#this also made me realize how much deeper his voice's gotten too jesus | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

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

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1025cherrystreet · 4 years ago

Text

funeral

y/n attends a funeral and feels hopeless after losing her best friend until she meets her late bsf's cousin Harry.

a/n: this is for @harrystylescherry Playlist Fic Challenge!!! this is inspired by the song Funeral by Phoebe Bridgers. i used the name Phoebe in the story but i wasn't picturing Phoebe Bridgers when I was writing that character, i just liked the name and decided to go with it! but, y'all can picture her however y'all like lol. i went from loving this story to hating it, but i hope y'all like it! any feedback is appreciated!! <3

**despite it being surrounded by depressing matters, it's actually a cute and fluffy story lol! just wanted to point that out because i, myself, kinda avoid reading sad stories

warnings: a LOT of talk about death and dying and funerals, mentions depression/depressive episode?, mentions drugs and alcohol, swearing. i'm ceo of rushing the ending, soz <3 (also, gave up on proofreading lmao)

word count: 8k+ (this is the longest piece i've ever written lol)

Y/N has this dream. Where she's screaming underwater while her friends are waving at her from the shore. She's desperately calling for them, hoping and waiting for them to help, but, seemingly, her friends can't hear... and can't help. Submerged beneath the thrashing waters, her wails fall silent; her familiars deaf to her pleads. The more she struggles to get to the surface for air, the deeper she sinks. Her friends just waving at her as she drifts to the bottom. Every time she jolts awake from these dreams in a sweat stained bed and sticky clothes, she decides to brush it off. Not wanting to think about the problems she needs to face or what she needs to work on. Always concluding that she doesn't need anyone to tell her what it means or overanalyze her life through misplaced visions. Deciding to not believe assumptions made from vague, painful pictures.

As the familiar sinking feeling in her chest starts yet again, Y/N snaps her eyes up at the casket as the sound of her best friend's mother releasing a heart wrenching sob catches her focus.

The contrast of the white roses that lay on top of Phoebe's mahogany stained casket almost glow in the evening light, seeming like a mock to such a somber evening. The way the living looks so effervescent and bright, casting shadows on the less fortunate. The dead never celebrated in such light but rather mourned in dim grief and sadness.

Y/N doesn't like funerals, and not just because her best friend of 10 years is the recipient of this one. She's never cared for them. Believing they're just an excuse to get over the one they are to be honoring, they carry a stigma that everyone in attendance has to cry or you're seen as heartless, while the people who were never close to the deceased are presumed fake for showing emotion. Y/N thinks they're a big joke... with a cruel, cruel punchline.

The sound of despondent music playing and cries ring throughout the cemetery as Phoebe's casket is lowered six feet into the ground. The unchecked emotions start to boil inside of Y/N. Anger boiling deep inside of her quickly reaching its point, anger that stems from betrayal, that stems from hurt, that stems from...loss. She quietly scoffs, shaking her head with a stone cold look, before quickly getting up and walking away from the ceremony as her late friend's uncle, Bill, wraps up his poor excuse of a eulogy.

Phoebe wouldn't have wanted this. She wouldn't have wanted people to cry over her casket, stuck laying in a padded box while people who don't even know the real her, speak of her existence like they were the best of friends. They weren't. She was. Y/N was her best friend. These people don't... didn't know her like Y/N does. It's all bullshit.

In Y/N's quick pace away from the tent around the damp open ground, she spots a bigger gravestone with a stone bench built into it and takes a seat.

She inhales deeply, taking a moment to herself to look up at the sky. The clouds that overcast part of the blue sky drifting farther away from the graveyard as the sun starts making its way to set. She breathes in, the delightful scent of honeysuckle and dewy grass filling her nose before it's tainted by fumes of petrol from the road just on the other side of the cemetery gates behind her. It's so unfair; why of all people did Phoebe have to-

"It's all a joke," A deep accent says to her left.

She almost jumps out of her seat when she turns to the man who took the empty spot next to her. Jesus Christ, where the fuck did he come from? she thinks to herself. He had brown curly hair and green eyes (well, thinking green from what she can gather staring at the side of his face), wearing a black suit with a black button up shirt underneath. Rings clad his fingers and the sunset gleam shines off his cross necklace. She stares wide-eyed at him for a few moments before shaking her head to get out of her daze.

"Huh?" She says when she realizes he had spoken before.

"It's all a big joke," He repeats himself, the British accent more noticeable this time around. His head faced towards the funeral, having not spared a glance at her once this whole time.

