others were surely waiting all around the motel, pointing their guns at him through the windows.

“put your hands up! over your head!”

harry robotically obliged, not in control of his body anymore.

“harry styles, you’re under arrest. you have the right to remain silent, anything you say…”.

he didn’t hear the rest of the miranda rights over the sound of the faith he had in her shattering, puncturing his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

—

18 months later.

“styles, you have a visitor.”

harry’s eyes opened at the voice of the guard, the ceiling of his cell staring back at him. those were words he didn’t get to hear often, only two other times, and both times it was always a nosy journalist wanting to write a story about a pretty successful art thief. he laid still, pondering whether to go or stay in his shoe box of a cell for the rest of the day.

“styles, get up. i don’t have all day.”

harry dragged his feet along the corridor, and once he arrived to the designated room, he headed towards the seat the officer pointed. once he sat down, he grabbed the black phone receiver, and didn’t even bother looking at the person standing in front of him, his eyes closed already in annoyance.

“look, if you’re another fucking journalist, i’m not gonna say a word to you, so you wasted your time coming here and i’m asking you to leave.”

the person in front of him hesitated, as he heard a shallow breathe on the other end of the receiver.

“hi, pretty boy.”

harry’s eyes had never opened so fast, and his heart skipped a beat.

no, no, this wasn’t real, this was just his mind playing tricks on him: stupid, fucking horrible and cruel tricks.

the voice didn’t match the exterior: the person in front of him had another haircut, a whole other hair colour, the eyes — the feature he most loved about her — covered by large sunglasses.

but he knew. he knew it was her: the way her lips were set in her natural pout, the shape of her face, the freckle she had at the right corner of her bottom lip.

the way his heart was going out of his chest trying to reach for her.

he was supposed to hate her — and he did, he so did — but the way his nickname fell from her lips lit up something in him, something that no matter how much he wanted it to be dormant, it was still there.

his brain could only manage to ask her the one question that nagged at him ever since that day.

“why.”

he stared at her through the glass, green tired eyes boring into her soul. she knew it was risky, showing up at a prison under yet another false identity, but she knew she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye one last time. one real last time.

so she swallowed harshly, and opened her mouth, keeping her answers short in order not to break down.

“think about the place where you first met me, harry.” she murmured, while his stony expression was staring back at her. “i had no other choice.”

harry chuckled darkly, a grin so deranged that she felt her blood run cold. this answer of hers opened the gate to all the hatred that had been boiling in him for 18 long months.

“that’s such bullshit, and you know it. you had a choice — you fucking did — and you made it. you chose to tip-off the police, you chose to leave your name out of every document, you chose to use a fake identity with me as well, and make it impossible to track you; you chose to pack your bags and steal the car, you chose to leave me behind and letting me take the blame for it.” his voice was laced with venom. “i spent 18 fucking months in this cell, with just one question running through my mind, all day, all night, every day: why did you choose to do this to me.”

“harry, i told you, i had-”

“bullshit!” he screamed, a prominent vein on his neck, while smashing his fist against the plastic glass, over and over again. “you ruined my fucking life, and you have the gall to give me that as the reason why you did it? tell me the truth! tell me the fucking truth! you owe me at least that.”

the volume of his voice and the violence he was hitting the glass with made her stand up and hang up the receiver, scrambling to get away from him before his actions brought too much attention on her as well. three officers had to come in to stop harry from smashing down the glass and jumping on the other side of the window, and had to drag him away whilst he was still fighting with all his strength, his legs kicking and arms flailing trying to be freed, his voice repeatedly shouting just one word, over and over: why.

nine days later, harry found himself moved to a facility of a higher security rank: his violent act during the visit wasn’t an isolated episode, and basically opened the door to a side of harry that he never knew. he never knew such anger in his life.

the guard guiding him stopped in front of the nth same looking cell.

“bradford, your new roomie is here.” the guard sarcastically said, making harry want to punch his face in, but unable to do so because of the cuffs on his wrists.

the man laying in the bunk barely scoffed and glanced at harry while he was walking into his new “home”.

once the guard went away, bradford turned to harry and looked him up and down, then returned to stare at the ceiling. harry could perhaps even manage to put up with the guy, if he always kept this quiet, but he felt like at least an introduction was to be done, to be the least civil. “‘m harry, harry styles. and you are?”

his new cellmate groaned softly while standing up, putting his legs down from the bunk.

“i’m bradford, chris bradford. and i know exactly who you are.”

harry was definitely dumbfounded, “what? how do you-?”

“your case was all over the news, even inmates got to know about it. but most of all, i know you because i’ve been you.”

harry’s confusion must’ve been displayed clearly on his face, because chris just scoffed and kept on talking.

“we’ve been framed by the same person." he murmured, "and we’re gonna take her down together.”

—

the latin phrase mors tua vita mea, of medieval origin, means “your death, my life” (or: “your death (is) my life”).

beyond the dramatic tone of the literal sense, this expression is used when within a competition or in the attempt to reach a goal there can be only one winner: the saying indicates that the failure of one is an indispensable prerequisite for the success of another.

—

taglist: @a-strange-familiar @stilesissaved @harrysonlylover @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @kittenhere @neverstaisfied

–

please, let me know what you think and please, please reblog! thank you so much for being here, it means the world <3 also, just a little fyi, there's no plan for a part 2!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #getaway car #harry styles x you #my writing #harry styles story #harry styles imagine

250 notes · View notes

alespov · 1 year ago

Text

Preach til the morning light.- A.Wesker 18+

Tw: Content: No mention of religion, he's really just posing as a priest. Umbrella is cult-like. Swearing, smut to come in later chapters. age gap, creepy creature… anything else lmk loves

a/n : this is going to be a dark fic! I don’t condone this in real life! Feedback is appreciated, requests are open! (If the text is to small, don’t hesitate to ask for bigger text :) )

Consider Supporting me of Ko-Fi

As autumn leaves shifted their hues, a growing eagerness to depart from your stagnant hometown emerged. You and your mother were about to embark on a fresh chapter in Raccoon City, reuniting with family and liberating yourselves from the stresses of your former existence.

Upon setting foot inside your new residence, a surge of thrill washed over you. The charming essence of the house embraced you as you ascended the staircase towards your bedroom. Bathed in gentle sunlight filtering through the windows, it epitomized the idyllic sanctuary you had always imagined. Eagerly, you began to unpack and create a space that was truly yours. You occupied the bright upstairs bedroom while your mother chose the one on the ground floor.

Each possession that emerged from the moving boxes contributed to crafting a snug refuge for your soul. Beloved novels found their home on shelves, cherished photographs were displayed as reminders of fonder times, and nostalgia blossomed while recalling halcyon days when life was uncomplicated.

"Honey!" your mother's tender voice permeated through the air, urging you to reluctantly set aside your book. You hesitantly rose from the soft embrace of your bed and navigated the stairs to locate the living room. There, amidst flickering light from the television screen, your mom lounged comfortably on the sofa, leisurely absorbed in her show.

Upon turning off the television, a deafening silence filled the room, amplifying her burgeoning sense of unease. Her eyes, brimming with anxiety, locked onto yours as she inquired, "Have you noticed the alarming number of people vanishing lately?" Her voice trembled with palpable concern, and understandably so - such occurrences belonged to the world of fiction, not reality.

"Before I forget, I have a little something for you," she mentioned with hope as she made her way to her bedroom. She reemerged holding a dark green gift bag. "I'm always worried about you being out late, so I just wanted to help ensure your safety." Her laughter was strained and nervous; she was visibly unsettled. Handing over the bag, she embraced your appreciative hug. "Thanks, Mom. I truly appreciate it. But please don't stress about me," you told her gently while giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She offered a bittersweet smile and responded, "I know, but after losing your sister and your dad... I can't help it." Tears streamed down her cheeks; your heart weighed heavy with guilt. Dabbing at her eyes, she motioned towards the bag.

As you delicately unwrapped the tissue-covered parcel, anticipation surged through you; her eyes danced with excitement. "Go on, open it already," she urged playfully; her infectious laughter warmed the room.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as a self-defense keychain was unveiled alongside a coordinating student ID holder. Both were adorned in your most treasured color - one that deeply resonated within your soul and intertwined with the present moment.

"Wow Mom, this is amazing! I love it - thank you so much," you expressed gratefully. After nodding in acknowledgement and exchanging smiles, you both went on to enjoy the rest of the evening separately. Clutching your bag and new keychain, you ventured out the door to make your way to work.

You genuinely enjoyed your job, and your colleagues were pleasant, with the exception of Victoria. Even though you had minimal interaction with her, she would deliberately make your life miserable for no obvious reason – from splashing water on you to knocking over books and taking unplanned days off. You were greatly irritated by her behavior, but there was nothing you could do about it. Victoria was quite popular and well-known.

Fortunately, she had called off today which turned out to be a hidden blessing. However, that also meant you had the responsibility of closing the library all by yourself. There weren't many people around today, so your workload was relatively light.

As evening approached and the sun vanished beneath the horizon, the library doors slowly shut. With the keys securely in your possession, a satisfying click echoed through the desolate streets, signaling the arrival of a peaceful nighttime ambiance. With the day's hustle and bustle finally over, you eagerly anticipated the warmth and relaxation waiting for you at home.

Quietly approaching your car, your fingertips gently traced the cold metal of the door handle. A serene atmosphere embraced the crisp night air, and all you wanted was to head home. However, something felt amiss, and you could sense it in the atmosphere. As you unlocked the door and reached to open it, suddenly someone grabbed your arm. Terrified, you glanced up and saw what used to be a man. His chin looked like it was half-separated from his face, with his skin slowly peeling away. Struggling to breathe amid choking on saliva emitted an even more unsettling aura.

you felt the whirlwind of emotions, the terror and vulnerability overwhelming you like a tidal wave. Your heart raced as if it were trying to outrun your tormentor, while the deafening sounds of the city seemed to mock your desperation. At that moment, the collision with the stranger felt like another attack, only adding to the chaos that had consumed you. You let out a piercing scream, causing the man to cover his ears and fall to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, you ran, dropping your belongings in the process. As you collided with another person, your fear escalated, making you sob uncontrollably.

"NO... let me go!" You continued to hit before you heard a soothing voice. Just as the stranger began to feel the full force of your distress, a surge of empathy erupted from within. They quickly wrapped their arms around you.

"Please, dear, calm down. You're safe with us, especially with me." You felt lightheaded, and soon you were struggling to keep your eyes open.

- sorry for the cliffhanger babes <\3

#┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ allyse talks ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚#albert wesker #dbd albert wesker #dbd albert wesker x you #albert wesker x you #albert wesker smut #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker fanfic #dbd albert wesker x reader #albert wesker headcanons #movie albert wesker #re4 wesker #re x you #wesker x you #resident evil #albert wesker x fem! reader

171 notes · View notes

typingcorgi · 2 years ago

Text

unexpected (part ii of a three-part series)

gif by @joelmjller

read part i here

rating: e (minors, please shoo. you will be blocked) word count: 4k pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: teacher!reader, pre-outbreak timeline, canon divergent timeline, hint of vague age difference (if he's 36 I'm thinking like the reader is 5-10 years younger but honestly insert whatever age you want), fingering, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), protected p in v sex (yay for responsible joel), praise kink makes brain go brrr, porn with plot, soft-ish!joel, no use of y/n story summary: a one-night stand with a handsome stranger doesn't go as planned. chapter summary: you invite joel to your place. you both know why he's there. author's notes: this is actually going to be a three-parter, not a two-parter, lol. sorry. thanks to my lovely friend @magpie-to-the-morning for your support in developing this chapter! no apocalypse, yay! this is part one of a multi-part series. excited to get this new ball rolling. this is just going to be a fun romp away from the mushroom zombies, okay? have fun getting yours ;) and as always, please feel free to reblog or leave a comment! your feedback is so very appreciated.

There is nothing quite like a Friday night attached to a three-day weekend. With Columbus Day right around the corner, you have the next seventy-two hours to do quite literally, whatever the fuck you want. For the first time in weeks, school is the last thing on your mind.

And apparently, you’re the last thing on Joel’s mind. You gave him your number a week ago, and even though you know three days is the average length of time before your date gets in touch with you again—can you even call your debauched bathroom rendez-vous a date?—not getting so much as a message on your voicemail has you a little freaked out.

Okay, a lot freaked out.

You’d written your number down on a napkin. He could have lost said napkin in the middle of Austin’s city streets, and now, a total stranger has your information. Just fucking great.

You kick off your shoes as you pull yourself out of your fabricated daydream—more like a nightmare. As you move through your apartment, you don’t waste a goddamn minute. You unclasp your bra beneath your shirt, pulling the straps from your shoulders and sliding them down your arms before tossing the garment into the hamper.

Maybe it’s better Joel hasn’t called. You can totally picture yourself just holing up in your apartment for the next three days and calling in delivery every night after running downtown to the nearest Blockbuster and renting a couple of cheesy romantic comedies. The guy behind the counter knows you’ve rented How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days at least three times since it’d been released on DVD, and that fact is only mildly embarrassing.

Still, your job forces you to be a creature of habit. Days like last Friday night, hooking up in public restrooms—that’s not your norm. Your feet are killing you. Sometimes you just need a weekend that demands very little of your attention or energy outside of the four walls of your bedroom.

By 9:30, you’re in your pajamas with a glass of red on your bedside table. The TV is playing a rerun of some new reality dating show—you think it’s called The Bachelor, but honestly, you tuned in during the middle of the episode, so you’re not sure. Your bed is your fucking safe haven. There are stacks of students’ essays in your tote bag abandoned on a kitchen chair, but you know damn well you took them home to only pretend to grade them.

You’re good and settled in your bed before the tune of your cellphone ringtone chimes from the living room. You nearly trip over your own feet scrambling out of bed to race to it (but no, you’re not even the slightest bit desperate, here), and the caller ID reflects a number not registered in your address book.

It sends a little shock of anxiousness through you, a flash of adrenaline as your stomach drops, but you hit the pick-up button, taking the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” a low voice rumbles from the other end of the phone, and immediately, you know who it is.

Holy shit. He actually called.

“Wow,” you breathe, your tone somewhere between vulnerability and flirtatiousness. “And here I thought you totally forgot about me.”

Joel chuckles on the other end of the line. “No, nothing like that. Just been workin’ like a dog all damn week. Either that or I’ve been taking care of my kid. Or she’s been taking care of me. Sometimes I don’t know the dif—”

He cuts himself off with a laugh, and you giggle softly into the receiver, because was Joel this charming when you met him last weekend?

“I just mean, I finally got a moment to myself is all,” Joel finishes. “Figured I’d get in touch.”

“I’m glad you did,” you confess, sinking into the comfortable cushions of your loveseat. You kick your legs across the arm of it, suddenly feeling like a freshman girl talking to her senior crush before the big homecoming game. Even though you’ve barely started conversing, your heart is absolutely racing, anticipating the questions he might ask you, the plans you might make. It’s entirely too late for a dinner date, and you’re not sure Joel would even want a commitment as serious as sharing a meal with you, but there’s a small part of your naivete that remains hopeful. If Joel had been looking for a one-night stand, why had he asked you for your number?

“Yeah, well, I’ve bored you with enough details of my week,” he says, and it’s as though you can hear the smile in his voice. “How’d yours go?”

“Good,” you say, trying to think of more interesting ways to elaborate on your one-note response. “I mean, as good as teaching high school students on a Friday before a long weekend could possibly go. They either have too much energy or not enough.”

Joel laughs at that. “That’s right. Supermodel moonlighting as a teacher. I get it.”

“You’re cute,” you laugh.

“So’re you.”

You blush. You fucking blush. Joel might have admitted to being out of the dating scene for a while, and even if his comments are simple and somewhat predictable, he’s got some serious charm.

At some point in the conversation, Joel confesses he’s alone for the evening. His daughter is at a sleepover—she’s a good kid, so if she wants to stay at a friend’s house on a Friday night here and there, I’m not one to protest—and you’re alone with nothing but your mostly-empty wine glass and your Nokia 3310, beeping intermittently to signal that your battery is going to die.

There’s a pause in the conversation as you internally debate your next move: continue to engage in slightly awkward small talk, as though he hadn’t completely rocked your world seven days earlier, or the option you’re leaning towards: invite him over. Hadn’t Joel been angling for this exchange to end up that way, anyway? His daughter isn’t home tonight, so there’s no reason for him to be home himself.

“You should come over,” you offer, suddenly sounding a hell of a lot less cool than you had moments earlier when you’d flirted.

The fluster is contagious. Even if this is secretly what both of you had hoped for, what both of you sort of expected, Joel is just as nervous as you. “Y—yeah,” he stammers, and it sounds like he needs to fight to find the word in the back of his throat. “Definitely. Uh, what’s your address?”

Joel knows where you live. Well, he knows the area. He says he used to pass your street every morning when he’d drop off his daughter off at school, back when she was in third or fourth grade. The notion of him waving goodbye to an eight-year-old and telling her he loves her and hopes she has a great day at school makes your heart absolutely squeeze. A part of you wants to forgo your in-person booty call for a round of phone sex because you’re fucking wet from that vision alone, but instead, you tell him you’ll see him soon and end the call.

You take a deep breath and let it sink in. Joel is coming over to your apartment tonight. There’s a half-full glass of pinot noir on your bedside table, a mess of dishes in the sink, not to mention, you look like a total mess. Your pajamas are more functional than they are sexy, your hair is falling every which way, and your eyes are probably tired. It’s been a long week, and there are some things that even the promise of great sex can’t immediately resolve—like your current energy levels.

Fuck it. You plug your phone into its charger and hurry toward the bathroom, readying yourself for your visitor.

Within fifteen minutes, you’ve changed into a pair of jeans and a tank top (you don’t plan on wearing it long, anyway, but there’s something too comfortable about opening the door in fleece polka dot pants). Your hair is tamed and you’ve even applied a respectable amount of makeup; just enough to appear as though your job hasn’t completely zapped the life from you over the past week.

You’ve just finished tidying up when there’s a ring at your doorbell. You buzz Joel in, and you can hear his footsteps making their way up the flight of stairs from the ground floor to yours. Every step causes your heart to beat quicker, the anticipation to bubble beneath your skin, and you wonder if it’s the same for him, too.

He knocks at your door and you immediately smile when you see him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hello, darlin’.”

You stand there for a moment, catching sight of all the little traits that’d caused you to draw to him in the first place. The crinkles around his eyes, tired and friendly, the bit of gray found in an otherwise patchy brown beard, the broadness of his shoulders beneath a worn denim shirt.

And the fucking pet name, god. Joel is so fucking smooth and he doesn’t even realize it. Or maybe he does and you’re a damn fool. Either way, it works, and you welcome him inside without another hesitation, closing the door behind him.

You offer him the only alternative to wine you have in your place—beer—and he accepts both the bottle and its opener. You try not to be mesmerized by the sight of his hands maneuvering over the bottle cap or the sight of his lips as he takes a swig, and when he tells you you’ve got a nice place here, you have to ask him to repeat it because you haven’t entirely heard what he’s said.

“Your place,” he repeats, one side of his lips curving into a slight smirk. “It’s nice. You know how to decorate.”

“Yeah,” you say, and it sounds like something caught between a laugh and a gasp. Joel is approaching you, placing the beer on your countertop while he corners you in, his hands placed on the edge of the counter on either side of your hips.

“You know, not that I wouldn’t enjoy talkin’ over a drink with you, but if that was all we were in for, I’d take you out somewhere,” he rumbles. You swallow nothing but air, your face growing hot as Joel’s gaze falls to meet your eyes, then your lips.

“Yeah,” you repeat as you nod.

“Yeah,” he echos with a chuckle. “Is that all you’re gonna say to me tonight?”

“No,” you say, and you feel like a bona fide idiot. Joel’s index finger curves beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward his.

“I’m gonna make you sing tonight, baby girl,” he murmurs, and then his lips are on yours.

You push your weight off the edge of the counter, winding your arms around Joel’s neck while his hands hold the flesh of your hips. The man is made out of electricity, suddenly shocking you to life and warming your blood. You part your lips while he kisses you, giving him permission to search your mouth as you lead him to your bedroom step for step.

The television is still on when you step into the room, only the faint golden light of your bedside lamp illuminating the space within the four walls. Joel pulls away to catch his breath and you rush to locate the remote.

“Should I be flattered you chose spendin’ time with me over watchin’ The Bachelor?” Joel teases as you turn off the TV.

“Shut up,” you laugh, and then you’re on him again. Your hands find the top button of his shirt, steadily unfastening each so that you’re free to push the garment down his shoulders and arms. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this, exposed to you, chest rising and falling with each breath. It nearly knocks the air from your lungs. It’s not like it’s a new realization, of course, but…Joel is sort of gorgeous. He’s staring right back at you and you can tell he’s searching for some sort of quip or teasing remark, but nothing comes. Instead, he’s leveling the field when he reaches for the hem of your tank top, and you raise your arms to facilitate him.

Both shirts and your bra are abandoned on the floor of your bedroom. Joel lays you onto your bed and fucking worships your tits, tonguing one pert nipple while his hand roams and kneads the other breast. He’s gentle, maybe a little clumsy, but eager. Eager to taste you, to explore you, to map out the path of your form and learn what makes you gasp and moan.

And you do. You fucking do. You whine as your fingers take hold of the back of his head while he lingers on your breast, teeth grazing against the flesh of one before turning his attention toward the other.

“Singin’ for me already, huh?” Joel asks, voice deep. Your hands fumble with the buckle of his belt, unfastening the leather from around his hips before you unbutton his jeans. He doesn’t appear to be in any rush, though. Joel’s focus remains on your chest; his hands have a gentle hold on the side of your ribs and you arch your back as you whimper his name, furthering his access to your body.

“I need to—I need to feel you more,” you confess. “I want to—”

“So do I,” he interrupts you, as though he’s read your mind. Whatever it is you want, Joel wants it, too, even if he’s more willing to take his time, more willing to drag it out—a welcome change from the circumstances of last weekend.

His lips trail from the underside of your breast down your abdomen, lingering at the skin just above the button of your jeans. Joel’s gaze meets yours and you nod, hoping you don’t appear too desperate or frantic, though you’d be completely unsurprised if that’s how you look.

Nimble fingers unfasten the button and pull your jeans down and off your legs, the black thong you’d chosen earlier that night going with them. Joel ascends your body once more, but catches you off guard when he takes one of your pillows and slides it beneath your tailbone.

“Been thinkin’ about this all week,” he murmurs as his index and middle fingers collect the wetness at your center. The half-smirk he’d given you earlier returns and you lick your lower lip in anticipation, breath catching in the back of your throat.

“From the looks of it,” Joel adds. “So have you.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Yeah, I have.”

Your eyes roll back when Joel slides one digit inside of you to the knuckle. He curls his finger, finding the spot that’d driven you wild the last time you were together. Joel’s deep eyes are half-lidded, his expression one that exists between complete satisfaction and needing more.

Needing more of you. To feel you writhe and wriggle beneath him, to taste you, to feel the hot clench of your cunt against his own body.

He kisses your mouth while slipping in a second finger, finding a rhythm with his hands to prime you, ready you for the rest of the evening. You groan, your eyes rolling back even further than before.

“F—fuck, you feel good,” you breathe while he tongues the salt from your neck.

“You do too,” Joel hums in response. “But I wanna know how you taste.”

If Joel had been taking his time before, he wastes none of it now. He immediately seeks your clit, lips securing around it while he suckles and tastes you. He stays just like that for a while before his mouth finds the slick between your folds, and Joel pushes deeper, groaning at your flavor.

Your hands claw into the bedsheets while he feasts on you. It feels as though Joel is the only damn thing that can bring you pleasure like this. Every tremble of your body beneath his mouth, every tense of the muscle in your thighs like you mean to crush his head between them—it’s entirely too much. You inhale sharply as Joel holds your thighs in his strong hands, pushing them apart to give himself unfettered access to your body. You can’t hide from him, and what’s more, Joel doesn’t want you to. He embraces you. He drinks you down.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mutters against your skin, pulling back for only a moment to catch his breath. “Seein’ you like this. I wanna feel you, baby. I want you to come on my tongue.”

You can’t find any words to offer him in response. You just whine, one hand gripping his messy hair while you pull him toward your core, urging him to continue, to let you finish. And you do. Joel lets you with the last several strokes of his tongue, stroking your clit while his fingers curl and pulse inside of you.

You’re a mess. You’ve soaked you both, and when Joel rises from his spot between your legs, he catches your lips against his. They’re soft, glimmering with evidence of your desire, and you you taste your own flavor sitting on his tongue.

“Shit,” you pant against his mouth. You’re still catching your breath, letting the muted colors of the room before you fall into view as you come down from your peak. Joel chuckles to himself as he kisses the edge of your jaw.

“You liked that?” He asks, and you’d think he was being a wiseass if he hadn’t sound so genuine.

“Mhm,” you hum, kissing him again.

—

It’s sudden, the way the tables have turned.

You’ve got Joel on his back now. He’d only gotten up to fetch the condom from his jeans’ pocket, but once he rejoined you in bed, you’d pushed him down, thrilling in the tiny pleasure of getting him beneath you.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he repeats, staring up at you as you straddle his hips. “Fuck, I got lucky tonight. In more ways than one.”

You swat his arm playfully, leaning forward to nibble at his earlobe while one hand seeks out his cock. You’d thought the comedown from immensely satisfying oral sex might satisfy your need for him, but you’d been so fucking wrong.

“I’m going to make you sing,” you whisper in his ear, soft and knowing. Joel groans in response while you sink onto his cock, gradually allowing yourself to fully take him inside of you.

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Fuck, you’re huge.”

“You can take it, baby,” Joel encourages you, his fingers pressed into your hips. “I know you can. I’ve seen you do it.”

You whine as your hips begin to rock, and Joel matches your movements. You’d demand that you’d do all the work right now but fuck, the way he hits your body just like that is not something you have the ability nor the desire to protest.

He fills you and suddenly the whole world makes sense. He fills you and you’re not sure how you managed to endure the last week without him. Every thrust of his hips, every moan that falls from his perfect lips, every squeeze of his fingertips against your body is only further cause for you to become nearly addicted to it.

He watches you as your move in time with each other, as your breasts bounce to the rhythm you’ve set for each other. He grounds his weight into one broad palm, pushing himself up so that he’s sitting upright beneath your body. He lets you continue to ride him while he fucks you underneath your form, teeth grazing against the gentle curve of your chin.

It’s sudden, the way the tables have turned. And without much warning, they promptly turn back.

“So good,” he growls. “You gonna gimme another one? I know you have it in you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as you nod, a desperate little wail escaping your mouth. Joel’s chuckle quickly turns into a moan as your walls clench and flutter around the hard line of his cock. He fucks you through it anyway, maintaining the pace you’ve built together.

“Good girl,” he rumbles in praise. “That’s my good fuckin” girl.”

Joel says that, and it’s all over. Joel says that, and you tumble over the crest he’s forged for you. You come and he continues to fuck you through the aftershocks. You shatter and he kisses your temple and tells you to go a little longer and you do. You fucking do. You might follow Joel to the ends of the goddamn earth if he asked that of you.

His forehead braces against yours while he meets his own edge. Your name is a groan in the back of his throat when he comes and it just might be the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

He hisses as you slide off of him, your bodies sweaty and sticky and warm, and a part of you thinks he’s immediately going to leave. A part of you thinks he’s going to grab his clothes and his keys and tell you he’ll call you again soon and you fear he never will.

It’s a fucking shame, how quickly you pull yourself from the supposed afterglow.

Joel’s breathing is labored but he kisses you despite it, his hand coming up to run through your messy head of hair.

He holds you in your own bed. Your back is flush against his chest while he asks you questions about your life: how long have you lived in Austin? How long have you been a teacher? What’s your favorite book to teach? The softness of it causes your heart to squeeze while you share the answers with him.

You’re just about to reciprocate his questions with some of your own before a ringtone sounds, but this one doesn’t belong to your phone.

“Sorry,” Joel apologizes as he releases his hold on you, sliding out of bed. He pulls on his jeans, grabbing his phone from his back pocket before he takes the call.

You sit up, listening to one end of the conversation, and surmise it’s Joel’s daughter. His tone is gentle, reassuring, and it only furthers the pleasant ache in your chest. Until this point, you’ve only heard anecdotes of Joel’s adventures in fatherhood but never witnessed him engage in it.

He ends the call with a brief see you soon, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Was that your daughter?” You ask, sitting up.

“Yeah,” he says, swiping his shirt off your bedroom floor. “She was supposed to be stayin’ over a friend’s house, but they got in a fight and she asked me to pick her up. I don’t ask questions, I don’t have the brains to figure out…girl drama, but I gotta go.”

“Of course,” you say, and you’re not at all taken aback at his sudden leave. No, if Joel needs to get his daughter, that’s obviously paramount to pillow talk. There are no questions as he pulls on his boots and you pull your top overhead and your jeans over your legs.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes at your door. You shake your head and dismiss it immediately.

“Don’t apologize,” you assure him. “Please. Go get her.”

He kisses your cheek and gives your hand a little squeeze, and you revel in how it completely eclipses the size of your own.

“I’ll call you soon,” he tells you before he leaves.

Your apartment is quiet without him. You know you’ll replay the night in your head before you fall asleep, but before you do, you decide to prepare your apartment for a productive Saturday morning.

You prepare a pot of coffee, programming the machine to start brewing promptly at eight o’clock the next day. You toss the remaining wine from your glass and drain Joel’s beer down the sink, dumping the empty bottle into your recycling bin. You take your stack of essays from your tote, leaving them neatly on your kitchen table alongside a case full of newly-purchased gel pens. You know the version of you who wakes up tomorrow will be grateful for the care and preparation you’ve taken right now, to ready yourself for a productive morning.

The first essay in your stack belongs to Sarah Miller.

#joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction

313 notes · View notes

winchesterwild78 · 9 months ago

Text

Chance Meeting pt 9

Part 8

18+ Minors DO NOT interact

This is my first ever fan fiction. I adore Jensen Ackles and have no hate towards his family. In this he’s single. I’m not sure exactly how to do this so any suggestions or feedback is appreciated. Please be kind and all mistakes are my own. All work is mine. Please don’t copy it.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, Jensen being a sweetheart

Chapter/ Trigger Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (cover it up y’all), fluff

A/N: I’m working hard on making sure the chapters get done quickly. I don’t want to leave you hanging for too long. If you have any suggestions please let me know. Reader is older-not trying to alienate anyone, but I wanted the reader close to Jensen’s age and with children. This will make more sense in later chapters. This chapter takes place on the road with our lovebirds. Not sure how many chapters are left. It’s just flowing. Enjoy 😁

———————————————————————

It was about 10 hours in to the drive to Texas and you were really getting tired of being in the car. There was a little over 10 hours left and you knew an overnight stay was in your future. Jensen had been driving since you two left your apartment. He had stopped a few times to stretch, eat, get gas or whatever y’all needed. You looked over at him and could tell the drive was wearing on him too. “Babe, how about we find a nice hotel to stop at for the night. You’re exhausted and so am I.” You said touching his arm. Yawning he looked over at you and shook his head in agreement. You pulled out your phone and started looking in the area for a decent hotel. You eventually found one about 3 miles away. Jensen took the exit and pulled into the parking lot. You leaned over kissed his lips and said “I’ll go check us in. You sit tight.” He smiled and nodded.

You grabbed your bag and walked into the hotel. You were greeted by a middle aged woman with short black hair and glasses that rested on the tip of her nose. “Hey there, Welcome.” She said with a smile. You smiled back and said “hello, I’d like a room for the night please.” “Sure thing sweetie. How many and do you have any pets?” She asked as she started typing in her computer. “Just 2 adults, and no pets.” You answered handing her your ID and credit card. “Here are your room keys, you’re in room 223. If you need anything else just let me know.” She smiled at you. “Thank you so much and I will.” You said as you walked back outside.

Outside you saw Jensen standing against the car with his arms crossed in front of his chest. How was it possible for him to look even more beautiful in the glow of the setting sun. It wasn’t fair how one person could look perfect at any moment. He smiled when he saw you and he started walking towards you. “All set?” He asked. “Yep, let’s grab our bags and head up to the room.” You said leaning in to grab your overnight bag. Jensen grabbed his and then took yours off your shoulder carrying it too. He had his ball cap on and his sunglasses hoping to get from the car to the room without being recognized. He loved his fans but he really was exhausted. You both walked in the hotel fingers intertwined. The clerk looked over at you two and smiled. You smiled back and Jensen tipped his head. Once you got on the elevator you heard Jensen let out a breath. “Almost there babe.” You said. He kissed you on your forehead and nodded. Once the elevator opened you found your room quickly. Jensen pushed open the door and held the door for you. Once in the room he locked the door and removed his cap and sunglasses. He set down your bags and sat on the bed. Jensen ran his hands through his hair and laid back on the bed. You kicked off your shoes and put them to the side. Then you bent down and took his shoes off.

You sat on the bed beside him and leaned over to talk to him. “Hey babe, let me order something for dinner while you jump in the shower and relax.” You said kissing his lips. “I want to wait for you to take that shower sweetheart.” He said while wiggling his eyebrows at you. You smirked and rolled your eyes. “Okay, if you say so stud. What do you want to eat?” You asked. “Pizza or a burger and fries is fine with me.” He said sitting up. You grabbed the room service menu and grabbed the phone. You placed your order, burger and fries for Jensen and chicken sandwich and fries for you. You also ordered him a beer and you some wine. “Okay, Jens they said about 20 minutes.” You said. Jensen nodded and switched on the television. He leaned up against the headboard and patted the bed next to him. You sat down beside him and snuggled close to him. He ran his fingers through your hair as you laid beside him with your head in his lap. You could drift off to sleep with him doing that.

About 20 minutes later someone knocked on the door. Jensen got up and answered it and brought the tray of food in. He thanked the person at the door and gave him a tip. Jensen sat down at the table and took the cloche off both plates. You sat down across from him and both of you started to eat your dinner. A comfortable silence fell over you two as you ate. Jensen opened his beer and said “thanks for ordering dinner for us, y/n.” “Of course babe, thank you for driving all day. I know you’re tired.” You said looking up from your food. “Yeah I am, but not too tired.” He said smiling at you. “Finish your dinner.” You said smirking at him.

Both of you finished off your food and you cleaned up the mess. Jensen walked over to his bag and grabbed his night clothes and his shower bag and went towards the bathroom. He stopped and looked at you “hey, you coming or what?” he asked stopping at the door. “You go ahead and get it warmed up. I’ll be there in a second.” You said smiling at him. He nodded and walked into the bathroom. You grabbed your clothes and bag then decided to text y/f/n to let them know you stopped for the night.

You: Hey girly just wanted to let you know we stopped for the night. We have about 10 hours left.

Y/f/n: Okay. I’m glad you’re safe. Love you and text me tomorrow. Xoxoxo

You: love you too and I will

You set your phone down and walked towards the bathroom. It was a big bathroom with a double vanity sink, the toilet off to the side in its own room and the huge shower with surrounding frosted glass walls was full of steam and your wet, hot boyfriend. You quickly start to remove your clothes and put them in a pile on the floor. “Room for one more in there?” You say seductively as you open the door and step in. As you step in you see Jensen is standing under the hot water facing you. Your eyes look him up and down and you bite your lower lip holding back the moan escaping from your mouth. Jensen looks at you and smiles pulling you closer to him. He places his lips on yours and licks your bottom lip asking for permission to enter your mouth. You open your mouth giving him access and he deepens the kiss. As he’s kissing you he grabs your head and puts his hand in your hair pulling you closer. His other hand roaming your body. His hand brushes against your breast and your breath hitches. The kiss is full of desire and need. His hand travels down your body and stops at your dripping pussy. You spread your legs slightly and he moves his hand in between your folds. “Mm so wet baby girl, is all this for me.” He asks as he hooks a finger inside you. You let out a moan while throwing your head back. Jensen continues to push his digits in you and using his calloused thumb to rub your aching clit. You were moaning his name as his fingers moved faster. Working your body chasing your release. The hot water running down your bodies and steam circling around filling the room with a haze. You felt a familiar sensation in your stomach. Kissing Jensen deeply and rocking your hips into his hand. “I’m gonna cum, Jens” you said through breaths. He leans in to your ear and whispers with a growl “cum for me sweetheart.” You felt your walls clench around his thick digits and his pumping get faster helping your release. Your moans were loud and you were sure the people in the other rooms heard you. You didn’t care. All you cared about was this man and how he knew how to work your body. Your legs started to shake as you were coming down from your release. Jensen’s cock was rock hard and waiting for you. You instinctively licked your lips and dropped down to your knees. You looked up into his lust filled green eyes and took every inch of his cock in your mouth. He moaned and growled as his cock slipped down your throat. You pulled back, licking up every inch of his shaft. When you pulled off you let your mouth pop on his dripping head. He growled and grabbed your head. You looked up at him and nodded. He grabbed your head and fucked your mouth. Curses, moans and praises escaped his mouth only turning you on more. He pulled you up and pushed you against the cold tile. His eyes were so lust filled you swear they were almost black. He kissed your lips and could taste the saltiness of his pre-cum. “Give me your leg baby girl.” He said as his grabbed your left thigh. He lifted it up and lined his hard cock to your dripping pussy. You’ve never been fucked like this in the shower. Usually you’re bent over and fucked until the guy cums. Jensen was different. He is an amazing lover and always makes sure you’re taken care of. He slides his cock in you with one swift thrust. Bottoming out as you gasped. You don’t think you’re ever going to get used to Jensen’s size. Not that you want to. He feels amazing and you can’t help but crave him. Jensen sets a good pace pumping in and out. His free hand is running over your body and his lips are connected with yours. The sound of the running water, wet flesh slapping against each other and moans fill the bathroom. As the water starts to get cold he puts your leg down helping you steady yourself and whispers in your ear “let’s take this to the bed”.