She settles back into her seat, shifting her gaze to match his with the group of mourning people in the distance.

"Yeah." Y/N sighs in agreement.

The two of them sit in silence for a moment before Y/N decides to speak. Thinking to herself that if anyone would listen to her thoughts, a man who's also ditching the shitty eulogy would be her best bet.

"They all talk about her as if she was God." She chuckles humorlessly.

He scoffs with a small smirk, "Far from it."

Another wave of silence crashes over them, before Y/N breaks it once again.

"She would've hated this," She whispers, "People she barely even knows crying over her like they had any significance in her life. She probably only talked to five people here. She didn't even like her uncle." She laughs, referencing the man who gave the half-assed eulogy about how Phoebe being such an innocent, bright young girl.

"They're grieving her loss instead of celebrating her life, it's all fucked," He clears his throat before continuing, "Funerals are for the living."

"I hate funerals..." She says in reply.

Glancing at the boy beside her when she hears him digging through his jacket pocket, pulling out a flask. He takes a sip, and another, before gesturing it to her. Not overthinking it too much, she takes the cool metal bottle and takes a big gulp. Tasting the burn of vodka in her throat and mint from what she supposes is the mysterious strangers mouth.

Handing the flask back she says, "She would've wanted a party. Something where everyone was having fun in her honor, not some substandard funeral full of random people and careless words."

This time he's the one who chuckles humorlessly, "Yeah, she would've wanted everyone t'take shots and dress up in fancy clothes n' wreak havoc on this fucking town,"

Y/N smiles at this because Phoebe really would. Phoebe was the type of person who everyone wanted to be friends with, but also who everyone was scared of. She was mysterious and intimidating (a bit like the man next to her, Y/N thinks). Phoebe was a master at persuasion and could get almost anyone to go on crazy fucking adventures with her. One of Y/N's favorite memories with Phoebe was when they dressed up in wedding dresses they had gotten from a second-hand store and walked down the street yelling random things at strangers, taking turns drinking tequila from a metal water bottle.

"She really was something else, huh?" Y/N says a bit somberly, reminiscing on her late best friend.

"Definitely, a know-it-all," He laughs, bringing the flask up to his mouth.

"Oh, of course, she always thought she was right." She smirks.

"I mean, most of the time she was." He shrugs.

"Yeah, how did she always know everything?" The two of you laugh, taking turns drinking from the flask.

He shakes his head in disbelief, silence settling over the pair again.

"How did you know her?" He asks, still staring at the gathering of people in the distance.

"...She was my best friend," Y/N responds quietly, still staring out at the sunset.

He hums in return, "You?" She asks as she hands the flask over.

"Her cousin." His rough voice speaks out.

"You're Harry?" She says, less as a question and more in disbelief. Phoebe always mentioned her cousin Harry from England, always telling Y/N of stories they had together getting into reckless shit.

She turns her head to look at him just as he does, "And you're Y/N."

He offers a soft, knowing smile, both having heard countless stories of one another from Phoebe. He leans back and extends his arm on the top of the bench behind her, feeling the warmth of his body radiate off of him.

"I wonder what she'd say to me now. Sitting on a random gravestone in our hometown, drinking out of her cousin's flask, ditching what's supposed to be her remembrance." Y/N says, leaning back on the bench too.

"She would've said, 'quit y'crying, it's a sign of the times' and then would drag your arse t'the nearest pub." He laughs.

She joins in on the soft laughter, shaking her head because she knows that's exactly what she would've said. Phoebe was such a joy to be around, her presence unmatched.

"You know, she always talked about wanting to leave a legacy behind. Most of the time, I just laughed at her, thinking it was just another bizarre thing to come out of her mouth. But, she was always saying she wanted to be remembered as some enigma when she dies..." Y/N recalls the many memories of her and Phoebe staying up til 4am talking. Chills suddenly covering her body, not only from the cool Winter air but because of how Phoebe had talked about her death and now she's actually...dead.

She turns her head to look at Harry and he has a bittersweet smile on his face.

"I think she's accomplished that quite well, hasn't she?" He replies.

"How?" She questions softly with furrowed brows.

"Well, f'starters, her funeral is full of people who never even knew her, or frankly even cared about her, while two emotionless people just got up and stormed away from it t'drink vodka out of a flask on some random person's gravestone." He laughs before tacking on, "Trust me, the people over there are wondering who the hell she was and who she knew, right about now."