You both grab a towel throwing it around your body and doing a quick drying off. Your bodies are still wet as you fall on the bed. Jensen climbs on top of you and kisses your lips, down your neck and stopping at your breasts. Paying attention to both of them. His mouth on one and his hand on the other before he switches. He lines his still hard cock back up and pushes himself back into you. You gasp and arch your back up. He feels amazing and fits perfectly in you. Your hands are gripping his back and running up and through his hair. He starts thrusting faster chasing his release and you can feel your second one not far away. He feels it too and his thumb starts to rub your clit. You arch your back and push your hips into him. His pace gets sloppier and you grip the sheets as he grabs your hips harder. You feel your release and scream his name. As he feels your walls clench around his cock he chases his own release and ropes of hot cum cover your walls. His pace slows and he slowly pulls out of you. You feel the emptiness left by him and your wetness mixing with his hot cum as it slides out of you. Jensen lays beside you catching his breath and looking into your eyes. He sweeps a piece of hair out of your face and places a soft kiss on your lips.

He gets up and grabs a washcloth to clean you both up. He throws it to the side and snuggles close to you. You lay your head on his chest and run your hand up and down. You giggle a little. “What’s so funny, sweetheart?” He asks. “Um we never did take a shower, we got wet but never did get clean.” You said while laughing. He looked down at you and laughed “I guess you’re right. We’ll have to take another one later” “Oh no, Jensen. We will shower alone next time.” You said playfully hitting his chest. He smirks and says “we’ll see.”

You both laid in the bed for a little while longer. You were too content to get up but you really wanted a shower with actual soap and shampoo this time. You leaned up kissing Jensen’s lips. “Going to take a quick shower babe.” You said getting up. He leaned up and wiggled his eyebrows. “Stop that, you’re insatiable” you said smiling. He groaned and chuckled laying back down. You grabbed your clean clothes and went into the bathroom. You had just rinsed your hair and body when you heard Jensen knock. “Is it safe to come in sweetheart?” He asked. “Yep, just finishing up.” You said as you turned off the water. You stepped out of the shower grabbing a towel and wrapping it around you. Jensen looked at you and bit his lower lip. You smiled and walked over to him kissing his lips. “Take a shower babe, it’s been a long day and we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” He kissed your forehead and started to strip. You stood at the door for a minute staring at him. A smile on your face as you thought about how lucky you were. You walked out of the bathroom closing the door.

You climbed in the bed and snuggled down into the blanket once you got dressed. Jensen came out of the bathroom with jogging pants on and no shirt. His hair was dripping from the shower. You saw water trickle down his chest and your breath hitched. “See something you like sweetheart?” He said smirking at you as he climbed into the bed. “Oh yes, I see my sexy boyfriend who I love so much.” You said trying not to bite your lip knowing it turns him on. He chuckles, leans over you and kisses you. “I love you too, let’s get some sleep.” He said while pulling you close. “I love you so much, Jensen.” You said as you snuggled into his arms. You let out a soft sigh and a few minutes later you were drifting off to sleep in the arms of the man you love.

#jensen ackles x plus size reader #chance meeting #supernatural convention #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles #hes gorgeous

29 notes · View notes

starrixle · 9 months ago

Text

my final thoughts on sootcest

ok, so officially im gonna close off my thoughts here. ive received a good amount of feedback so this will be the last thing ill say abt my thoughts on glitterduo/sootcest:

i am indifferent on selfcest shipping. idk if its proship or not, but i will remain distanced either way, for my own and other people's comfort with me and my content

i still enjoy bursonas and i will still keep drawing them and be present in the fandom, but i will not be involved in anything relating to shipping

any glitterduo art i post will be strictly platonic, same for any of the other bursonas

i do not hate or support sootcest, nor will i attack anyone who ships it. i do not care what your opinion is, i won't hate you for shipping bursonas together. just do not involve me in it

it is not my or anyone else's place to speak on wilbur's boundaries, only himself

as for my own boundaries:

do not involve me in discourse relating to sootcest (or selfcest altogether). i dont want to be associated

do not repost my old romantic glitterduo art. i cant force everyone, but id appreciate if any reblogs relating to my older art were deleted

if you disagree with anything i say, it is not worth any more of my time or energy to argue back, and it is not worth yours either

please stop messaging me about sootcest!!! i will leave my inbox open but i will close it if i continue to get messages about it

i haven't given myself much of a chance to step back and realize how much getting involved and constantly feeling the need to post lengthy texts towards by thoughts has taken so much energy out of me. i do regret having an aggresive tone in my past impulsively made posts, which is why ive deleted a lot of them. but from now on, i wish to just remain as an artist that just likes drawing silly little wilbur personas. shipping bursonas shouldn't be a big deal to me. i have made my own mistakes throughout this whole thing, but i at least wanna close things off here.

i know my old glitterduo art has brought enjoyment/comfort to many people, but it has also brought discomfort for others including myself. i know im not gonna be able to please everyone and people will have their disagreements towards me no matter what.

but for the sake of my own comfort, im stepping away from this subject. i have no ill feelings towards anyone who has communicated with me about this topic, and i thank everyone who has been civil towards me and given me advice.

im moving on.

#important

27 notes · View notes

moonsaver · 9 months ago

Note

Hi ! This may be late but i saw your posts asking for opinions on your writing. First, I think its best when a writer concentrates on writing for the characters they love the most at the moment (Sunday in this case). When writers write for a lot of characters, I tend to see that the content for the characters they dont like becomes repetitive and it doesnt have as much passion as a piece made for a character they love. Readers can tell when the writer doesnt really care for a character and personally Id rather find another writer to read content on that character. Im just saying you dont need to force yourself to write for more characters you dont know much about /arent interested in.

Second, I love your writing ! I like that you dont tend to stray from the main point with unnecessary dialogue and prose. Also I like that they are scenarios that leave a lot to the imagination (I always end up daydreaming of what could happen next, or what happened before, which is fun for me). In summary, i feel like your writing is easy to digest and takes a new angle on the character (no unnecessary violence that is out of character).

I cant criticise anything since im not knowledgeable on writing and grammar so i can only give my opinion on what i do like as a reader. Hopefully i didnt say anything hurtful ):

Hello, anon!

Let me first say you didn't say anything hurtful, haha. You were very kind and honest with your answer I believe, and even if you did say so, i wouldn't really mind, since the opinion poll was kind of open ended and i did mention taking criticism. Thank you for the feedback! I really appreciate you taking the time to write this entire paragraph out and submitting it, and being very polite with it aswell. Please don't hesitate to add in some criticism, even if you don't have experience with writing yourself. It's just something id like to know from your stance as a reader. Im completely open to any and all feedback regardless of your experience, so don't feel obligated to hold back. Thank you once again for the feedback!

#moonink

8 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 16 days ago

Text

Just the Two of Us: Starry Night

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: Steve stops by unexpectedly.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your phone buzzes again. You’ve been ignoring it. To you, it’s more a nuisance than a convenience. The only people calling want to sell you something and your work only emails. You get your assignments and you complete them. Simple as.

You prefer simplicity. You’ve lived in chaos before and you hope you never do so again. Ironic to think you came to New York, then. Well, it’s easy to blend in there.

You finally pull your eye away from the lens and check the screen. You hover your finger over dismiss before you read the ID. Steve? You tap ‘answer’.

“Hey?” You utter, “what’s going on? It’s late?”

“Ah, you know, bored,” he answers.

“You’re bored so you’re calling me at nine?” You scoff.

“What? Are you surprised the old man stays up past six?” He chuckles. The background noise is a garble of passing cars and a few honks. It all seems to echo dully.

“No, I’m just...”

“Busy?” He intones.

“No. Just didn’t expect you to call.”

“Ah, were you about to turn in? Bit early,” he turns the judgement on you.

“I wish. Kinda restless.” You admit. “Wait, I thought you were out of town.”

“Yeah, I just got back. Hey, do me a favour and tell me which one of these buildings is yours.” He says.

You hesitate. Huh? Your silence leaves the line to drone. He says your name.

“Where are you?” You ask.

“I don’t know, that’s the problem.”

“Aren’t you from New York?” You challenge.

He sighs, “okay, let’s rephrase. I don’t know where you are.”

Once more, you pause. You’re not exactly prepared for company. In fact, you’ve never let anyone else into your tiny apartment. On top of that, you’re huddled under a blanket on your balcony, in a pair of old sweats and an oversized cotton tee.

“You’re coming here?”

“Sure. Ah, come on, I’m wandering around. I’m starting to get looks from the creeps like I’m one of them,” he quips.

“Alright,” you murmur and recite your address. “Buzz up. Code is 1147.”

“Right, think I can handle that.” You hear scuffling on his end. “See ya soon.”

The call cuts and you lower the phone. Steve is cool. Well, he is a hero. An Avenger. You don’t really get why he still hangs around. You’re lame. You’re just you. Yet here he is stopping by like an old friend from college. It’s strange, as you think of it, how abruptly he just barged in on your night, but he is the Cap, so what’s the big deal?

You should be grateful. It’s been a while since you had a friend. Since you even had the choice to have one.

You stand, careful not to knock into the telescope, and pull the blanket around your shoulders. You step into your apartment, brisk from the night air, and look around. You don’t have much, but enough.

You clear off the futon and fold it up into a couch. The squeal of the metal hurts your ears and is capped off by the buzzer’s horrid drone. You go to answer, peering around your bachelor in dread. Why didn’t you think of it before? This place isn’t fit for Steve Rogers.

“I’m here,” Steve chimes through the static.

“Uh, yeah, er, are you sure—we could go somewhere?” You offer, even if you’re not in the mind to leave.

“Nah, can I come up? Everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” you assure him, “one sec.”

You press the other button and your stomach flips. Great. That’s it then. He’ll see how you live and realise he’s too good for you.

You wait by the door and peer through the peep hole. When you hear his footsteps from down the hall, you flip back the lock and look out around the wood. You wave to him as he approaches.

“Oh my god,” you can’t help but exclaim he reaches you. He has a gash across his hairline. “What happened to you?”

He frowns then reaches up to try to tug his hair over the cut. “It’s fine. It’ll be all healed up by the morning.”

“The morning? That’s a nasty one.”

“Yeah, well, the serum...”

“Right, right,” you roll your eyes at yourself. How can you forget?

“Well, you look cozy,” he smiles and gestures to you.

You look down at the fringed edge of the blanket hugged around you.

“Yeah, I was just outside.”

“Really? In this weather?” He wonders.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “I guess you wanna come in then.”

“Ideally, yeah,” he snorts.

“Okay, but uh, like, it’s pretty small so...”

“Oh, don’t even worry about it. I’m used to small things. I was around in the 30s, you know? I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” he chuckles. “Besides, anything’s better than a foxhole.”

You step back and nod. You never really forget who he is but you don’t always consider everything he’s done. Everything he’s been through. It makes you feel a little less cursed yourself.

He steps inside and looks around. You see the twitch in his brow but nothing else. No reaction, but you’re certain he’s judging.

“I told you--”

“What were you doing outside?” He bowls over your embarrassment.

“Um, looking at the stars.”

“You can see them in this stuff,” he squints.

“I have a telescope,” you close the door and he bends to untie his boots.

“Really? So, it’s like a big thing for you. All professional and stuff.”

“I just like to look,” you shrug.

“That’s... cute. Interesting. Probably see more outside the city though,” he muses.

“Probably,” you agree. “So, I don’t have much else going on. You want a hot chocolate or something? I was about to make some.”

“Hot chocolate?” He echoes as he strides around the small space. “That sounds delicious.”

“Just the cheap stuff,” you counter.

“I don’t mind,” he turns his back to you and sits on the futon. It creaks perilously under his weight.

He doesn’t seem bothered as his head tilts and he seems to stare at the papers stuck to your wall to form a haphazard star map. You cringe. You’re an uber nerd sometimes. He must think so.

“You did that?” He asks as you dip around to the small kitchen, penned in with only a counter.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just... It’s not very accurate I’m sure...” You mutter.

“Still pretty interesting,” he leans forward, his arms on his knees.

“I’m sure you’ve seen more interesting things,” you argue as you fill the kettle. “You don’t have to lie to me, Cap. Aren’t you supposed to be honest?”

“I’m not Abe Lincoln,” he chuckles. “I’m being honest though. I like to draw too.”

“It’s not really drawing.” You twist the stove knob as you put the kettle on the burner. “Just... making dots and lines.”

“I don’t know. It’s still artistic in a way,” he says.

“Alright,” you say doubtfully. “So, what has you so restless that you’re knocking down my door?”

You come out to the front room, not that it’s very separate from everything else, and step up next to the couch.

“Well, to be honest, my other friends are too busy for me these days. But also, I’m too busy for them. You’re more fun.”

“Oh, fun? Hot chocolate and stars,” you shake your head.

“Yes,” he insists as he looks up at you. “Can I see the telescope?”

He stands up and you lean back on your heel. He’s a lot bigger up close. You tend to steer clear of others. You’ve never been very comfortable with proximity.

“Uh, sure,” you back up, barely restraining your frantic nerves. “Sure, I’ll show you.”

You sweep around the back of the couch, the blanket flapping against your back and go to the balcony. You sense him behind you. You step out and hold the door before he can catch up. He emerges and you turn your focus to the scope. It’s easier when you have a distraction and you could go on for hours about all the cool features of the one thing you splurged on in the whole place.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #au #just the two of us #captain america #marvel #mcu #avengers

146 notes · View notes

hibiscusfairys · 1 year ago

Text

★ hello all!

im working on a new fic after i finish the draco one. sadly i believe part 5 will most likely be the last part, however i will present you all with a happy ending as promised since i am not cruel ♡

the next fic will be about platonic soulmates and all of that, also a little bit of a romance with george weasley sprinkled in if i can, but mainly focuses on friendships and everything. id like to make this appear in more depth and it will be written in first person! as usual, a name will not be mentioned for the mc nor will the use of y/n, so i can kind of leave you to the imagination!! i prefer not to use y/n while i write, im not sure why, though.. but it is marinating in my drafts at the moment

however, i am very looking forward to showing you it after part 5’s release!! also if you have any feedback please do let me know as it helps me improve and if you have any requests for oneshots youd like me to write id happily do so (as long as it involves no nsfw themes)

thank you all so much again for the support by the way, i had no idea this would gain so much traction and im very very happy you all appreciate what i write, it has definitely motivated me so much more and im very excited to write more for you ….☆

part 1 of unrequited love (draco malfoy) is here

#harry potter #harry potter fic #draco x reader #draco malfoy x muggleborn #draco malfoy

5 notes · View notes

saetoru · 2 years ago

Note

hi! im so incredibly sorry to bother you but i think you may have blocked one of my other blogs and i was wondering if i could ask why?

please don’t feel pressured to answer whatsoever and definitely feel free to ignore this, i really don’t want to trouble you in any way. i just wanted to know if i did anything wrong or something to offend you?

i really try my hardest to stay neutral and friendly as well as respecting and following everyone else’s blog rules so i’d really appreciate any feedback or insight if you’re happy to give it. whatever i did, once again, im so incredibly sorry to bother you, i don’t mean any harm at all, ever. if i did something to offend you, it was never intentional, all i really try to do on tumblr is rb pictures of cats most of the time anyways.

please don’t take this the wrong way, it just makes me super anxious that i might’ve done something to someone that may have hurt them or made them uncomfortable. i really loved your writing and your blog and i can’t apologise enough if i messed up or anything. of course, i totally understand that sometimes people just choose to block people for their own reasons and i respect that no matter what. i’m incredibly sorry if i encroached on your boundaries in any way, i just really held your writing close to my heart and it saddens me that i can’t view it anymore. but that isn’t your fault whatsoever. i respect you so much as a writer and a person and i just wanted to say that i’m really sorry if i did anything. i’m sorry tee.

okay bestie i can’t rly tell unless u share ur url tho 😭 but honestly sometimes ppl leave comments or tags that make me feel weird / annoy me — i’m human and sometimes i block over petty reasons (i’m working on it fjsjfj) but overall i like to think i block with decent cause so unless ur ageless, you’ve probably said something to slightly (or perhaps highly) irritate me or you may have spam liked ?? idrk unless i see ur url tbh. i mean if u send me ur url i won’t post it and if i can’t recall why ur blocked i might as well unblock (as long as ur age is present)

anyway if i block u i’m not saying everyone should come swarm me with “can i ask why” bc that would be annoying but sometimes writers are human and sometimes we block for dumb reasons and if you think perhaps you haven’t rly done anything worth blocking besides maybe me taking out a bad mood on a slightly accidentally annoying thing u did, i might just unblock if ur url doesn’t ring a bell in my mind for something memorably obnoxious. especially if u think it’s bc u didn’t have an age in ur bio before—some of u don’t know to do that till after and i get that !!—im happy to unblock if you’ve since then added an age. but again this isn’t an open invitation for all blocked blogs (id assume ur lurking if ur blocked and reading this LMAO) to come ask me why or for an unblock but sometimes if u rly believe you’ve been blocked by mistake or for a petty reason i’m willing to check is all i’ll say

anyway yeah if u see this send ur url—be mindful of any comments or tags u leave, sometimes u might be unintentionally a bit rude and that could be a big reason why !! also don’t spam like i rly rly hate that

edit: i appreciate the kind comments about my writing NFJSJF i thought i’d add that in bc ofc sharing writing is the main reason im here and hearing u enjoy it and such is nice to know. thank u for reading and thinking highly of it that’s rly sweet <3

#asks!#i haven’t rly blocked anyone lately unless they’re ageless or minors recently #other than that #i think there’s been like 2 ?? ppl in the last few days and it was over slightly rude comments under the posts / tags #if you’ve left any comments / tags that u recall #it may have been over those #in that case i am willing to lyk why i didn’t appreciate them and unblock #just bc idk i think i’ve been a bit pissy the last few days LMAO

1 note · View note

crystaldivination · 1 year ago

Note

hey, how are u? i would love to participate in your moodboard game :) if possible, id like it to be for my future spouse with the pronouns she/her!

your account’s vibe is mythical and ethereal. it’s super organized and SO aesthetic. if your account had a smell it would be a mix of vanilla and citrus. some posts also give off elegant princess vibes (the gif i added reminds me of your account). i love how your pacs always match the colors of the pictures to the colors of the text. you give off perfectionist vibes and if i had to guess, you seem to be a very clean and put together person. i literally love your account so much im obsessed HAHA <3

my initials are HJM (she/her) and im a pisces sun, cancer rising, and cancer moon. tysm i really appreciate the time and energy u put into this :))

HI LOVE, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR PARTICIPATING 🧡

I’m good, hbu? Refreshed and elegant. Love it! I’m pretty much a perfectionist and don’t like messy things so you’re right about that and thank you so much for liking my blog. I appreciate it!

HERE'S YOUR MOODBOARD:

I HOPE YOU'LL LIKE IT. PLEASE LEAVE A FEEDBACK IN MY ASK BOX!

Book your personal reading now!

#crystaldivination #❦ Crystal answered #moodboard game #game 002 #relationship with your future spouse/partner #wishingful #free readings #intuitive readings #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #free tarot readings #free intuitive readings

0 notes

songbirdstyles · 5 years ago

Text

when i kissed the teacher.

summary: the one man you want more than anything is the one man you can’t have - your english professor.

warnings: teacher/student relationship, age gap (implied), f receiving oral, whole lotta smut, whole lotta feelings, whole lotta angst

word count: 14.7k (strap in)

song inspo.: when i kissed the teacher - abba

There was something special about Professor Styles.

You knew it, and so did every other girl who took his class. Your less-than-appropriate feelings about him were shared and that should’ve made you feel better about having them - at least you weren’t as obvious as some of the other girls who obviously took a fancy to your English professor. You applauded their efforts, showing up to classes in short skirts and low cut tops in the hopes that they’d catch his eyes drifting down to their chests while he passed out your essays -

But they hadn’t had any luck yet. He was a very respectable man, and more than his looks, that was what you appreciated about him. He was passionate about English, with a curriculum that appealed to you from the very first day and essay topics that forced you to look deeper into every book that the class read. He was one of the youngest professors on campus and you could tell something about that seemed to motivate him - to not be seen as a joke by the older professors, to be taken seriously by the students, some of which weren't much younger than him.

You decided, after your very first class with him, that, in any other universe, you’d have fallen in love with him. Or perhaps tried to jump his bones immediately.

Something of that sort.

As classes progressed you found yourself only liking him more. His classes were as difficult as you’d anticipated and you should have hated it, hated how much work and effort you had to put into every assignment but you absolutely adored it. You loved doing his essays, loved the novels he picked, loved the look on his face when he handed back your assignments with a 100% scribbled on top.

Most of your assignments, at least.

It didn’t really make sense to you, why your 1984 analysis should have gotten a 71%. Truthfully, you’d felt confident while writing it - it was such an easy analysis that you’d decided to go a little deeper, spending more time on it than was necessary, because you were sure he’d be tired of reading the same essay from everybody over and over again. So you gave him something different and maybe you should have stuck to analyzing the same themes that everyone else did.

“If any of you are confused about your grade,” Professor Styles announces to the class when everyone has gotten their essays back, time left in class slowly ticking down, “please feel free to see me after class. M’happy to discuss any concerns with you.”

Perhaps you’re being paranoid, but you could’ve sworn you felt his eyes land on you.

Class ends within a few minutes and you take your time packing your things back into your bag, waiting until the last kid has trickled from the lecture hall before swinging your bag over your shoulder and making your way down to his office. The door is cracked open and he’s barely sat down at his desk when you knock, flashing him a smile before pushing the door open a bit more.

You clear your throat before saying, “Hey, um, sorry to bother you - ” he interrupts you, telling you that it’s no bother at all “ - I’m just kind of confused on why I did badly on this essay.”

He nods, motioning for you to come in, and you step inside before shutting the door behind you. His office is small and cramped, with bookshelves lining the walls and a couch pressed into the corner. It’s a good vibe, you have to admit, although slightly messy. Perhaps you’d describe it as cozy, and it seems to fit him well.

There’s an empty seat in front of his desk and you sit down in it awkwardly, placing your essay in front of him. His eyes skim the first page before he tells you, “You usually do really well on essays, and this was … a really easy one.”

“I know,” you tell him, leaning forward to try and read what he’s reading. “I just thought you might be looking for something more complex. It seemed too simple.” When you look up, he’s staring at you, and you feel heat flood to your cheeks. “I don’t - I don’t know.”

“It really is that simple, I promise,” Professor Styles informs you, and he pushes your essay back to you. “But you’re one of my best students, and I don’t want to let this bring down your grade. So, I have an idea for how you can make it up.”

Your mind runs through all the ways you’d want to make it up to him - most of them involve you being on your knees, and you cough into your elbow. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling embarrassed about it. Fantasizing about your professor from across the lecture hall is one thing, but you’re barely a foot apart from him now and you’re almost nervous he can hear your thoughts.

“I’ll do anything.” And you don’t care about the ways he could interpret it. He drums his fingers on his desk, and when you look down at his hand, you notice with a start that his nails are painted - you’d never seen that before, but you’d also never been this close to him, you suppose. You wonder if he gets them done or if he does them himself - you can’t picture him going to a salon, and the thought of him painting his own nails could make you cum on its own.

You don’t realize he’s been speaking until you zone back in, and when you look back up at him, he furrows his brows at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You shake your head. “Just - um - could you repeat that?” His eyes linger on you for just a beat too long, and your face flushes again. “So distracted,” he murmurs in a faux chastising tone, and your stomach flips. “What I said was that I’m willing to put this essay in as a 97 - your average for the class - if you would help me with grading some things. Not too heavy, maybe an hour or two after class. I’ve been falling behind with a lot of my classes and I’ve been looking for help, anyway, so it works out for both of us.”

Jesus Christ. Spending an extra hour every day with Professor Styles sounds like a recipe for disaster, and yet it also sounds completely perfect at the same time, and you’re nodding before you can fully process the pros and cons of the situation. “That sounds great. I mean, really - thank you so much.”

“S’my pleasure,” he informs you, giving you a large, dimpled smile. “So, after class, tomorrow - when I’m caught up and don’t need your help anymore, you’re off the hook.”

“Got it.” you stand, grabbing your essay and your bag and making your way towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoes, and the last thing you see before you shut the door is him, bringing his hand up to wave you off.

---

When class concludes the next day you maintain the same habit as you did the day prior - watching every student trickle out the door before swinging your bag over your shoulders, grabbing the two cups of tea that you’d made before class and making your way down to the front of the lecture hall.

Professor Styles stands in the doorway of his office, holding the door open for you - you make your way inside with a tight, only slightly awkward smile. His eyes roll over the two cups that you’re holding and he asks, with a mildly amused inflection in his voice, “I guess you like tea quite a bit, then?”

You smile, looking down at your cups, and when he shuts the door you hold one out to him. “I do like it a lot, but this one’s for you. You know, to say thank you for giving me a freebie, and also because you look like the kind of guy who loves tea.”

He laughs and your grin widens at the noise - god, it’s like music to your ears, and you would do anything to keep hearing it from him. He reaches out to take the cup from you and brings it up to his mouth, taking a small sip - when he’s done his tongue pokes out to lap up a bit of tea from his lip, and you try to ignore how much the minuscule motion affects you. “This is perfect, Y/N. Just the way I like it. You’re an angel.” Your cheeks heat up, and then he says, “But you don’t need to thank me. I’m probably gaining more from this arrangement than you are, truthfully. People are starting to get annoyed with how I’ve been falling behind grading, which is where you come in.”

Yes, you’d heard the girls next to you whispering about how bothersome it was that they’d submitted three essays in the past month and had only gotten one back. Why does he give out so much work if he’s never gonna hand it back?

It didn’t bother you too much.

“Well - alright, then. You’re welcome for helping you grade,” you tell him, pulling out the chair in front of his desk and settling in, dropping your bag beside you. You take another brief moment to glance around his office, as though expecting something to change, but it’s the same distinctly messy, cramped office that it had been yesterday. At some point, you should tell him that he ought to clean out his space, but that’s not what you’re here for - yet.

Professor Styles nods, making his way to the other side of his desk and plopping down in his spinning chair - it was quite nice, and made you wonder why the one you sat in seemed to be falling apart at the seams. But, then, you supposed teacher salary didn’t leave room for spectacular seating. “See, that’s the spirit.” All at once, the casual discussion between the pair of you died as he dug in the drawers of his desk for something - and then he plopped a large stack of papers on the table between you both. “This isn’t all of them - not even close. You’re very smart, so this should be pretty easy for you. Just read through them, add any notes, things they need to work on, and look at the rubric for a final grade.”

You nod, picking the first essay off the top of the pile and reaching for a pen from the cup on his desk - it’s a coffee mug with the Rumours by Fleetwood Mac album cover on it, and you take a moment to marvel at it briefly. “You like Fleetwood?” you question, voice seeming unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet of his office. “Didn’t strike me as that kind of guy.”

He looks up, then, from where he’d already begun scribbling bright red notes into the margin of someone’s essay. His eyes trail down to the mug full of pens, and then back up to meet yours. “You seem to make a lot of assumptions about the kind of guy I am. What’s that all about?”

“Nothing,” you assure him, your voice faux sweet and innocent, and he smiles slightly. “But I’m glad you have an appreciation for really good music. I was worried your music taste would be terrible, and then I’d have to live with the knowledge that Professor Styles exclusively listens to Justin Bieber.”

Your professor rolls his eyes, smile tugging at his lips. “You know,” he begins, “you don’t have to call me Professor Styles. Not outside of class, at least. It sounds weird when it’s just the pair of us here.”

“Oh.” You pause. “What should I call you, then?”

“Harry’s fine.”

Harry Styles. The name flows easily off the tongue as you test it out in a teasing tone, your eyes meeting his as you do, and your cheeks flush. You don’t know if it's commonplace for professors to allow random students to drop formalities and call them by their first names but you’ll accept it anyway - all you know is that, when you go home tonight, the thought of calling him Harry will fill your mind until you can’t stand it anymore.

Harry as he buries his face between your thighs.

Harry as he pounds you into the mattress.

Harry as he bends you over his desk - this desk - the one you’re sitting at right now.

You cough into your arm and pick up your pen, pressing your thighs together to try and alleviate the throbbing that’s now affecting your body. You should’ve known not to let your mind wander because you’ve barely been here for 15 minutes and you already feel like you need to go rub one out in the bathroom. But you pause - take a sip of your tea, though it’s nearly gone from drinking it so much in class - and get to work grading Brianna Valeria’s essay on Death Comes to the Archbishop. The rubric sits on the desk next to you and you bury yourself in your work - if Harry notices the sudden silence that’s overtaken you, he doesn’t mention it.

For the rest of the hour, the pair of you work in silence. It’s comforting and surprisingly not awkward, and occasionally you ask his opinion on something one of his students wrote in their essays, but the playful banter you’d had before has dissipated. You’ve finished your tea and you suspect he has, as well, with the way he’s been feverishly drinking it.

“Oh,” he says, suddenly, and you glance up from where you’re in the middle of scribbling red notes into the margins of Alexander Simmons’ essay. “You should probably get going.”

One quick glance down at your phone proves that he’s right, and you rise from the extremely uncomfortable seat you’ve been perched in for the hour - you can practically hear your butt crying in relief. “Thank you so much for the tea,” Harry tells you, handing back his cup, and it’s empty, like you expected. “And - um. You don’t have to call me Harry if it makes you uncomfortable. Just thought it would be less formal, but if you don’t want to, it’s fine.”

Ah. He took your silence as you being uncomfortable calling him Harry. Well, it’s better than him knowing just how wet the sentiment made you, but you shake your head immediately. “No. No, I prefer calling you Harry. You’re right - it’s weird when it’s just us.”

He grins at you, then, standing up from his seat and stretching his arms over his head. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“You know, if I’m calling you Harry now, I think you should drop formalities too. Make it equal.”

“Okay … Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Harry,” you tell him, turning and walking out of his office with your phone in your pocket and two cups in your hands, blissfully unaware of your abandoned bag still sitting next to the terribly uncomfortable chair you’d been all too quick to leave.

It’s only when you’ve finished the trek back to your dorm, the sun beginning to lower down into the horizon, that the absence of your bag on your shoulder becomes prominent.

You can’t get into your building without your key and your key is in your bag and your bag is … back in Harry’s office, where you nearly made yourself cum just thinking about him. And the thought of having to go back across campus, back to his office, when he might not even be there, is not favorable, but you need your key and you need to bang out homework tonight, so with a soft groan you spin on your heel, walking away from the warm comfort of your building and making your way back to his.

As summer bled into fall and fall begins to bleed into winter, the weather has changed so drastically in just the past week or so that you tug your cardigan closer to your body, but the air that seeps through the holes in the crocheted sweater send goosebumps trailing up and down your body. The wind whips your face and brings tears to your eyes that run down your cheeks, and when you’re finally at the door of Harry’s building it’s a welcome surprise to walk inside, allowing the warmth to embrace you - even if the shock of the changing temperatures causes your eyes to water again.

His office is on the 2nd floor, so you pull open the door to the staircase and make your way up the two flights. Most professors have gone home for the day, classrooms dark as you speed past them to where you know his office is.

His office is dark and your heart sinks at the sight - there are a few posters pinned to the small window, but you can see the lack of light clear as day. Your hand grasps the doorknob anyway, turning it without any hope that it would open - but then it was, giving you access to his dark office, and by the seat you’d occupied later you can make out your bag.

A breath of relief escapes your throat as you take a step inside, reaching down to swing it over your shoulder before turning to leave. And then you hear it - a small breath, an indicator of someone else in the room, and you whip around to look back around at the office.

Oh.

Harry sits in his chair, face buried in his arms, fast asleep. His hair is messy and in front of him sits the stack of essays you’d been working at early, hardly any smaller than when you’d left. It would nearly be an adorable sight - your professor, passed out at his desk - but it just seems concerning, and without thinking you’ve leaned over the desk, placing your hand on his shoulder and shaking him slightly.

“Professor?” your voice is soft, barely audible, and you speak louder when you say, “Harry?”

He doesn’t respond, so you say, louder still, “Harry?”

Then he stirs slightly under your touch, and you drop your hand from his shoulder as he lifts his head from where it had been resting on his arms, looking up at you with messy eyebrows and a thoroughly confused expression on his face. “What - what are you doing here?” Jesus. His voice is deep and raspy, sounding as though he’d been sleeping for ages instead of merely less than an hour, and if his present state wasn’t slightly concerning to you, you know that you’d feel the effects of his words between your thighs. But you pause, staring down at him, before asking, “What are you still doing here?”

“Just working on some grading.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking around the darkened office with an air of distinct confusion.

“With all due respect, Harry,” you tell him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I think you’re burning yourself out. You should go home.”

He hesitates, and then questions, “Why are you here? I thought you left -”

“I forgot my bag,” and you hold it up to demonstrate it to him. “Are you going to go home? I’m serious - you need a break. And to sleep on a bed.”

“I’m fine,” Harry says, and he stands up from his chair. It moves back and hits the wall with a soft thud that goes unnoticed by both of you. “You should go home, too. I need to finish some stuff up. I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

To neither of your surprise, you don’t move from your spot standing before his desk. You cross your arms over your chest, digging your sneakered toe into the plush rug on the floor of his office - you hadn’t noticed it before, but it’s pale blue and bright against the mahogany floors. The brief silence between you two, daring either of you to speak, fills the confined space and all you can hear is the ticking of the clock behind you, and finally you say, “You’re not going to get anything done when you’re exhausted. I mean, you fell asleep on the essays. How are you going to explain why there’s drool on their assignments?”

He gives you a tight lipped smile in response, looking down at the essay he’d been working on as if to check that no saliva had landed on the words. “You caught me at a bad time. I don’t usually fall asleep on top of student essays, I promise - but you should be heading out now. It’s getting dark.”

It is getting dark, he’s right - the window behind his desk shows the darkness that newly falls over the campus. And the thought of walking home in the dark scares you just a bit, but you’ll suck it up if it gets him to go home too. “Harry.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll help you grade tomorrow. But you’re fucking yourself here -”

(Harry laughs at your choice of words internally, but it comes out as a small release of air and a soft grin.)

“ - so come on. Walk out with me so I can make sure you’re actually going home.”

Perhaps he’s realized he’s fighting a losing battle here, because finally he looks back down at the stack of ungraded essays with a small sigh and then says, “Fine.”

“Great.” Your grin widens across your face, and for a moment you make to hold out your hand to him, to drag him along like you would to any of your friends - but the second your hand raises you drop it down to your side, and heat burns your cheeks. He’s not one of your other friends, you tell yourself, stepping out of his office, hearing him walk behind you. And you can’t hold his hand, even as a joke.

“Where’s your dorm?” Harry asks you as he locks the door to his office and jiggles the handle to check it, and you jump at the chance to forget about what happened - you don’t want to dwell on it. “Is it far?”

“Across campus.” You raise your arm and point in the distinct direction of where your building is. “Closer to the cafeteria, I guess.”

“Christ, you have a trek, then, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” The pair of you make your way to the staircase, and from the corner of the eye you can see his head turning left and right down the hallway, as if scanning to see if there’s anyone coming - you can imagine it wouldn’t be great for him to be seen with a student long after classes ended. “I had to haul ass there and back to get my bag.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, not until you’ve left the warm building and made your way into the cold air, the sun now having retreated for the night, and immediately you wrap your sweater tighter around yourself to try and provide some semblance of warmth. Harry glances down at you with a bemused smile, and you hoist your bag further up your shoulder.

“Well,” you sigh, breath coming out in white puffs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Don’t burn yourself out, professor. And get a good night’s rest.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“Maybe.” You grin, feeling goosebumps sprout on your skin, and you shiver before turning in the direction of your dorm - the thought of walking home in the dark and cold doesn’t sound too great, but you’ve become good at dealing with it. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He doesn’t respond, and you’ve taken a few steps away when he calls out, “D’you want a ride?”

What?

“Y’know, like a ride back to your dorm. I can drop you off in the back - it’s just really cold and I’m sure you don’t want to walk so far in the dark.”

You turn back around to look at him, his cheeks a light shade of pink - whether from the cold or his offer, you can’t tell. And you’d love to jump in his car, accept his offer without a shadow of hesitation, but - “Is that allowed?”

Harry shrugs, and you know that’s code for absolutely not. “No one has to find out.”

(Your stomach drops, then.)

“Sure.” You take a few steps back towards him, and he spins on his heel, leading you to his car, and you walk in silence until you reach it. By the time you’re both safely in his car - his head turning every so often to check if there was anyone watching the pair of you - you’re shivering desperately, and you know you would have been positively miserable walking back to your dorm in these temperatures. “Thank you so much, Harry.”

“S’no problem, really.” His hand goes behind your seat as he turns to look behind him, and you hate the way the simple action makes you feel. “I’d rather know you get home safe than have you walk so far in the dark. Pretty girl like you, can never be too careful.”

You pause, cheek pressed against the cold window, and turn to look at him with a small smile. “Ooh, I’m a pretty girl now?”