She turns her head from the (quite pretty, she thinks) boy to her left, looking at the wake, only to be met with a few people staring back at them.

"Well, I'll be damned," She scoffs. "Of course, the bitch did it." A smile bright on her face, probably the only real grin she's pulled since Phoebe's passing. Her best friends wishes coming true makes her heart warm just a tad, a relief to how cold losing her best friend made it.

"Always able t'make her life seem like an episode of Pretty Little Liars." He says shaking his head with a knowing smirk.

This comment makes Y/N laugh quite loudly, drawing a few — what she could only think were glares — back at her. Wiping a stray tear from her face that fell due to her laughing. The sweet sound coming from her lips only tacking on Harry to join her.

"Oh my god, she practically lived in an indie movie, always the role of the mysterious main character!" She chuckled out, creases forming at the corners of her eyes that Harry has taken a liking to.

As both of their laughter slowly dies out, another silence comes over them; only this time it's almost deafening. It's like the weight of the matter finally settled in.

Harry lets out a deep sigh, staring out at the never ending field of stone. Flowers accompany very few of the many graves; some wilted, some looking fresh, some long gone by now. Name placards littering the ground, all of these lost and forgotten people just decomposing underneath them. People coming and going to visit, only to be forgotten as time goes by, memories fading from their loved ones' mind. He wonders if he could ever forget Phoebe. No, I could never, he thinks to himself. He could never forget the only person that ever truly believed in him and embraced him for being himself.

Deciding he doesn't want to give anymore thought to the painful insight that one day he might forget Phoebe, he asks Y/N something instead.

"Y'wanna get out of here? M'starvin'."

The quiet girl next to him looks his way, his green eyes meeting her's that shine in the last few minutes of orange sunlight. Her eyes are so pretty, he tries to mentally shake that thought out of his head. He can't be hitting on his late cousin's best friend at her funeral, for fuck's sake.

Y/N only nods in response, gathering her bag and phone before standing from the bench. Harry towers over her when he gets up and the observation of how tall her his makes Y/N feel all giddy inside for some reason. Placing the flask back in his suit jacket pocket, he leads the way to a small restaurant nearby. She walks beside him the whole way there, the two of them just quietly observing everything around them.

***

The crisp, cool air passes through, goosebumps creeping up their arms as they sit in the outside seating of a small restaurant. Comfortable silence wraps them up and spits them out as their minds explore all the vast depths of their troubled minds, giving them time for their treacherous thoughts to eat at their sanity bit by bit.

"Phoebe told me once," Y/N cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the scratchy feeling from not using it. Harry's green eyes moved to her from his observance of the lonely street they're next to as she spoke softly. "She told me the only time she truly felt alive was when she made decisions that were reckless and spontaneous. She said living her life precariously was the only reason for her happiness, claiming that the perfect life is just an illusion. That dreaming of labor should not be the goal, but instead becoming your authentic self and living with no regrets..."

Harry stays quiet, reflection in his eyes as he stares at her from across the table, chewing the food in his mouth. Y/N plays around with the food on her plate with her fork and waits for his acknowledgment (although, she doesn't even know if he would say or do anything -- she doesn't know why she decided to tell him that)

"I mean, she's right, righ'? I never understood when people would ask what your 'dream job' is from a young age. No one's dream is t'work everyday 'til they die. They have to, t'make a living and survive, but what's the point in living if you aren't enjoyin' it. But, if y'workin' all the time, how do you make the time to really live?" He says, furrowing his brows as he talks.

Y/N takes in his words. The moonlight and street lamps casting a soft glow on his face, his carved features looking even more beautiful at night.

"Yeah... I guess, I guess I just envy how she viewed life, ya know?" She states, looking at the cars drive by as she tries to explain how she feels. "Always saying things to make you rethink your existence and purpose..." She looks back at Harry and whispers, "...She talked about life so much like she knew she was going to die."

"Well, we're all gonna die eventually." Harry rests his arms on the table with a quiet sigh, his features passive, but his mind is thinking of how he just wants to hug her and tell her everything is going to be alright.

"Yeah, but she just...she talked about it like she knew all the answers. She knew exactly what to say, when to say it. Sometimes, I feel like she was telling everyone around her how to live in complete happiness because she knew she didn't have much of her own, despite convincing everyone she was carefree and unbothered." Y/N shrugs and watches as they fall into a short silence.

"...I miss her." Harry breathes out after a moment, reaching his hand across the table to hold hers. Her skin is soft against his as he rubs his thumb against her hand in an attempt to comfort both of them.