“Wasn’t the point, Y/N,” Harry mutters, dropping his hand onto the center console, and if it were anyone else driving you like this, you’d rest your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers and pressing your palms together. But he’s your professor, as much as you’re beginning to wish he weren’t, so you slide your hands beneath your thighs. “Which building, again?”

“McKinley,” you respond, voice barely louder than the sound of the heat blasting into his car.

His car smells like eucalyptus and mint, and it’s surprisingly clean compared to his office - you wonder if his house is messy or clean, or a balanced mix, because you can’t quite catch a vibe for whether he’s organized or not. But, no - you’ll never see his house, surely. You can’t.

“I used to date a girl who lived at McKinley,” he tells you, and you exhale slowly. You can tell he’s merely trying to make conversation but the sentiment isn’t making your internal conflicts any easier to manage. “Real nice dorms.”

“They’re alright.” In fact, you’ve been at university for 3 years and resided in 3 different dormitories and they’re your least favourite, with furniture that’s too big for rooms that are too small and bathrooms that can hardly fit more than 5 people, but you don’t tell him that. “Not the greatest.”

“S’what she told me, too,” Harry says, and you smile down at your lap, but you can’t find anything else to respond to that, so you take to gazing out the window.

Within a few seconds he’s slowing down, and you can recognize the back entrance to your building. You reach down and pick your bag off the ground, digging through it to find your key.

When you have it clutched in your hand, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to look at him - to your surprise his eyes are already on you, and you swallow thickly. “Um - thanks for driving me.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

You hesitate a moment before turning and swinging open the car door. You hop out and, just before you can shut it, he says, “Y/N.” And when you duck your head back into his car, raising your eyebrows, he adds, “Please don’t tell anyone I drove you home. You’re right - s’not allowed.”

“Alright.” Then, before you can help yourself, you flash him a wide grin and say, “Thanks for letting me be the exception, then.”

With that, you shut the door of his car, bounding up to the door of your building, and you swear you can feel his gaze remaining on you before his car drives off, and when you turn back around, it’s gone.

(In the back of your mind, you’re entirely too aware of the fact that merely sitting in his car crossed some sort of line that you didn’t know existed until now, but you don’t really know how far past it you are - not yet.)

“I have a question.”

You look up from the rubric you’d been working at - the student whose essay you’re grading hadn’t done too well on it, but you were trying to give them the most points you could, anyway. Harry’s looking down at his essay like he hadn’t spoken, but when he feels your gaze on him, he continues. “Why did you care so much? Yesterday. Me grading more s’less work for you to do. I feel like you should be loving that shit.”

It’s a reasonable question but, for a moment, you struggle thinking of how to answer it without exposing yourself to him. Finally, you give him a grin and say, “Well, if you were sleep deprived, it would make you mean.” He chuckles softly, and you can tell that’s not the answer he wanted, and it couldn’t have been further from the truth. So you add, “I guess I’m used to being the mom friend. Making sure all of my friends get a good night’s sleep and whatever.”

Harry pauses. “So we’re friends, then.”

You shrug, trying to stop the smile from peeking through onto your face. Being friends with Harry sounds positively dreamy and if it could segue into something else - whichitcan’t - you’d be the happiest girl alive.

You nod. “Yeah, aren’t we.” But it isn’t a question, and you can see the way his eyes twinkle at your response.

After a moment, you shift in your entirely entirely entirely too bloody uncomfortable chair, the wood making your butt ache. “I have a question, now.”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you pick the most uncomfortable chair you possibly could for your guests to sit in?”

“Gets ‘em out of my office quicker.” Harry glances up and meets your glare with a laugh. “But I don’t want you to leave, so you can move to the couch, if you’d like.”

You hop out of the chair without a second’s hesitation, clutching your essay and your pen, flopping down on the couch and feeling your body weight sink into it. God, it’s so soft and your body relaxes into it, the relief of not being confined to the small, wooden chair so magnificent you could scream. Harry watches you with an amused grin, and says, “I feel like you’re being just a bit dramatic here.”

“Me? Dramatic? Never.” You sprawl yourself across the couch, head atop of the armrest, staring up at the white ceiling tiles above you. “I’m telling you, Harry, that chair is terrible. You should burn it.”

“So dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up slightly so you can rest your paper on your lap and still manage to scrawl semi-legible notes on this person’s piss poor essay. You wonder, briefly, if this is how Harry felt when he’d graded your 1984 essay, but - well - doesn’t matter now. And you’d fail that essay a thousand times over to get to this point, a point of companionship with your professor that you’re not sure any other student has felt with him before. At least, none that he’s told you about. It makes you feel special, and spectacular, and also the tiniest bit confused.

Why are you so special?

Maybe he’s lonely, or he’s merely entertaining your presence because you’re helping him grade, but you swear you can feel something more hidden within the lines of your relationship.

It doesn’t really matter, though, even if it is just a tad confusing.

“You should get going,” Harry tells you after another 15 minutes of you working at grading the essay. “You’ve been here for nearly two hours, bloody hell, wasn’t watching the time at all.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, though, in truth, you do have quite a bit of homework to work on later. “Don’t really have anything else to do.”

You sit up anyway, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch and stretching your arms above your head. Tiredness is beginning to affect you but you try not to let it.

“Well, in any case, you should be heading out now.” Harry nods his head towards the window behind him, the blinds pulled up so you can see the sun, nearly completely sunk below the horizon, the sky fading from reds and oranges to a dark shade of blue.

“What about you, professor?”

“What about me?” “You’re going home now too - right?”

He looks at you with a faux annoyed glare, but he can’t help the amusement from seeping through his features, and finally he breaks your stare with an exhale of breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever win this against you, will I?”

And you shake your head in response. “Never. So let’s go. Get your things.”

You take the next five minutes to gather all your stuff - resting the essay on top of his desk, sliding your phone and water bottle into your backpack, and zipping your bag shut - as Harry grabs his computer bag and his key. The two of you move surprisingly in sync with each other, sorting all of your stuff from around his small office, before making your way outside with him locking the door behind him.

It’s nearly completely dark, even colder than it had been the day prior. You reach behind you and pull the hood of your sweatshirt over your hair, protecting your ears, at least, from the chill.

You turn and face him, giving him a wide smile. The air is silent around you, surprisingly empty though the bitterness of the cold must be a contributing factor to that. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor. Make sure you get a good night’s rest -”

“Don’t want a ride?”

Your grin widens, and his eyes sparkle, even in the darkness, at your expression. “Well, of course I do, but it’s rude to invite myself into your car.”

“You’re not inviting yourself - I’m inviting you. Or, rather, demanding you. C’mon.”

Harry walks fast and you have to speed up your pace to keep up with him, though you suspect that has something to do with wanting to be free of any wandering eyes as quickly as possible. You recognize his car in the parking lot and bound ahead of him, standing by the passenger side door and wrapping your arms around yourself to try and warm yourself up, and for a moment his pace slows as he stares and looks at you. Standing by his car, holding an incredibly oversized hoodie tight to your body, a wide smile gracing your face.

“Staring is rude, professor,” you inform him as he shakes his head, unlocking his car and climbing into the driver’s seat. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

Your lilt is teasing but you can tell it makes him slightly defensive either way.

“S’hard not to sometimes,” Harry tells you, and you giggle softly.

“So first, I’m a pretty girl, and now I’m hard not to stare at?” You drop your head back against the headrest, blowing air softly out of your mouth as you reach to buckle your seatbelt. “Keep this up, Harry, and my ego’s gonna be too big to even fit in your car.”

Harry laughs at that, resting his hand on your seat to back out of his parking spot. The radio softly plays some pop song that had been overtaking the charts recently, and you hum softly to it before turning your head to look at him. You examine his side profile - perfect, like every other angle of him - as he pulls out of the parking lot, making a left out of it.

He turns to see you watching him, and you watch redness bloom over his cheeks. “Staring is rude, Y/N.”

You smile, about to parrot his previous words back at him - it’s hard not to - but you bite your tongue, gazing at the road in front of you. A light drizzle is beginning to fall, a barely audible pitterpatter on the windshield, and that’s the only noise, for a moment - that and the radio playing, like a thought in the back of your mind.

The drive to your dorm seems to be taking longer than it had been yesterday and you can’t imagine why, but you appreciate just sitting in the car with him. Even if you’re not saying much, listening to his even breathing calms you.

You want to break the silence, though it’s comfortable rather than awkward. You like talking to him, like hearing everything he has to say, but you have no idea what you can possibly tell him that wouldn’t seem forced and awkward. So you sit, curling your legs up to your chest as you stare at the streets, and entirely too soon, the back of the McKinley building becomes apparent.

You want to stay in his car forever. Want to stay with him forever.

“Thanks for the ride,” you tell him, your voice sounding uncomfortably loud in the soft car. He nods in response, but for a moment neither of you move. You can’t bring yourself to leave yet, even if you know you have to, that he might have someone waiting for him at home.

“Y/N.” You turn and look at him, your eyes meeting his with your brows furrowed. “Uh - if you ever want a ride home, or to class, you can just let me know. Text me.”

“I don’t have your number.”

Harry’s cheeks are bright pink and there’s too much tension in the car, so thick you feel like you could cut it with a knife, and you lean down, unzipping your bag and pulling your phone out.

He takes it from you once you unlock it, going into your contacts and you watch as he types his phone number in, adding the contact name as Harry S. and you think you’ll be changing that later. He leaves the contact photo blank, which you expected - if anyone saw the name Harry S. in your phone, the contact photo would give it away.

He hands your phone back to you when he’s done, and your fingers graze his when you take it. “Just text me, then. If you need a ride.”

“Alright.” you give him a smile, unbuckling your seatbelt and pushing open the car door. “Thank you, Harry. Really.”

“My pleasure,” he says, and you grab your bag, hooking your arm underneath the strap and racing up to the back entrance of your building. It’s only when you get inside, the door firmly shut behind you, that you turn around again, and his car is gone.

10:52 PM

Y/N: hey professor...it’s y/n. just wanna make sure u have my number saved in case of emergencies

Harry S.: How is it you can have the highest grade of any student in my class and use improper grammar while texting?

Y/N: it’s a talent i guess

Y/N: texting like you’re writing an essay makes ppl v uncomfortable, and i speak from personal experience

Harry S.: So you’re uncomfortable right now, then?

Y/N: nooo, ur different

Harry S.: To quote this girl I know, ‘thanks for letting me be the exception, then.’

Y/N: how did u remember that? that makes me uncomfortable

Harry S.: Haha.

Harry S.: You should be sleeping right now. Students need their full 8 hours, don’t they?

Y/N: so do professors, as i keep telling u, but…

Y/N: i had hw to do, also had to make mac n cheese for dinner

Harry S.: You can do your homework in my office, you know. And then you can probably make it to the refectory for dinner.

Y/N: the food at the refectory sucks

Harry S.: Yeah, you’re right.

Harry S.: But I do feel bad that staying to help me grade made you have to stay up until 11 doing homework.

Y/N: well honestly i’d rather be sitting in ur office talking to u than in my dorm doing american lit work

Harry S.: Why’s that?

Y/N: ig i like hanging out with u

Y/N: u should feel honored btw

Harry S.: Believe me, I do. And now you should get to bed so you’re not grumpy tomorrow morning.

Y/N: ig i deserved that… and i’ll only go to bed if u do too

Harry S.: I will.

Y/N: promise??

Harry S.: I promise.

Harry S.: Goodnight.

Y/N: goodnight, professor

After a week, your arrangement has changed slightly.

Every day, you spend just a bit more time in his office. Then he drives you home, in comfortable silence, and from the minute you step into your dorm, you’re fishing your phone out of your bag to text him. Every night that you lie awake, texting him until you physically can’t keep your eyes open, the line that you’ve been dipping your toe across falls back even more.

The stack of assignments that need to be graded are beginning to dwindle, and you hate it. Hate to see the pile of ungraded work getting smaller and smaller, because when it’s gone, you probably won’t step foot in his office again.

Truthfully, and as embarrassing as it may be, Harry has become one of your closest friends at school. He’s funny and nice, and he brought you hot chocolate with powder left unmixed at the bottom after you mentioned that’s how you used to like it when you were younger, and he plays music on his phone at a low volume while you work on grading.

Of course, as your friendship with Harry grows, so does the burning feelings for him that reside in the pit of your stomach day after day. And you know he doesn’t feel the same - he can’t - and maybe that’s painful for you, only slightly, but you’ve become rather talented at hiding those emotions. He can’t know that, everytime he laughs at one of your jokes, your heart swells - and everytime he reads a sentence from one of the essays out loud, using a mocking, deep voice, it makes your stomach flip.

You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so passionately about anyone, and that’s scary. Scary to think that the one man you want more than anyone else is the only person you can’t have.

“Y/N,” he says, and when you look up at him from your spot sprawled on the couch, he’s nibbling at the tip of his pen. “D’you think this makes sense?”

And he reads you a few lines written by one of his students - a name you recognize from being in your class, you think, but you’ve been paying attention less and less to other students during lectures. All you focus on is Harry, his booming voice projecting through the hall as he talks about the stories you’re reading, and every so often his eyes meet yours and the smile that spreads across his face could bring tears to your eyes, if you let it.

“Um - I guess. It’s worded kind of strangely, don’t you think? But I’d cut them some slack on it.” Harry nods and scribbles something in the margins of Nathalie Carron’s essay before flipping the page. “Can I put in a song request?”

He nods, then, picking up his phone from where it sits on his desk. The Chain plays softly, not too loud to interrupt your train of thought, but not too soft that you can’t hear it. “‘Course.”

“Heroes by David Bowie.” You glance back up at him, dropping Hannah Joseph’s essay on your stomach. “You like Bowie, right?”

“Who doesn’t, is the real question.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” You grin, glancing up at the white tiled ceiling as the song fills the hair, replacing Fleetwood. “You know, we should make a playlist for grading.”

Harry laughs. “A playlist of just Fleetwood and a dash of Bowie?”

“No, no. It can have other stuff, too. I mean, we know what we like.”

“Alright, alright.” He picks up his phone again, and you see his thumbs moving feverishly on the screen. “Y’know what, I’ll make it right now and show it to you for approval.”

“Make it good.” You pause, picking your essay up again. “No Justin Bieber.”

He snorts, and you relish in the noise.

The next ten minutes passes in mainly silence - when Heroes ends, Fleetwood continues, playing Secondhand News, and you hum to the tune. Harry’s ringer is on and you can hear it, the sound of the keyboard on his phone as he searches up song titles, and you rest the essay back on your stomach, writing messy notes with the pen you snatched from the mug on his desk again.

You sit up, suddenly, leaning over to rest Hannah’s fully graded essay on his desk, and instead of reaching for a new one to work on, you push yourself to your knees, resting your palms on his desk and attempting to lean over and peek at the playlist. But he anticipates that - he knows you’re nosy - and tilts his phone towards him, intercepting your attempts to eavesdrop.

“Don’t be impatient,” he murmurs, a smile tugging across his lips as he scrolls through something. “I’m almost done.”

You hum in response, dropping back down onto the couch, stretching your entire body across it, head resting on the armrest. The two of you settle back into a comfortable silence - he’s paused the music, by now - lasting only a moment or two before he stands up from his insanely comfortable chair, maneuvering his way around to the couch where you’re lying. He crouches down next to you, handing you his phone, opened to a Spotify playlist, and you greedily snatch the device from him, flicking through the songs.

Your eyes scan every song, absorbing every song title.

I Walk The Line by Johnny Cash - My Eyes Adored You by the Four Seasons - Your Song by Elton John?

Love songs. Every single one of them.

You push yourself up, sitting leaning against the armrest, as your eyes fall on the last song of the playlist - When I Kissed The Teacher by Abba. You lower his phone to your lap, looking at him with a slightly confused smile adorning your face.

He watches you intently, your heads a mere few inches apart, then reaches down to grab his phone off your lap, and you laugh lightly before saying, “it’s a lot of love songs.”

“They reminded me of you,” he tells you, voice quiet, testing the waters.

“They - they did?” It doesn’t make sense to you - doesn’t make sense that 45 love songs should bring you to the forefront of his mind, that every single time he hears Fooled Around And Fell In Love he should think of you.

They make you think of him, though.

And without thinking - of what you’re doing or of the consequences - you lean in, closing the short distance between your faces, pressing your lips against his so softly that it feels like it’s a mere breath on your mouth.

Harry pulls back, lips barely a centimeter from yours, exhaling softly. “We shouldn’t.”

You hum in agreement, already leaning back in. “No, we really shouldn’t.”

Your lips meet again and his hand goes to your face, cupping your jaw, and when he deepens the kiss you whimper into his mouth, bringing both of your hands to the back of his head. Your fingers bury themselves in his curls, tugging on the chocolate brown strands, and he groans softly into your mouth.

It’s everything you’d imagined and more, as the hand not on your cheek drops down to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. The angle is awkward - you sitting on the couch and him kneeling before it - so you unattach your lips, much to your dismay, and swing your legs around the edge of the couch so he’s situated between them. Harry’s eyes are wide, his hair mussed up, and you lean back in without a moment’s hesitation to resume the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, and he tastes like mint tea and fucking heaven.

Both of his hands go down to your waist, tugging you to the very edge of the couch so your bodies are as close as they can be, and yours go to the back of his neck, dipping underneath the collar of his button down shirt to scratch at his back. It feels muscular, more toned than you were expecting, and feeling the skin underneath your nails makes you moan into his mouth.

“Fuck -” you groan softly as he moves his lips down your chin and to your jaw, nibbling softly at your skin, as if experimenting to see what you like - your reaction prompts him to move further down, licking a stripe down your neck and to the base of your collarbone. One of his hands - very large hands - slide up to cup one of your breasts, squeezing the mound of flesh through your tight shirt. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Harry hums against your collarbone, pressing open mouthed kisses across your skin. Your nails dragging down his back causes him to bite down gently to stifle the moan rising from his throat, but you hear it and Goditspursyouonsofuckingmuch. “God, Y/N -”

His praise is cut short by the sound of three swift knocks on the door - he pulls back from you, nearly falling back on his ass with the speed at which he stands, and your eyes flash to the door. Your heart is pounding desperately in your chest - are the doors soundproof? Did someone outside hear you? The thought makes you sick to your stomach, and your eyes meet Harry’s to find the same worry in his orbs.

Within moments he’s back behind his desk, running a hand through his hair to try and smooth it out, and you’ve reached to grab Hannah Joseph’s essay off his desk just as he calls, “come in!” in a voice that’s far too cheery for the panic that had just overtaken the both of you.

The door opens and from the corner of your eye you can recognize the girl who walks in - she lives across the hall from you, and her name is … Anna or Emma or something similar. She’s nice, and you should remember her name, but your brain is so scrambled that you can’t think of it.

Harry kissing you. Harry making you a playlist. Harry’s hands on your waist, pulling your body into his.

It’s everything you’ve dreamt of since the beginning of the semester, feeling his touch on you. And when you close your eyes, you try to imagine what would have happened if nobody knocked on the door, and it sends a shiver down your spine that doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, sitting at his desk as he looks over Anna-or-Emma’s essay.

You can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here. The girl (who, now that you think of it, may be named Alana) is asking Harry a million bogus questions about the essay requirements he’d just given out and her shirt is so low cut that you’re surprised her boobs haven’t fallen out. Whether that was intentional or not isn’t something you dwell on, but something about sitting on the couch, trying to steady your breathing while your clit throbs violently feels wrong.

“I’m gonna go, professor,” you say, interrupting her question, and she looks at you like you just told her you’re going to give her a million dollars. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Y/N,” Harry calls as you grab your bag and shut the door behind you. His voice sounds pained, almost, as though he doesn’t want you to leave him alone with a girl whose only goal is clearly to fuck his brains out. You practically run down the hall, which isn’t close to being as empty as it usually is when you and Harry leave at the end of the day.

Your shirt is tight and short sleeved and you can picture your jacket, up in his office, thrown over the back of the couch. You’d been in such a rush to leave that you’d left it, and you’re beginning to truly feel the consequences of it as the cold corners you, attacking your skin, and you could go back up to his office and get it but you just want to go home. The sun is setting, and it’s earlier than when you usually leave.

The walk home is decidedly miserable, the wind sending tears streaking down your cheeks, and your mind is practically going into overdrive. Jesus Christ. You kissed your professor, and he kissed you back. And then you left, like a fucking idiot. He probably feels terrible - feels like he violated you, or ruined his career. But he hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. If you were more respectable you’d go back to his building and apologize for running out, wrap your arms around him and kiss him like you fucking mean it, but all you do is scan your card to get into McKinley and walk down the hall to your dorm.

Your roommate is out - at her boyfriend’s, as per usual, but you appreciate it. Truth be told, you haven’t seen her much since the first few weeks of the semester, but she seemed nice enough. You drop your bag onto your bed and collapse on top of the covers, gazing up at the ceiling.

You bring your hand up to your mouth, brushing your fingertips over your lips with the same feather light touch that the first press of Harry’s lips to yours had felt like. You can still feel it - feel him - if you close your eyes, his hands grasping your hips and his lips trailing down your collarbone.

Slowly, you press your palm to your stomach, trailing it down your torso until you reach the button of your jeans. You undo it with shaky fingers and push them lower down, beneath the hem of your cotton thong, and the first brush of your fingertips against your clit sends a shiver down your spine and a whine falling off your lips.

Harry’s hand on your chest, squeezing your breast through your shirt as he kisses down your neck - oh my god, licking down your neck, biting your skin, his eyes are so wide, his hair is messy from where you grabbed it, and you hadn’t been interrupted he would’ve climbed on top of you, pressing you into the couch, tugging your jeans down your thighs and -

Maybe he would’ve done what you’re doing now, sliding his digits into your heat, fingers longer than yours, hitting every spot that you need him to. Or maybe he would’ve slid down your body, lifting your shirt to suck a deep purple mark into your chest, before burying his face in your cunt -

A very loud moan falls from your lips as you push a finger inside of yourself, curling them immediately to hit the spot inside of you that makes your tummy flip.

But maybe - just maybe - Harry wouldn’t have bothered with that. Would’ve watched, breathing so heavy as you unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his nice dress pants to wrap your hand around his cock, throwing his head back and moaning as you swiped your thumb over the tip of him.

You’re so close so fast you can practically taste the orgasm creeping up on you, your hips bucking up to meet where your fingers are feverishly rubbing circles on your clit.

And he would’ve slid into you, and he’s so big that he’s stretching you out more than any of your fingers or the guy you’ve been with, and he’d grab your chin and force your head up and kiss you so fucking hard, his hips flush against yours -

With a strangled cry, you curl your fingers once more and then you’re cumming, release coating your fingers as your hips roll into your hand. All you can think about is him and what could have happened, and the fact that you may have ruined the start of something magnificent, but God if the orgasm wasn’t good.

You pull your hand out of your panties, wiping your dripping fingers on the denim of your jeans. For a moment, you merely stare back up at the ceiling, focusing on steadying your breathing, and then you stand up, kicking your jeans off your legs and tossing them onto your dresser. You have a pair of plaid pajama pants crumbled in a pile at the bottom of your bed from the morning, and you pull them over your legs with a sigh. Perhaps it’s not the height of cleanliness, but they’re soft and comfortable, and you lie back down on your bed once they’re on.

After nearly an hour, you still haven’t done anything but sit and do nothing, occasionally flicking through your phone. You wish you could fall asleep but your brain is working far too fast to even think about resting, and -

The sound of your phone getting a notification startles you, and you groan, grabbing your phone to look at whoever disturbed your panic.

Harry S.: I’m behind your building. I have your jacket.

He’s here? Jesus Christ, you just came over him and damn near cried over him and now you have to see him.

Perfect.

Your heart skips a beat, and you jump up without a second thought. You look an absolute fool, stuffing your feet into the first pair of shoes you can find - a pair of slip on Vans that are so dirty they can barely constitute as white - before you’re running out the door, your phone tucked in the waistband of your pants, heading down the hall and out the back entrance where Harry’s black car sits, waiting.

You walk up to his car, pathetically out of breath, and lower your head so you can see him through the window as he rolls it down.

“Hi.” Your tone is quiet, and you clear your throat. “Um, I’m sorry about running off like that. I just got overwhelmed and that girl showing up made me - um - nervous.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, though he’s very pointedly not making eye contact. “M’sorry if I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that, or -”

“No, I kissed you first -”

“But I’m your professor.” He says the word with an odd inflection, nearly pained. “I shouldn’t have let it escalate. I’m sorry.”

You dig the toe of your shoe into the road, looking down at the passenger seat where your jacket sits, waiting. The tension is palpable and you swallow thickly, then grab the car handle, forcing the door open so you can grab your jacket. You wrap the fabric around your shoulders - the seat heaters made it warm and you could nearly cry at the way it embraces you.

Harry watches you - you can see him from the corner of your eye - and then he looks down at your body, your shirt and your pajama pants with no pockets, and asks, “D’you have your key to go back in your dorm? S’just, you don’t have any pockets … I can’t see it.”

Shit. No, you don’t. You hadn’t thought about that when you were running out to see him. Perhaps he can decide the answer from the way your face drops, because he exhales with a small smile, barely perceptible, and nods his head. “Get in.”

You grab the door handle again, pulling the door open and climbing inside. The seat is toasty and warm and the car is toasty and warm and altogether you feel like both of those adjectives combined. The radio plays softly - or maybe it’s his phone, hooked up to the aux cord, because Maybe I’m Amazed by Paul McCartney is a song you recognize reading on the playlist he’d made. You slam the door shut and wrap your arms around yourself, holding your jacket closer to your body, before turning your head to glance at him. He still hasn’t started driving, merely gazing at you, and you feel your skin heat under his eyes. “Where are we going, professor?” It’s a stupid question, because you aren’t going anywhere yet, and he doesn’t look like he plans to start driving anytime soon.

“I’ll take you back to my apartment.” HIs eyes haven’t left yours, and your stomach turns. “How does that sound?”

You exhale softly. “Sounds perfect,” and then you’re leaning in, pressing your cold palms to the side of his cheeks and bringing his face into yours.

Your lips meet and it’s more desperate than it was in his office - teeth clashing and your tongues brushing against each other, as if he’s trying to devour you. His hand rests atop of yours, dwarfing you pathetically, before dragging his fingertips down your arm and up to your shoulder, fingers dipping beneath the sleeve of your shirt.

Where you’re cold from the air outside, Harry is so warm and toasty, his breath hot against your face when you pull away briefly. He presses his forehead to yours and then leans up, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose and smirking at the whimper you let out.

“Wait,” he tells you, voice low and quiet, and you nod slowly. “When we get to my apartment - but not now.”

You nod feverishly and sit back in your seat obediently, desperate for him to finally start driving. His hand rests on top of the center console and you stare at it for a moment - you can do it, do what you’ve wanted to do every single time he’s driven you home - and you place your palm overtop of his. He turns it over so your palms are pressed together, fingers intertwining, and you’re sure he can hear your heartbeat with how loudly it’s beating in your chest.

The line that you’ve crossed is so far behind you that it’s a mere dot in the distance.

The car ride to his apartment is short - only 2 full songs play during it, and you recognize My Girl and I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight from the playlist. Truth be told, it feels as though you’d been in the car for hours and hours, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand. You want nothing more than to crawl across the center console and straddle him, kiss him until you’re both breathless and go as far as you’d fantasized about but you have to wait.

Harry’s unlocking the door of his apartment entirely too slow for your liking. It’s as though he’s trying to tease you, make you antsy, when all you want is for him to press you against the wall and kiss you silly.

He lives in a large brick apartment building - one of the newer ones, you know - in an apartment on the third floor. You’ve passed his building so many times driving through town and you never even knew it - didn’t know the man who lived there was someone you’d be so desperate for.

“Come on,” he whispers, though there’s no real reason for the two of you to be quiet - perhaps it just fits the mood. Harry’s hand wraps around your wrist as he tugs you into the now-open door of his apartment, flicking on the light switch residing beside the door.

As light floods the apartment you’re somehow both surprised and also not at all. It’s surprisingly tidy, resembling more of his car than his office, and - to your relief - it’s quite obvious he’s the only one who lives here. You slip out of your Vans and take a moment to look around. A cat sits on top of the couch (her name is Marie, named after Aristocats, you learned from class) and you can’t stop yourself from gravitating towards her, using two fingers to stroke down her back as you peek around the apartment.

Yes, it is quite clean, and surprisingly colorful - there’s a striped rug and red couches and your eyes fly a bookshelf filled with picture frames against the wall. One is him with four other guys, arms wrapped around each other - one of him and Marie - one of him, significantly younger, hugging a girl who looks extremely similar to him.

“Is this your sister?” you ask, unaware of where he is in the apartment but trusting he hasn’t strayed too far from you.

“Yeah,” he responds, and you jump slightly. Harry stands just behind you, and when you turn to face him he’s fighting back a grin. “So nosy, aren’t you?”

You raise your arms to wrap around his neck, pulling his head down to yours as his hands gravitate down towards your lower back where your shirt rises just a couple inches from your pants, exposing a strip of skin, and his touch sends a shiver down your spine. “I guess I am nosy. Can’t help it.”

Harry leans down, then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and down the bridge of your nose before landing on your lips - you whine into his mouth, pushing yourself onto your toes to try and deepen it, swiping your tongue into his mouth. It’s so different than before - heavier, deeper, and you can’t get enough of it.

“Please,” you whimper against his lips as his hands creep farther down your back, landing on the globes of your ass through your soft pajama pants. “I need you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You can hear a sense of cockiness working its way into his voice and you groan softly as he pulls away from you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

You need everything. You need everything he can possibly give you and more - you need wish fulfillment of everything you’ve dreamt of since the start of the semester and that includes every single goddamn appendage on his body put to use somehow.

But you can’t possibly begin to tell him that, not yet. His fingers are already trailing down to the waistband of your pants, tugging at the tie that holds them up when you breathe, “Your mouth. Please, I need - I need your mouth.”

It’s not enough for him, you can tell, as he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your throat, sucking softly. “M’using my mouth.”

“H - Harry …”

“Where d’you want my mouth?”

You curse beneath your breath, and he pulls his head back to raise his eyebrows at the sound. You bury your hand in his hair, tugging lightly on his curls, before squeezing your eyes shut and muttering, “Want your mouth … down there.”

As much as you want it - and Godyouwantitsofuckingmuch - it makes it no less awkward to say it out loud.

“Down where, baby?” Harry asks, voice teasing and so fucking smug. “Down here?” His hand sprawls across your stomach, pressing down on your abdomen and you moan softly. “No … down here, s’that right?”

His hand slides down to your cunt, pressing his palm overtop of you through your pajama pants and you’re so wet you’re sure he can feel it even through two layers of fabric. Your throaty cry in response and the feverish nod of your head confirms what he’d been teasing you about, and Harry delivers one last soft kiss to your lips before dropping to his knees before you.

Fuck. You never thought you’d see Professor Harry Styles, the man of your dreams and the one person you considered to be entirely unattainable, kneeling in front of you with his nice dress pants on and a crisp button up shirt. He looks entirely normal, save for his messy hair and lust blown pupils, and you’re sure you look a bloody mess but his eyes still devour you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You drop your shaky hands down to the tie of your pants, undoing it at record speed, and he hooks his fingers in your waistband. Slowly - so slowly - Harry tugs them down and his eyes remain on you as though expecting you to stop him, but you can’t. Finally they pool by your feet and you lift your legs to kick them off, sending them flying near the couch where Marie resides.

Had you known this would be happening perhaps you would have opted for racier panties - your cotton thong isn’t terrible but it certainly isn’t doing you any favours, and you have so many lace ones at home that would have been perfect for the opportunity - but Harry still looks at you like you created the world. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh and then the other, leaning in to suck a dark purple hickey into your skin.

You suppose he has a thing for hickeys.

Your fingers twist in his curls, trying to direct his head up to where you truly need him, and he chuckles softly - the soft exhalation of air makes you whine as it hits your cunt, even through your panties. A soft kiss is what he lands on your clothed clit, and your hips buck up into his mouth. You’d forgotten, perhaps, that you’d had an orgasm less than an hour prior but you’re very swiftly reminded, and he looks up at you with a smirk.

“So reactive,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit through your underwear and sucking softly. “Just the way I like.”

A shaky breath escapes your mouth as you toss your head back, legs shaking and you can’t expect them to hold you up much longer. One of his hands moves to the back of your thigh, kneading your skin softly, and the other dips into the hem of your panties and slowly tugs them down. You’re so wet that the fabric is desperate to stick to your dripping cunt but he manages to roll them down your legs, face to face with your pussy and -

Heat floods through your body and up to your face as you look down and make eye contact with Harry. Now that he’s down there, gazing at your bare pussy, you feel oddly compelled to protect whatever modesty you have left and shut your legs but then he grabs one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder, pushing you back just a bit until your back smacks into the wall, and leans in.

The first stripe he licks up your core sends a choked cry from the back of your throat and then a long whine as Harry focuses his attention on your clit. His tongue flicks the swollen bud, still rubbing circles into the back of your thigh. Your heel digs into his back as he moves one hand up to your cunt, running his finger through your soaked folds before pushing it inside of you.

He curls his finger, mimicking a come hither motion until he brushes against the spot that makes your hips jerk against his face. Harry’s lips wrap around your clit and when your eyes roll back into your head, he takes his hand off your thigh and snaps his fingers.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice muffled against your cunt, and the vibrations roll through your body like an earthquake. “I wanna watch you fall apart. Look at me.”

Slowly you lower your eyes back down to him, meeting his gaze as he pulls his mouth away briefly - smacks his lips - and pushes a second finger into your dripping heat. As he thrusts them in and out, hitting that sweet spot in your velvet walls, you can feel your orgasm building in the pit of your tummy embarrassingly fast, but you want to hold out for him. Want to prolong this as long as you can.

Harry’s teeth brush against your clit and you cry out, barely hearing the way he groans, “So fucking reactive for me, yeah?” but you can hear it and it only makes you moan louder. His tongue draws patterns over your clit and he’s so determined to maintain eye contact but you can tell it’s a struggle for both of you.

He pulls his fingers out of you, licking a thin stripe up one of them as if he can’t get enough of your taste before reaching his arm up so his fingers rest on your bottom lip. Obediently you open your mouth, accepting his digits and swirling your tongue around them, tasting yourself on his skin, as he leans back, glancing up at you with heat blazing in his eyes.

“You’re close,” he tells you, his voice deep and throaty. “Can feel it - feel how you’re clenching around my fingers, baby. D’you wanna cum? Tell me how fucking bad you want it.”

Harry pulls his fingers from your mouth and presses them to your clit, rubbing a slow circle as you struggle to find your voice before gasping, “Fuck - need to cum so fucking bad Harry - Harry, oh my god -”

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me?”

“Yes! Oh my god, H - Harry -”

“Cum for me, baby.”

He leans in, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking and that’s all you need to topple over the edge, the orgasm that had been building in the pit of your tummy finally exploding. Your head falls back against the wall with a thud that’s hardly audible over your loud shrieks and moans, your leg finally giving out and you damn near slide to the ground before Harry hooks an arm around your thigh to keep you upright.

His tongue flicks at your clit gently, riding you through your orgasm, and when you’re coming down from your high it’s all you can focus on. There’s a high pitched ringing in your ears and you don’t think you’ve ever - ever - cum that hard in your life. You’d only been with one guy before who didn’t even know women could orgasm and your fingers never gave you anything so earth shattering.

Your breathing comes out in desperate pants as Harry rises from his knees, moving both hands to your hips as your legs nearly collapse again. Your clit is throbbing and when you press your body to his, leaning up to kiss him so desperately, you can feel his boner, hard against your thigh.

“Holy shit, professor.” It’s all you can manage, pulling away to drop your head against his chest, using the moment to try and steady your breaths. “W - who knew you were so good at that.”

His fingers brush through the ends of your hair, a gesture so sweet and innocent that it could make you forget what just occurred. “A hidden talent, I guess,” he mutters, gripping your chin to kiss you again.

You drop your hands to his waist, gripping his nice button down shirt in your tight grasp, surely wrinkling the fabric as you roll your hips against his. Even through his pants his hard on feels fucking huge and you’ve only been with one guy before and suddenly you’re wondering if he’ll even fit inside of you.

But you’ll try. By god, you’ll try. And you press your head to the wall, looking up at him with lust dilated pupils. “Harry.”

“Tell me what you need, baby.” But he already knows, and you can tell he needs the same thing.

You swallow, bucking your hips forward against his boner, and he groans. “I want you to fuck me. Please. I - I need you to fuck me, professor.”

The word makes him moan aloud, and within barely a second he’s grabbing your wrist, tugging you away from the wall and across the apartment until he’s swinging open a door and pulling you inside.

Something about being in his bedroom is entirely different than being in his living room, the carpet beneath your bare feet plush and soft. There’s a large television in front of his bed and the bed is made beautifully, a flannel blanket tossed over the end, and you can’t fucking wait to mess it up.

Harry spins you around to face him, attaching your lips once more as he shuts the door. You whimper into his mouth as his hand drops down to your bare bum, squeezing the flesh in his large palm. “Sorry,” you murmur, voice high pitched and breathy, “was nosing again -”

He groans as you drop your hand to the front of his fancy dress pants, trying desperately to undo the button with one shaking hand. It’s a struggle and finally he chuckles breathlessly, dropping both hands down to help you with the task, and finally you reach your hand into his trousers and press your palm against his cock, hot and heavy even through his boxers.