Her eyes soaking in his softened expression, her cherry tinted lips whispering, "Me too."

They eat the rest of their dinner in silence, the only sounds reverberating from the road with the occasional car or pedestrian. Harry pays for the food, but not without many protests from Y/N.

As the two walk side by side down the street, back to the cemetery to pick up their cars, Y/N suddenly falls anxious. She doesn't want to be alone tonight, scared of being alone with her thoughts when she goes back to stay in her childhood home. Her parents, still living in the house they lived in since her youth, had to drive up to another town for a few nights to stay with her cousins because they planned to go there before the news broke about Phoebe. Leaving Y/N alone in the empty house since there wasn't room for her at her cousins.

The black cemetery gates coming into view, eeriness and gloom becoming more apparent when the sun is down, Y/N and Harry can see their two cars sitting idly on the side of the road. Y/N fidgets with her fingers as they grow close to departure.

"D-do you, maybe, wanna hang out for a little while longer?" She turns to face him, looking up at him nervously. "I just don't want to be alone right now." She rushes out when he doesn't respond.

"Yeah, I didn't really want t'go home alone right now either." He offers a sliver of a smile before unlocking his car, grabbing two brown paper bags that look to hold bottles, and gesturing his head, "C'mon, we'll pick up my car later. Let's go celebrate Pheebz, yeah?" He grins.

She smiles at him, unlocking her own car and waiting for him to get in, putting on a playlist full of Phoebe's favorite songs. She drives through her hometown, memories stirring up of her and her best friend smoking weed in the park the summer before graduation and jumping in the lake naked in the middle of winter. The two end up at her house sitting in her abandoned driveway, both unbuckling but neither making the move to get out of the parked car, the engine still running as they sit listening to the melodies playing from the speaker.

Harry suddenly pulls out two bottles from the brown paper bags at his feet, one of vodka and the other tequila.

"Pick y'poison." He says with a smirk.

She picks the vodka and Harry mutters, "Good choice, tequila is more m'speed."

"Weren't you drinking vodka at the funeral?" She laughs, unscrewing the cap.

"Yeah, figured I'd drink Phoebe's favorite since it was her party." He chuckles.

"To Phoebe." Y/N says, sorrow lacing her voice as she turns in her seat to face Harry.

"To living your life precariously." He says before the two of them take a big gulp of the sharp liquid, starting what will only be the beginning of a long night.

***

Light shines through the white curtains, the room glowing bright in the soft, yellow sunlight. The white comforter tangled up in bodies as birds chirp in the morning tranquility. Y/N's eyes flutter open, immediately feeling sweaty and clammy. The headache that sets in reminds her of the amount of alcohol she consumed last night. Waking up in her childhood bed after blacking out in the backseat of her car the night before doing very little for her sanity.

As she lays in bed, groggy, she needs to pee. She moves to get up and walk to the bathroom connected to her room, only to freeze when an arm wraps around her and pulls her closer. Warm breathes pant at the back of her neck, unintelligible murmurs coming from the person behind her. Her eyes widen, realizing Harry is the one she is snuggling with in the early morning (afternoon?) light. Despite needing to pee really badly, she finds herself only melting into his touch. She can't remember the last time someone held her like this, can't remember the last time she felt this content. In fact, she thinks the last time she cuddled with someone was with Phoebe when she slept over in her room at their apartment... Well, just Y/N's apartment now.

Y/N and Phoebe would have movie nights in Y/N's room and in the midst of the fun, they would grow tired. Phoebe would never want to leave the comfort of Y/N's warm bed, so she always asked, sleepover?, with a wide grin. To which Y/N never refused and the two would put on The Notebook and fall asleep spooning one another. The first time it happened, when they were children having sleepovers, she tensed a bit; thinking it weird for her friend to cuddle her because no one had ever done that. But, as the years went by and their friendship grew stronger, knowing that despite both of them being bisexual it wasn't an act of intimacy, but one of platonic comfort.

So, Y/N figured (in her touch deprived mind) that this was just an act of friendly, platonic intimacy...nothing else. After coming to that conclusion, she let herself relax into his touch, his warm embrace nodding her off to sleep once again.

What wakes her up the second time is the sound of a gravelly voice groaning. The arm around her waist squeezes tightly before the body it's attached to tenses up. Harry tries to take in the position they're in -- his arm snuggling her close to his bare chest and legs intertwined with hers -- but his hangover headache clouds his mind too much to think about it. Only registering that he's never felt this comfortable with someone before, never felt someone so warm and cozy. He's cuddled lots of girls (and guys), has spent many mornings waking up in someones hold or holding someone in his, but they've never been as addicting as her. Never being so relaxing, so soft. He's about to just say, fuck it, and fall back asleep as to spend as much time with her in his clutch, but Y/N had stirred awake from his groaning and she really has to pee!

She slowly turns in his arms, their legs shifting apart, and is met with probably the cutest sight she's ever seen. His eyes are glassy and the green of his irises shine in the soft light. His lips pink and his face holding a hesitant look, like he thinks she might yell at him for accidentally ending up in his arms throughout the night, but she can also sense the underlying feeling of content reading on his face. The way his eyes soften when they meet hers and the way his hand involuntarily squeezes at her side. The serene feeling almost tangible as her childhood room becomes their own little world. All the responsibilities and pain of the outside fall ceased at the door decorated with heights of a growing Y/N.

"G'morning," His gravelly voice going straight to her heart, melting it at the beautiful sound.

"Good morning," She says in a raspy whisper, her throat dry from the alcohol and singing at the top of her lungs the night before.

She takes the quiet moment to look at his body, her gaze drifting from tattoo to tattoo, not realizing how many he has. She knew he had some from the ones on his hands yesterday, but she didn't know he had so many. His long sleeve button up had covered the view of the ones adorning his arms, but she looks at them now in awe, thinking how pretty they are.

She's about to tell him how much she likes the butterfly tattoo on his chest, when her bladder has other plans.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to pee," She bashfully smiles as she looks at him.

"Oh, m'sorry. Probably should've told ya' I'm a cuddler." He gives a small smile with embarrassment soaking his words, thinking he's made her uncomfortable.

"No need to apologize," Her eyes light up at his out of character shyness, "I am too, I just really have to go to the bathroom." The harmonious sound of her giggles soothing every worry in Harry's body.

He playfully sighs, "Fine, I guess I'll let y'go piss."

A smirk pulls at his lips as she rolls her eyes and gets up, but he can see the corners of her lips turn up.

She goes to the bathroom, doing her business and washing her hands. She takes the time to brush her teeth and wash her face, cringing when she looks in the mirror. She feels gross that she looked like this when Harry woke up with the resemblance of an angel.

When she's finished, she walks out back into her room, excited to get back into the warm bed (and hopefully cuddle with Harry some more, but she would never admit that out loud), but she's met with abandoned sheets and panic consumes her. Did he leave? Did I make him uncomfortable by waking up in his arms? He was the one to cuddle me and he joked about it! But maybe he was just trying to be nice so he could escape? Her mind starts to race a mile a minute of anxious thoughts before they're all suddenly wiped away at the smell of coffee wafting in from the open doorway.

She throws on a sweatshirt and socks and makes her way down the stairs of the familiar, yet foreign after spending so long away from home, house. Her sock clad feet pad on the hardwood floors as she walks into the kitchen, spotting Harry silently staring at a spot on the wall with a cup of coffee in his hand (he's using the same pink and green mug with a little ceramic pig sitting on the top of the handle that Phoebe would use every time she'd sleepover in high school).

She walks in quietly, coming up behind him and grabbing a cup of coffee for herself, noticing the two pain killers next to the pot (which made her heart swell if she's honest). He had heard her coming down the stairs, but despite her presence his focus is still on the spot on the wall. Taking a sip of her pick-me-up and swallowing the pills, she takes up space next to Harry, following his eyes that stare intently at a picture frame hanging up and her eyes immediately soften.

"That was freshman year," Y/N spoke delicately, staring at the picture herself, "We had both been asked to prom by these senior guys. I was ecstatic because no one had ever shown any liking to me, but Phoebe had played it cool, of course." Harry lets out a quiet breathy laugh because of course Phoebe didn't care.

"We spent weeks planning out how prom night would be. Imagining how the senior parties would be like and if the boys would kiss us by the end of the night or not. She came over at 9am the morning of the dance and we spent all day getting ready and laughing with each other. She had even done my makeup all pretty and I helped her get into her dress. I remember I laughed when she decided she was going to wear converse under her dress, and she almost convinced me to do it too because she said 'you're not gonna be the one laughing when we're at all the after parties and your feet are killing you'." A genuine smile forms on Y/N's face as she reminisces on the cherished moment.

"But, two hours before the dance, our dates cancelled on us and told us they were going with these senior girls." Harry scoffs bitterly, understanding how cruel teenage boys are.