“Bed,” he grunts, backing you up until the back of your knees hit a hard edge and you fall backwards onto his plush duvet. He stands above you, breathing heavily, and for a moment you stare at each other, as though processing that this is happening - and the moment picks up again. Harry reaches down and tugs at the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off your body and sending it into the corner of the room. Your bra is lace, at least, and decidedly prettier than your panties, and for a moment he stares down at your chest with a look of pure lust adorning his face.

“You look a bit flushed, professor,” you tell him, voice faux innocent and sounding entirely more confident than you feel. “Are you feeling okay?”

Harry chuckles through gritted teeth, and you push yourself onto your elbows so you can work at the buttons of his shirt as he tugs his pants down his legs. “I’ve never been better, in fact.” His boxers are flannel and you can see the bulge in his boxers, and it’s even bigger than what you’d expected.

Your work at undoing his buttons slows down as your mind suddenly flips into overdrive - you must wear the worry that suddenly overtakes you because Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“When’s the last time you’ve done this?” he questions, voice soft and spun sugar sweet.

“Um -” you try and think. The last time you’d done this you’d lost your virginity and that was - “A year ago. Maybe longer.”

Harry nods, nudging your nose with his and giving you one final kiss before rising back up. His hands replace yours as he works on unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m going to go slow, baby. I promise.”

In every fantasy you’ve had about him, he’s not slow - he’s fast, pounding you so hard the bed is nearly louder than the noises you make - but now that you’re here with him? Maybe you need slow.

You nod, and he smiles down at you. He presses his hands onto the mattress and then snakes them beneath you, fingers working at the clasp of your bra, and you lift yourself up slightly so he can undo it and slide your last piece of clothing off of you. He sends it into another part of the room and you can’t be bothered to focus on it because - Christ! - all of a sudden Harry lowers his mouth to your breast, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples and sucking.

“Fuck!” you gasp, fingers working themselves into his curls. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp and he moans lowly against your skin. Harry lifts his head off of you, pinching one of your nipples so you cry out.

He lifts one leg to rest on the bed and then grips your hips, pulling you closer to the edge. Your legs instinctively spread and he watches you, breathing heavily. “Baby,” he mutters, hands slipping his boxers down his thighs. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Heat burns your cheeks and you shut your eyes.

“Look at me,” Harry tells you, and it’s all you can do to obey. “Want you looking at me while I fuck you. Can you do that?”

You nod, swallowing as he grips one of your calves and hikes it onto the bed, exposing your sensitive, dripping cunt to him. You look down your body, where he’s grasping his achingly fucking hard cock in his hand, and then he drags the tip down your slit with a low hiss.

“Are you ready, baby?” he asks, voice soft and strained, as if he’s holding back and you know he is. But he needs this to be a good experience for you so it can be good for him and that’s what you appreciate.

“Y - yeah.” you push yourself onto your elbows and your eyes meet, maintaining perfect eye contact as he pushes himself inside of you. He’s going achingly slow and -

The stretch aches and you drop your head onto the mattress with a groan, Harry’s hand immediately finding your hand where you’re grasping the duvet feverishly. He bottoms out, fully sheathed in your warm cunt, a low groan piercing the air at the feeling of your walls, tight around him. It hurts - not as much as you’d expected, and the pain that quite literally fills you overtakes the burn.

You squeeze his hand, feeling his other run up and down the inside of your thigh as you adjust to him. “Oh - my god - wait - just - just one second wait one second -”

“Of course,” he breathes, and his voice is shaky with an emotion you can’t quite decipher. “T - take your time, babygirl.”

After a few seconds you push your head up to look at him, nodding slightly. “Okay. I need more, p - professor.”

You can tell he likes when you call him that and in some weird way you love it too - love knowing that the professor everyone lusts for is fucking you, slowly pulling out before thrusting back in, squeezing your hand when you cry out at the feeling. Maybe you’re not the first student to experience him like this but based on his demeanor you think you are - there’s something about him in this moment that feels like a secret you’ve discovered.

“Oh - fuck -” Harry grunts as he moves his hand from your thigh to your hip, pressing your body down with just enough force to limit your movements. It’s paining him, going so slow, you can tell - and you’re already starting to need more from him. You need him to go faster, and with a breathy moan you tell him.

Slowly his pace picks up, his grip on your hip tightening until you’re sure there’ll be fingerprint shaped bruises on your skin by tomorrow morning. With every thrust he fills you up so completely that every perfect spot inside of you is hit just right, and you never knew it could feel this good.

Every noise of his that tears through the bedroom spurs you on, pushing your hips into his to deepen every thrust. And every time you whine or whimper or cry or anything Harry delivers a harder thrust, fucking you so deep that you can feel it in the pit of your tummy.

“God, p - professor,” you moan, the word falling entirely too naturally off your lips even in your heightened state. Harry throws his head back with a high pitched whine, speeding up his pace until the loudest noise in the room is skin hitting skin. “Holy shit - fuck - I’m gonna - gonna -”

“Gonna cum around my cock, baby?” He hisses, pressing the hand that had once resided on your hip into the mattress, gripping the covers tighter so he can rail his hips into yours desperately. “So fucking tight around me, can’t even fucking stand it -”

Your hand, shaking beyond belief, slides down to rub hard circles into your clit. The sensations on your clit and his cock, rutting against your G spot with every thrust, sends you over the edge again - already so overstimulated from the rather intense orgasm you’d had before - and with a loud cry-bordering-on-scream you’re cumming again.

“Fuck!” you moan, hips bucking up against his as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. “Fuck, Harry, oh my god -”

He’s not far behind you, hips stuttering ever so slightly but he wants to bring you to one more orgasm, securing this day as the best fuck of your (admittedly limited) sex life and he can’t cum yet. Your hand falls back onto the mattress and Harry pulls his clammy hand from yours, bringing it down to replace your fingers on your clit, and immediately you clench around his cock, begging incoherently for something - you’re not sure what - as he presses down on your clit hard.

Your eyes roll back into your head as his cock twitches inside of you, and grunts and moans are flying from Harry’s mouth faster than he can control it. Your walls flutter around his dick, his thrusts slowing to lazy pumps in and out. He’s so fucking close, he just needs one more push and then -

Your fingers wrap around his wrist and he looks down at you, your eyes nearly black with desire, tears streaking down your cheeks. “C - cum in me, professor.”

It’s the final straw for Harry, and with a nearly animalistic cry he sheathes himself fully inside of you and cums so hard so fast, it’s nearly violent, and the feeling of warmth that explodes in your cunt sends you into your fourth orgasm of the night -

It’s less intense than the others but still entirely too prominent and when you’ve finally rode out the last wave you collapse against the bed, your head spinning and your legs aching as Harry presses it back down from where it had been perched up.

Harry collapses on top of you, his body suffocating and hot and sweaty and you wrap your arms around him, your desperate attempts at steadying your breathing filling the room. You’ve never cum so hard and so much and you’re fucking exhausted, truthfully.

He lifts his head, gazing down at you as you run your fingers through his tangled, sweat soaked curls. “How was that?”

You exhale with a smile upturning your lips, beginning to feel his cum dripping out of your pussy and down your thighs. “Jesus Christ,” you murmur, and a grin breaks onto his face as he drops his forehead against your shoulder.

The two of you lie in silence for a moment - no words need to be spoken. Harry shifts the pair of you further up the bed, your head crashing onto one of his pillows as he remains, firmly on top of you, like he never wants to leave.

But you can’t stop yourself from asking the question burning through your mind, and you swallow thickly before mumbling, “Harry -”

He hums softly.

“Is this like - a one time thing?”

His head lifts again, chin pressed to your shoulder blade, eyebrows furrowed. Harry takes a moment to respond, though, lifting his hand to trace a line across your jawline to your lips, and you press a soft kiss to the tips of his fingers when he arrives at his destination. “I don’t think so,” he tells you, and his voice is quiet and vulnerable, as if waiting for you to deny him. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

You smile softly, leaning in to press a kiss against his soft lips. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“‘Course, baby.”

The name makes your tummy flutter, and you think you could listen to him call you baby for the rest of your life. “I’ve dreamt of this,” you tell him, lips merely a centimeter from his. “Since the beginning of the semester, every night.”

Harry raises his eyebrows at you, and you giggle at his expression. “Glad to know I’m not the only one.”

You shut your eyes, then. Rest your head on his pillow, feeling warm with the man you adore pressed on top of you, his arms firmly and protectively wrapped around you. Nothing has ever felt more right to you, and you drift off to sleep with a soft smile still gracing your lips.

#harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #yall i am rlly proud of this but yes im sorry it took so long to come out #i had so much fun writing it and im so happy w it #please leave feedback!!! id appreciate it so much

10K notes · View notes

tqmies · 2 years ago

Text

My Roommate Sucks! | Yuta.

Description. Your roommate was weird, but that’s normal. What’s not? The way his room is strictly off limits, the fact that he leaves at three in the morning, and keeps returning covered in blood. (Note: His suspicious hate for garlic)

Pairings. Yuta Nakamoto x Fem!Reader

Genre.Comedy, Romance, Horror Themes (Vampires)

Warnings. Dark content (Villain Yuta), Smut (Not in this part), Mentions of Death, Fear, Suggestive

Word count. 5.9K

Note: Another NCT fic?! Yup! Please enjoy this one in the spirit of Halloween! :D Feedback is appreciated!

YOU AND YUTA NAKAMOTO HAD BEEN RENTING THIS APARTMENT FOR THE PAST YEAR. Though you two weren’t particularly close, you knew a good amount about him. Enough to be absolutely certain he is a vampire.

Though this just prompts Kim Doyoung to just laugh in your face. Clutching his stomach as he leans over. He only stops when he realizes you are in fact, one hundred percent, serious.

“This isn’t funny! Stop laughing.” You stomp, looking away embarrassed.

“As concerned as I am for your safety,” He pauses to laugh. “I don’t think he’s a vampire.”

“Well explain this then!” You speak, shoving a paper diagram in his face. (Yes you made a diagram, you were quite passionate on the subject)

It reads as followed.

Reasons Why I Believe I Live With a BloodSucker:

1. He sneaks out at 3 am most days (He thinks I don’t know, but oh, I know)

2. He comes back with red stains everywhere!! (Feeding time)

3. He hates garlic!!

4. His room is always off limits. (He never even opens the door around me)

Doyoung bursts out laughing once again. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious!”

“These all have explanations.”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, Yuta is a nurse. He works in a hospital, that means he’s on call. He could be summoned to work at odd hours, like 3 am.”

You shake your head, not buying it for a second. He was always extremely secretive when he left. And he never took his hospital ID with him.

“That also explains the blood on him when he comes back, you don’t know what he deals with at work. Maybe it comes off his scrubs.” Doyoung continues, you remaining unconvinced. “And lots of people don’t like garlic.”

“Yeah but you know who hates it? Vampires!” You muse.

He rolls his eyes and hands your paper back to you. “His room being off limits is normal. I don’t exactly let Taeyong invade my room as he pleases. Maybe the dudes just private about his stuff.”

“But he’s so weird about it! And he comes into my room all the time to tell me dinners ready and stuff! Like that totally unfair.”

“Double standards.” Doyoung comments, attention now fully on some video playing on his phone. He always did that when you rambled.

“You’re no help.” You pout. “And now I’m just gonna die at the hands of my supernatural roommate! And you’re going to be at my funeral wishing you had listened to me!”

“If he wanted you dead, don’t you think he would’ve killed you already?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you are super annoying.” He rolls his eyes. “I would’ve definitely drained you of all life by now.”

You roll your eyes at him, not amused. You don’t know why you expected Doyoung to make any sense anyways.

“What? It’s the only explanation.” He stops suddenly. “Unless he just thinks you’ll taste nasty.”

Scoffing, you turn to point a finger at him. “I think I’d taste great, thank you very much.”

“Wanna put that to the test?” Your other friend says as he rounds the corner, returning from the bathroom. Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at you.

“In your dreams.” Is your response, before beginning to poke fun at the male. “What took you so long, Jungwoo?”

“I was taking a shit.”

“Gross!” You say, scrunching up your nose. You had suspicions but you’d never expect him to admit it. Though, he was never one to think before he speaks anyways.

“It’s a natural part of the human body!” He defends, looking at you like you’re the crazy one.

“At least you got to miss another conspiracy.” Doyoung says, nodding towards you.

This was quite a natural occurrence from you. You shudder at the thought of being convinced that this one cafe worker was a zombie. In your defense, he was sickly pale looking, and he did have a thing for Jungwoo. Which definitely meant he had no taste. He had to be undead to like Kim Jungwoo that much.

“What is it this time? You saw Bigfoot or something?”

“No-”

“Apparently Yuta’s a vampire.” Doyoung states, cutting you off.

You stare at him, “Doyoung! You can’t just tell everyone! What if he finds out I’m onto him?”

“So you really think he’s a vampire?!”

“I think its a possibility!”

“Really?” Jungwoo quirks a brow. “Well then hes going to be so confused when you’re the one doing the sucking.”

Launching a pillow at him, you gag. The boys always insinuated you and Yuta had more going on. Though everything was literally as it seemed. It was a purely platonic roommate relationship. Barely ever speaking more than just discussing the bills or that rent had gone up. There was nothing there.

Before Jungwoo can open his big mouth again, you can faintly hear the sound of keys unlocking the door. Signaling that this conversation was now over, shushing them to your room. You quickly grab the paper from earlier and crumple it in your pocket.

“Hey,” Yuta says as he walks into the living room. “I was going to ask if you were hungry. Wanted to order some food.”

You nod your head in understanding, though you decline his offer. “Jungwoo and Doyoung are over, we were gonna go eat together.”

“Oh they’re here?” He asks, not having seen any sign of them.

“Yeah, they’re in my room.”

“Oh okay, well if you need to be picked up or anything, you can call me.”

“Thank you,” You say. About to turn when you start to feel guilty. You seemed to always bail on Yuta like this lately. Usually always heading out to meet the boys when he gets home. It wasn’t on purpose, it just had been busy.

And the boys were always a much needed relief from a day of your boss yelling at you over a printer that you couldn’t fix.

You had became close with Doyoung during your school years, you two worked at the library. Being around the same age, you two bonded instantly. Talking about books and such until your hangouts gradually began to happen outside of the library as well. You two had met Jungwoo at a cafe. He was always talking about the latest work gossip and how badly he hated his job. From there, you all just started meeting at the cafe to hangout. Eventually growing into the inseparable friendship you had now.

But Yuta didn’t seem to really have anyone like that. Opting to spend a good chunk of his time alone at the house when you were out. He had friends over a few times, but you’ve never seen one more than once. Except Mark, the only boy who would ever acknowledge you when he came over. But you hadn't seen even him in a while. Yuta must be really busy.

“Would you maybe wanna join us?” You turn around. “I know work was long and such, so if you just want to stay home, no offense taken.”

“I don’t want to intrude.” He smiles, you understand the feeling but nonetheless, the boys wouldn't mind him at all.

“You’re not,” You shake your head. “I promise we’d all love to have you.”

He thinks for a minute, looking down to the floor. And you won’t be surprised if he completely rejects your offer. “Okay, let me go get me coat then.” He agrees, heading towards his room, leaving you in shock. That was new.

Rushing to your room, you tell the boys of Yuta joining you at dinner.

“Yay! Now we can we expand our open relationship.” Jungwoo laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at Doyoung.

“We are not dating, Jungwoo!” Doyoung groans, smacking his palm to his forehead.

Jungwoo always joked about all of you being a throuple, and you’re still not even sure what the origin of the joke was. As far as you knew, none of you had ever been interested in each other. It still didn’t stop him though.

He’s even told a few waiters who pried too far, watching their reactions hilariously. And you had to admit, it was kind of funny at times.

Especially when this creep was hitting on you at a club, and suddenly, you had two boyfriends who were willing to beat his ass.

“None of that nonsense tonight,” Rolling your eyes. “I don’t need Yuta telling his hot friends that I’m stuck in a relationship.”

“His vampire friends?”

“Shut the hell up.”

“Oh so when we bring it up, its weird?”

You shoot them both a death stare, “Mention my theory to Yuta and I’ll cut your balls clean off.”

“Yeah but to do that you’d have to look at my dick! And trust me, once you see it-” Jungwoo starts but is interrupted as you start fake strangling him, straddling him on your bed.

“Stop! He probably likes it!” Doyoung laughs, eyes growing big. And Jungwoo, being the little freak he was, probably did. You put nothing past him.

“Would it kill you to be quiet for once!” You speak to the boy beneath you, “You’re so annoying!”

Jungwoo, rolls his eyes, then starts loudly fake moaning. This only feeds into you and Doyoungs theory of him being the freakiest little male alive.

Then, as if on cue, Yuta enters your room. Looking taken aback at the scene before him, he hurries to head back out, closing the door. “Oh sorry, the door was open so I thought-”

You frantically get off Jungwoo, completely embarrassed that Yuta saw you like this. Doyoung just sits stiffly, hoping to be spared the embarrassment.

“No no, we weren’t doing anything!” You say, opening the door. Waving your hands and laughing awkwardly. Hoping he didn’t see too much.

“Yeah it’s not what it looks like.” Doyoung says, hoping to ease the tension.

Yuta laughs, about to drop the conversation when Jungwoo speaks up. “Yeah I definitely wasn’t humping your roommate while Doyoung watched.”

You wish you could sew a zipper onto his mouth.

“Jungwoo!”

Though Yuta takes it as a joke, chuckling lightly, “We should head out.”

As you all get up you make sure to slap Jungwoo on the arm, making him wince in pain. Pouting and acting like it wasn’t well deserved.

You all decide to take Doyoung’s car, and he insists that Jungwoo sits in the passengers side. Leaving you and Yuta snug in the back of the tiny car. Which is fine, its not like you mind anyways. He just stares out the window the whole time anyways, barely saying anything.

The car ride is actually mostly quiet, which is unusual for your friends. Because both of them feel too embarrassed (Doyoung) and unsure (Jungwoo) to say anything.

You all had settled on eating dumplings before hand, prompting you to the best dumpling spot in town, which was a hole-in-the-wall place. Yuta looks unaffected by your choice though, following behind the three of you.

You silently hope for this incredibly awkward energy to dissipate. You all had taken your seats in silence, your two friends pretending to be engrossed with the menu choices, as if you hadn't been here a million times before.

You and Yuta sit next to each other, Jungwoo across from you and Doyoung next to him. But no one says a word to anyone else at the table.

You realize maybe you should have asked them if it was okay to invite Yuta, you figured it wouldn’t be an issue, but they had barely ever talked to him before. Every time they were over, you would all just stay holed up in your room, and Yuta never went out of his way to talk to them either. This would be their first real time hanging out together.

You shuffle in your seat, thinking of something to say to break the silence.