"I remember I was so upset because the one time I thought someone actually liked me or thought I was pretty enough to go to prom with, had just made me a second choice..." She recalls to Harry, who is now looking at the side of her face as she looks at the picture of Phoebe carrying Y/N on her back, piggy-back style, in long prom dresses, dirty white converse peaking out from under both girls' dresses.

"So, she grabbed me by the arms and looked me in the eyes and said 'Y/N L/N, we are deserving of the love we wish for. No senior boys are going to make us doubt that. We are not little freshmen girls who can be seen as cheap thrills and easy hookups. We are women, who demand respect and complete infatuation.' Then she took the tickets that the boys had pre-purchased for us, took my hand, and dragged me to that dance. We had been each other's date and made prom our bitch. She even got us into a party afterward...And we had one hell of a night."

She smiles fondly at the sweet memory. Harry's eyes flutter between the picture and the beautiful girl next to him. How could she ever think of herself as a second choice?, is all he can wonder to himself.

Letting his gaze fall to the picture one last time, he mumbles, "Well, those boys missed out on the best thing t'ever happen t'them."

He doesn't catch Y/N's blush that creeps up on her cheeks as he turns around, taking a sip from his little pig mug.

She shakes her head as to get out of the crushing haze she falls into, turning and walking to the countertop, leaning against it as Harry stands in front of her on the other side.

"Thank you. F'letting me stay the night, last night." He speaks up.

Y/N notices how he's still lacking a shirt, making her mouth dry up just a little at the sight of how fit he is. The tattoos stretching across his tan skin so perfectly, the black ink creating such a beautiful contrast on his body. He catches onto the not-so-subtle gawking and smirks.

"Uh, yeah. It's really no problem. There's no way I'd have let you drive home intoxicated and it was the least I could do after I made you practically spend the day with me." She blushes.

"Y'didn't make me," He shakes his head gently with a smile.

Y/N doesn't know to feel about how her cheeks heat up at his remark, shyly looking away as the teasing gleam in his eyes might make her combust.

"O-okay. Good to know." She squeaks out, the action only fueling Harry's ego and playful mood.

"I should go get m'car from the cemetery before it gets towed," He says almost disappointedly, like he doesn't want to leave yet. If she's being honest, she doesn't want him to leave yet either.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good. I'll give you a ride." She says, shaking off the saddened feeling of his departure.

"Oh, you don't have t'do tha'." He shakes his head but Y/N quickly shoots him down.

"Nonsense, I'll take you. It's no big deal."

He smiles at her objection, nodding, and going upstairs to grab the rest of his clothes, feeling uncomfortable in his dress pants from the funeral that he had put back on when he got up this morning, not wanting to make Y/N feel weird by staying in only his boxers.

***

Vodka Lover: hey... are you up?

She chews on the skin around her thumb, a nervous habit that Phoebe had always teased her about, as she sends the text to Harry (having exchanged numbers when she had dropped him off at his car at the cemetery). Phoebe had always said, 'You're not gonna have any thumb left to chew, babes, if you keep at it'. To which Y/N just rolled her eyes, but in the deafening silence of 4am, she wishes she cherished those moments with her best friend more. Wishing she didn't take for granted in those little encounters of Phoebe's care and concern with her well-being. Y/N would give anything to be able to spend one more minute with her.

Butterfly Boy: yeah, everything okay?

Vodka Lover: um, can i call you?

Suddenly, breaking the bitter quiet with a ringtone, her phone she holds in her palm lights up with Harry's contact. A tear falls from her face onto the screen and she has to wipe it away before she presses accept.

"Y/N?" Harry's deep voice rings out, laced in worry, from the other line.

She chokes out a sob, not being able to hold it back anymore. The floodgate of her emotions she has been trying to keep at bay suddenly burst. Salty tears fall onto the blue fluffy blanket from her senior year she's wrapped up in.

"Hey, hey, s'everythin' okay? What's wrong?" Harry says, more alert now that he hears her in such a fragile and frantic state.

Y/N just cries harder, desperately trying to catch her breath, she feels like she's suffocating.

"Hey, love, just breathe. Just breathe, Y/N." He tries to coax her down in a soothing voice.

A raggedy breath is heard on Harry's side, making the worry dissipate just a little now that he knows she's breathing. Harry sits up in his bed, calling out to Y/N, repeatedly telling her to just keep breathing. He can't get to what's wrong if she hyperventilates.

He was laying restless in his bed when she had texted, lost in thoughts of life and replaying memories with his cousin. Trying to grasp everything she's ever told him before, hoping that by watching the moments he spent with her like a film reel in his mind would help him not forget them.

"Love, can y'tell me what's got you so upset? Please," He asks softly when she calms down enough where her breathing is regular and not sporadic inhales gasping for air.

"I-I-I miss her," She cries out into the phone, the thought of embarrassing herself by breaking down to Harry not on her mind; the only thought she has is how empty she feels.

"I know, I know, love. I miss her, too," He sighs out sadly, wishing he could take away her pain, hating the way her voice quivers with every word. "Do you want t'talk about it?"

She wipes the tears that sting her eyes and cascade down her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. The one she wore when Harry slept over, smelling a little like him still from the car ride to his car that day, three days ago.

They had been texting each other and talking every day since then, usually about light topics like asking how their day's were or what they were doing. However, tonight (or early morning), everything felt like it was crashing down on her. Y/N's strong front she had put up since the funeral for Phoebe's family finally collapsed, and she's found herself stuck under the rubble. She was trying so hard to keep it in because she shouldn't be feeling sorry for herself when someone's kid is dead.

She had bored herself to tears, not knowing what to do. The only thing that seemed right was to call Harry.

"Talk to me, babe." He begs her, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

"I-" She sniffles, "I feel like I'm fucking drowning,"

He hates how defeated her voice sounds and he wishes he could just be there to hug her and tell her everything's going to be okay, eventually.

"It-it feels like my whole life is in ruins. Harry, I miss her." Her face scrunches up again as she starts to sob, "Sh-She was my best friend, I d-did everything with her. How am I s-supposed to do this without her? How am I supposed t-to live without her?"

"Oh, darling. I know, but you will..and you can." He frowns, racking his brain for the right thing to tell her, "You got t'live so you can experience all those ways of life she always talked about. Y'haven't experienced all those feelings Pheebz would mention when she would live her life precariously. Don't y'want to know how she felt when she would talk of such a beautiful life she lived, yeah?"

He hears a hiccup and a quiet, albeit breathy, yeah, from the other side of the call.

"You are so strong, Y/N. I don't know how y'made it this far without breaking down..." He tells her whole-heartedly.

"D-don't know how you haven't either," She gets out, realizing how selfish she's probably being, bothering Harry with her grief when he has his own to deal with.

"Honestly," He breathes out through a somber smile, "The only reason I haven't is because I have you, love."

Y/N's heart swells tenfold, she thinks. She didn't realize Harry needed her just as much as she needed him.

"...I'm sorry for calling you, I know it's late." She says through sniffles when she notices the time.

"There's no reason to apologize. It's okay, love. It's okay to hurt or be angry or upset. No one expects you to be perfect all the time." He pauses, listening to her breathing.

"Ya know, one day, it won't hurt this much. One day, you'll be able t'look back at this moment and it won't break y'heart as much as it does now. You're just in the thick of it right now, pretty girl. But, the light's coming soon, I promise." He continues and Y/N feels her heart beat faster at the pet name.

"You promise?" Her voice barely above a whisper and Harry thinks his heart just broke at the sound.

"Promise." He says, wiping the stray tears rolling down his cheeks, "Phoebe wouldn't want y'to be this upset. She would want you to keep living your life and find out the ways to how she was so in love with it. If not for yourself, love, then for her...F'me."

She nods, despite knowing he can't see. Silence falls over the pair, only the sound of bated breaths assuring the other one is there.

"One summer," He speaks up, "One summer, my family had come t'visit them, partly because of the lake near her house. It was after we had moved t'the States from Cheshire, and Phoebe and I would go walk to the little pond near the park,"

"The one near Hope?" She asks quietly if they had gone to the park she had always played at as a little girl.

"Mhm. We would walk there in the blistering sun and when we got there she tried to convince me how fairies were real." He said in a calm voice.

He hears an airy puff of breath escape her mouth, which he takes as a small giggle -- making him want to continue his story as it's helping her cheer up, and because he'd probably do anything to hear her that sound from her.

"Yeah, fairies. She told me that they live at the pond and t'see them, I would have to find a pretty flower and then jump in the water with it in only m'underwear." He breathes out a laugh.

Y/N gasps, trying to keep quiet but fails when she lets out a loud laugh.

"Oh my, did you do it?" She asks bewildered, laying down so her head rests against the pillow.

"So, I told Phoebe 'no way', yeah? But, then she said she can't just tell me about them and not follow through with seeing them. Convinced me that it would bring bad luck." He scoffs, remembering the memory vividly.