But Jungwoo beats you to it.

“So Yuta, do you know what you want to order?” He asks, and you’re unsure where he’s going with it. “They have amazing chicken and garlic dumplings.”

“Ah,” Yuta starts. “Sound great but I don’t like garlic.”

You widen your eyes at Jungwoo, pleading with him silently to stop. Was he going to do this right now? Doyoung notices your expression, and promptly pinches the male beside him.

“Ouch!” Jungwoo exclaims, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”

“What was what for?” Doyoung asks, playing dumb. Yuta looks between the two of them, genuinely confused.

“You idiot, you pinched me!”

“Quit whining!” You speak up. “Hurry up and figure out what you want to drink! We’re not going to wait here for ten minutes like we did last time.”

Jungwoo narrows his eyes at that, “You’re both bullies.”

The waitress comes and takes your orders swiftly, taking the menus and leaving you four to your own devices.

“So,” Yuta begins, and nothing could prepare you for what he said next. “How long have you all been dating?”

Your heart stops for a second, turning to face him in disbelief. “D-dating?”

“For six months,” Jungwoo winks, not missing a beat. “Her and Doyoung were dating first actually-”

“No! We weren’t, he’s lying.” Doyoung interjects sternly, rolling his eyes.

“Okay I lied, actually Doyoung and I were dating first and then-”

It’s you who cuts him off this time. “None of us are dating, Jungwoo just likes to lie to new people. It’s his thing, he likes to see how far he can get with it.”

Yuta looks confused at the prospect. “Wait so you’re not in a poly relationship?”

“No.” You confirm. “Doyoung can’t take a hint and Jungwoo is a slut who can’t commit. I could never date them, it’d never work out.”

Jungwoo’s jaw drops at the statement, “Me?”

And Doyoung’s eyes widen as well, “That’s not true!”

Yuta finds it all amusing as he hides his laughter in his drink. “Sorry, I overheard Jungwoo one day and just assumed it was true.”

You cringe at the thought, “Jungwoo just likes to say shit.”

“You’re right.” Jungwoo explains, looking over at the other male beside him. “Plus, Doyoung has a stick up his ass anyways, he couldn’t handle us.”

“Yeah okay, fuck you too.”

You all laugh at his comment and you’re all reeled into other conversations. The tension that had remained before being eased, no longer feeling an air of uncomfortably here. You just feel into a rhythm with each other, and you regret that this was the first time you’ve all hung out with Yuta, and you hope it happens again.

The dumplings arrive and you all get to work, you hadn’t even realized how hungry you were, so you attention is drawn solely to your food. Failing to see how Yuta barely eats anything, consistently scooping and putting down his spoon to create the illusion of it.

But then again, you fail to notice.

So do Jungwoo and Doyoung, who are pretty drunk already. Doyoung ranting on about this hot girl at the office who he swears like to tease him. Jungwoo replying to say that Doyoung just has no game, prompting another bickering session between them. You laugh on, pouring you all more alcohol from the bottle sitting on your table. The boys pausing their argument to ask for more.

You all don’t even register how much you’re drinking, the liquid so smooth it goes down almost like water. And the effects barely catching up to you.

You offer Yuta some and he declines, saying someone needed to drive you all home. You nod and thank him, how generous and kind of him, so sweet.

It get’s late pretty quickly, and Doyoung suggests you all head back to your place, you just agree, ready to climb into your warm bed with lots of water.

It’s not uncommon for the guys to stay the night, they’ve grown accustom to sleeping on your floor and on the tiny chair in your room, it just worked.

So Yuta drives you all home, stone cold sober and completely aware he was driving around three trashed people in a car that wasn’t even his at midnight. He prayed he didn’t get pulled over.

You’re all able to make it up to your apartment room, Doyoung and Jungwoo hanging off of each other for stability, you being sober enough to stand upright.

They make a beeline for your room as you enter, you stopping in the kitchen to grab some hangover medicine and bottles of water.

Yuta stands in the kitchen with you, he found it sweet how much you cared for your friends. It was endearing how you always thought of them too.

“Thanks for tonight Yuta, we had fun.”

“I can tell.” He laughs, raising his eyebrows at you.

You just sleepily nod and head to your room, closing the door behind you.

You’re awoken by a throbbing headache, and Jungwoo’s leg strewn over you. How did he even get on the bed? You were sure he was on the floor. But those thoughts are derailed as you feel Doyoung laying sideways at the end of your bed. His light snores indicating he’s still fast asleep. You sigh.

The last thing you want to do is get up, but as you reach for your phone and see the time, you realize you’ve wasted most of your day. So you contemplate continuing to stay in bed or getting up and trying to make the most of the rest of your Saturday. The latter wins, as you achingly remove the sheets off your body.

Jungwoo stirs from beside you and groans, which wakes Doyoung as he nearly falls off the bed. Jungwoo steadily fights to open his eyes, clearly hungover.

Standing to stretch, you look at the two boys. “You guys look like shit.”

Doyoung laughs, “Right back at you.”

“Should’ve taken the Advil like I said.” You laugh and go to start the shower in your room, glad that you don’t have to step out into the apartment in this state.

That’s when the boys fumble behind you. Doyoung begrudgingly asks for his keys while Jungwoo hangs off his shoulder, and you shrug. You had no idea what Yuta did with them when you guys got back.

“Go knock on his door.” Jungwoo insists, “I want to get home, I need a shower.”

You roll your eyes as you head out of your room, slowly approaching Yuta’s You knock on the door. Once. Twice. No response. “Yuta! Are you home?”

And you’re met with silence, he must’ve gone to work, his schedule was pretty unpredictable. But its odd, hes usually here in the morning. Well, maybe he had to trade shifts and he’ll back tonight.

Though this leaves you with a problem, you have no idea where your friends keys are. And if Yuta’s at work, he won’t be anywhere near his phone.

Heading back into your room, you stand at the door. “He’s not here.”

“Call him?”

“I can.” You answer. Though, as expected, you go straight to voicemail.

Doyoung groans, “I’ll look around for the keys, maybe he left them on the counter or something.”

You wave him off. That’s when you think, Yuta probably just left them in his room. Maybe on his desk? But you can’t go into his room. No, he’d hate that.

Is this an invasion of privacy? You think as you stand outside of his door. Truth be told, you were very curious, and Doyoung’s keys sounded like a good excuse to trespass into his room. But Yuta’s always been awkward about his room, and you respected his wishes. Figuring maybe he had something embarrassing in there, you look down.

You twist the doorknob, and you’re met with a dark room. You can hardly see anything, as the blinds are shut and the lights off. You move to turn the lights on, annoyed with the sight before you.

It was a completely normal room.

Similar layout to yours, a desk and a chair with a plush full bed in the corner. Nothing was off about the scene before you, and you find that weird.

But then it hits you.

The smell.

It smelled horrible, almost like a dead animal. And sure, you knew men were filthy, but it smelled like something was straight up rotting in there.

You gag at the stench, clasping your nose to revert the smell away. Moving to enter his room, you notice Doyoung’s keys on the desk. He had likely just thrown them there when he entered and forget they weren’t his.

You quickly grab them, shut off the lights, and click the door behind you.

As you stand in the hallway, you notice something weird.

The room was clean, the bed was made, and everything was neat. It was as if no one lived in there, like no one had slept in that bed in years.

Also, if it was so clean, why did it stink so bad?

You had to write this down on your diagram, where was it anyways?

You’re derailed from finding it as Doyoung finds you, grabbing the keys from your hands. “Wanna meet up later? After my nap?”

And you consider it, but you’ve had enough of the boys for a bit, so you shake your head. “I’m tired, probably gonna just chill here.”

Doyoung nods in understanding, before putting on a teasing smile. “Sure you wanna stay in all day with the vampire?”

You narrow your eyes, “He’ll probably sleep all day, work’s tiring.”

“Fair enough.”

And with protest of Jungwoo, Doyoung exits the house with the younger in tow. Complaining about how you can’t hang and that he hopes Yuta sucks your blood. You sigh, they would never believe you.

And you doubt yourself too, somewhat. But the puzzle pieces are all fitting together suspiciously well. Anyways, you’re just glad you’re alone and that you get to shower peacefully now.

And it was definitely what you needed, seeing as you’re sure Jungwoo drooled in your hair, but that was a matter for another time.

Realizing you had yet to eat, you head straight to the kitchen, ready to make yourself something good. (Knowing you’d just probably settle for one of the ramen packets in the pantry.)

Though when you arrive, you’re startled to see Yuta, drinking a glass of water.

“Hey,” You speak up. “I didn’t hear you come in. Or leave this morning..”

“Yeah, they called me last night actually. I was going to tell you, but you were knocked out, and I didn’t want to wake your friends.” He explains.

So it was exactly like you had thought, but this meant he would be home for the rest of the day. Just lazing around the house, with you. Alone.

“I invited some friends over,” He speaks. Oh? That was kind of unusual. “I hope its not a big deal.”

“What? No, wouldn’t it be hypocritical of me to be mad when Doyoung and Jungwoo practically live here?” You laugh.

“Speaking of them,” He interjects, “Did they get home okay?”

The color drains from your face as you remember earlier. He was onto you. He knew, he definitely knew you went into his room. And he would not be happy.

“Uh yeah, Doyoung’s keys were on the counter so he just took them and left.” You lie, hoping he didn’t suspect you.

And he didn’t seem any the wiser, simply nodding at your statement. He likely didn’t even remember where he left them anyways, as he went straight to work. You hope he was too distracted to recall that where he’d left them.

“Cool,” He places his cup in the sink. “I’m going to nap, but wake me when they get here?”

You agree and he heads to his room, not sparing you a second glance. You release a breath, glad you didn’t give away that you broke his most important room mate rule. Anyways, now was definitely the time for ramen.

You hadn't even realized how much time had passed since you started watching this show. You spent three hours watching Netflix after devouring your bowl and nursing your favorite juice. You were only awaken from your trance when there was a knock on your apartment door, likely Yuta’s friends.

After jumping off the couch and scrambling to your feet, you go to open the door. Surprised (but not really) to see two unfamiliar faces looking back at you.

One is slender and has soft black eyeliner around his eyes, cute. The taller of the two is more innocent looking, though his smile and good looks tells you he’s likely troublesome.

You open your mouth to speak but the cute one beats you to it.

“Is Yuta here?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Well, wake him.” The taller remarks, and you want to hold you breath and hope you die.

You weren’t too good with men in general, but teasingly rude ones? Yeah these definitely weren’t your type of guys.

You just stutter, feet planted to the floor. “Y-yeah I’ll go-”

The smaller one speaks up, “Don’t mind Jaehyun, he’s moody, hasn't eaten.”

You just nod, smiling awkwardly. The nice thing to do would be to offer to cook, but these were Yuta’s friends and not yours. He’d just have to do it.

“I’m Taeyong, a friend of Yuta’s.” He extends his hand for you to shake, and you do gladly. “The asshole’s name is Jaehyun.” And the other groans.

“I’m not an asshole.”

The two begin bickering but Jaehyun’s soon cut off by Taeyong, “Anyways, Yuta didn’t tell us he had such a pretty girlfriend.”

You want to sink into the ground beneath you, shaking your hands, you deny. “Oh no, we just live together.”

“Just live together? You’re not friends?” Jaehyun interrogates.

“Uh..” You trail, not knowing how to respond. Were you guys considered friends? You just decide to change the subject. “Why don’t you guys come in? I’ll go wake Yuta.”

You close the door behind them and show them to the living room, then heading to the hallway where your rooms are located. Stopping in front of Yuta’s door, you knock. No response. So you knock again, to no avail.

“Your friends are here, Yuta!” You yell, and you hear movement in his room.

After a shuffle, you see him pull his door open, just enough for him to slip through and close it behind him. So suspicious, like he was hiding something in there, even though you had known better.

You shrug it off, “I’ll be in my room.”

“Okay.” He says, used to you keeping to yourself, nothing out of the ordinary.

Turning to head to your room, you’re held back by another voice. “Going to hide?” It’s Jaehyun, appearing in the hallway as he leans against the wall. “Don’t wanna hang around us?

You don’t know what to say, caught off guard by his question.

Good thing Yuta answers for you. “Leave her alone.”

“My bad, didn’t realize she was an exception.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Yuta just looks at you, “Sorry about him.”

You wave him off, “Its okay! You know what? I think I’m going over to Doyoung’s! He asked me to swing by.” Uttering the most convincing excuse you could come up with, but Yuta nods.

“Alright, be safe.”

You just thank him and run to get a sweater and a pair of shoes from your room. Ready to be free of the suffocating atmosphere of this apartment.

You pass Jaehyun on the way out, still in the hallway and he shoots you a look, one that you can’t decipher. But you weren’t going to stick around and find out what it meant anyways.

Taeyong bids you goodbye as you head out, telling you he’d like to visit again.

You wonder if he’ll actually make good on that promise.

Once you’ve made it to your car, you pull your phone and begin rapidly typing for Doyoung’s number.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Doyoung! I’m coming over!”

“Now?

“Yes! Now!”

“But I thought-”

“Yeah that was before Yuta’s friends came over.”

And the other side of the line is silent, Doyoung understanding what you meant. “I’ll order food, but you’re paying when it gets here.”

“Understood.” And you hear the fade out of the call.

Of course this had to happen on what was supposed to be a relaxing Saturday in. You just sigh and start your car, eager to be away from the three men currently in your apartment.

To your surprise, Jungwoo’s already over when you arrive. He said Doyoung called saying something was wrong and you roll your eyes.

“Doyoung’s being dramatic, I just didn’t wanna stay in there with Yuta and some strangers.”

Jungwoo nods in understanding. “Were they hot?”

You whip your head around to face him, “Are you serious?”

He places his hands up in defeat. “Okay okay, sorry.”

You just laugh as you enter Doyoung’s kitchen, digging through the cabinet for a snack. Jungwoo reaching over you to grab a cup form the cupboard.

“You two are just leeches.” Doyoung says, coming to check what the commotion was.

“Yup, that’s me.” You agree, and he chuckles in response.

“Are you staying the night?” He nudges.

“No, I better go home.” And he nods. “

“As long as you take Jungwoo with you.”

��Hell no.”

“Hey! What’s wrong with me?!”

“Do you really want us to answer that?”

And as the kitchen erupts in laughter, you wish you could save this moment forever. They really were you best friends, always dependable and always here for you. You’d be lost without them.

These thoughts re-enter your mind as the subpar movie you were all currently watching rolls the end credits. You’re running your hands through Doyoung’s hair as he lays on your lap, Jungwoo fast asleep as he leans on his side.

All these two did was sleep, you think. Moving to check the time, you realize it’s gotten kind of late. You decide to head home, the comfort of your bed being more tempting that your friends couch.

Helping him up, he groans at being moved. But still see’s you out to his door. “I’m going to dump water on Jungwoo’s head and make him go home.”

“Sure.” You giggle sarcastically.

“Have a safe trip home.”

“Thank you.”

Unlocking the door to your house, you’re met with silence as you open it.

“Yuta?” You call out, but are given no response. He must’ve went out with the other two. You shrug your shoulders.

Walking through the hall, you step into the living room to see Yuta.

He’s just standing there, like he was anticipating your arrival.

“Oh hey,” You speak, somewhat off. “Did the guys go home?”

“I know,” He interrupts, your blood running cold. He’s dead serious too, which wipes the previous smile off your face.

“What?”

“I know what you think I am.”

You’re ready to deny it, to try and smooth things over. To say that he’s got it all wrong, whatever he’s thinking. You struggle to find the words though.

Until he pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “Found this under the couch.”

You recognized it instantly, your diagram.

You wave your hands, “Oh no no, that was a joke! I don’t actually think that.”

Why did you have to do that? You went and ruined a perfectly good living situation with a guy who was respectful and clean. Now he was probably going to throw you out, creeped out by your observations and theories of him.

He probably hated you now, for thinking something so vile of him. He probably thought you were stupid too, who would think that?

You’re about to spill out a string of apologies when he motions for you to be quiet.

“Well,” He says, taking a seat on the couch. “You figured it out.”

And you feel your jaw go slack.

What did he mean?

He just laughs at your speechless form, “You’re smarter than I thought, the others never caught on.”

And you’re completely confused. “O-others?”

“Did you ever wonder why I was looking for a room mate?” And he continues when you don’t respond. “Cause I killed the previous one.”

You want to throw up.

“And the one before that, and the one before that.” He continues, as if its all just one big joke. And you hope it is. Maybe he was just messing with you? Because there was no way. No way, right?

Yuta? The Yuta right in front of you, was a vampire? A real, living vampire?

“What a shame though, I was going to keep you. Until I found out you were snooping in my room. Just as I thought we were becoming friends too.” He laughs out, but not his normal one, no this one is laced with some kind of evil.

How had he found out? He had remembered where he left the keys then.

“I’ve had to stop all my friends from feeding on you,” He speaks, you backing up into the corner. “Jaehyun and Taeyong are the oldest of us, and they came demanding to know why you weren’t dead yet. That’s why they called you the exception.”

So he was looking out for you? What was he going to do to you now?

Were you going to die? Fear washes over your body at that, trying to figure out if you could make it out the front door before Yuta could catch you. You deduced that you probably couldn’t, but you should try anyways.

“Nothing to say?” Yuta asks.

And your attention is drawn back to him, “I..”

“Tell me,” He inquires. “How hard do you think it was to hold back from killing your friends? Knowing they were touching what I claimed. Made me look like an idiot when everyone else could smell them on you. Vampires have a keen sense of smell too, you know?”

Your back hits the wall as he stands up. Why was he telling you this? If he was going to kill you, why was he wasting so much time?

But after registering his words, you knew you couldn’t let him touch your friends. They didn’t deserve any of that.

“Please don’t do anything to them,” You beg. “Please.”

He scoffs, “Here you are, about to die at the hands of a supernatural being, and all you’re worried about is Doyoung and Jungwoo.”

You look around nervously, “I’m going to die?” You confirm.

“Not really.”

“What?” You let out meekly, as he approaches you closer.

“I’m going to turn you.”

“No!” You shout. You couldn’t, there’s no way you could live life that way. Much less an eternal life, you’d rather die, here and now.

You’re barely able to protest before he sinks his teeth into your neck, your breath stilling. You hoped maybe he would miscalculate, that maybe he would just accidentally kill you instead.

All you can do is stand there and wince in pain as he draws blood from you. At this point, you’re hoping to be dead.

You don’t want to know what turning into a vampire entails.

But it looks like you were going to find out.

#yuta #yuta fanfic #doyoung #nct yuta #doyoung fanfic #yuta smut #nct #nct fanfic #jungwoo #yuta nct #yuta nct fanfic #yuta nakamoto #nct halloween #nct yuta nakamoto #jungwoo nct #doyoung nct #yuta imagines #yuta imagine

770 notes · View notes