"Bad luck, indeed." She giggles and it brings the dimple out on Harry's face.

"Yeah, so of course, me being like 8 or sum', I stripped down to m'pants in the middle of the day and jumped in the water." He smiles when he hears her laughing, even if it's at his expense. "Y'laughing, but I think I got ringworm after tha'!"

"I can't believe she got you to do that! I wish I'd been there." Y/N says, out of breath from laughing.

"Scarred me of ponds for the rest of m'life." He chuckles and a pause takes them both over as they settle back down.

"...Thank you, H." She whispers into the phone, adoration taking up all her features.

“F’what?”

“For being you, for being here. Just...Thank you.” She sighs.

They get lost in recalling stories of their loved one for the rest of the night, repainting her memories in gold. They laugh with each other until all the pain seems to disappear. The weight, of what felt like the world, lifting off of both their shoulders. Finally being able to breathe after days of endless battles of trying to stay strong for Phoebe's sake.

***

Days pass since the lonely 4am phone call and Y/N and Harry are still talking everyday.

She finds out he lives in her city, only a few blocks from her apartment she shared with Phoebe! She didn't believe him when he first told her, but he said he was always busy with college whenever Phoebe tried to meet up. Y/N's not going to lie, her heart picked up when she found out he'd be so close to her, wondering if he'd want to hang out with her when they leave her hometown.

Almost everyday of the last few days they have visiting, they've spent at Y/N's empty childhood home. Harry asking her to explain pictures and what she was like in high school, whenever he gets the chance. In turn, she's been picking his mind on what Holmes Chapel was like and how his family was growing up. She found out that he lived with his sister, Gemma, and his mom, Anne. They talked about everything, from their favorite things to every pet they've ever had (Y/N, particularly, falling in love with the pictures of his cat, Evie).

Just as the last few days have been spent, they are spending Y/N's last day in her hometown together before she goes back. Harry told her he had to stay a couple more nights with his family before he could leave, assuring her he would've gone back with her if he could've. That comment made her blush and she had to pray the butterflies growing in her tummy to relax.

That's another thing. Y/N had stopped lying to herself and denying the ache in her chest that would form when she was away from Harry, growing very fond of him since their first encounter at the headstone bench.

Harry, also, couldn't deny any longer the way his heart would flutter at every little thing she did. Just wondering to himself how everything about her was just so pretty. He loved the way her eyes would light up every time she saw him and how he would catch her checking him out whenever he took off his shirt.

He especially loved the way she let him sleepover a few times and how they would end up cuddling into the late hours of the morning. Both parties not minding one bit, the comfort and warmth actually preferred than sending Harry home to sleep in his own bed.

"Bet I can reach that branch right there," Harry shouts with a gleeful tone, a bit out of breath as he tries to stretch his legs far enough so his shoe brushes against the leaf on the end of the tree branch.

The two of them decided to go to Hope park, where they both held fond childhood memories at. They settled at the swingset, calm swaying in the seats quickly turning into a competition of who could swing the highest. Harry won of course, his legs being much longer than hers giving him the advantage. Playful giggles and sweet conversations of things occurring in that moment help distract them from both Phoebe and the fact that Y/N is leaving.

Y/N is distracting herself from worrying about if Harry will reach out to her when they get back to the city, if he even wants to talk to her again after this weekend or if this was all just out of politeness.

Harry, on the other hand, is distracting himself from wondering if she fancies him. He wonders if the cuddles and small touches meant as much to her as they did him, if after this weekend she would want to hang out again or if she was just being nice because he knows what she's going through.

"Bet I can reach it before you!" She giggles as her hair whips around in the wind she's created. Pumping her legs back and forth, desperately trying to get higher so she can beat Harry in her made up competition.

"Now, love, not everything has to be a competition," He huffs, really reaching out this time, "But, I wanna win, if we're playing a game, I wanna win." He grins, the cute dimple that Y/N has fallen for making an appearance on his face.

The two try their hardest to be the first ones to touch the tree branch hanging not too far from their swinging feet at their highest point. Harry, however, attempts a little too hard and flies off the swing when he lifted up his leg to make the two inch gap he was short of.

Tumbling to the woodchip covered ground, he ends up laying on his back. Groans spill out of his mouth and Y/N's eyes go wide with concern. She slows herself down just enough to safely jump off the swingset, rushing to Harry's side.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" She asks worriedly, trying to hold back the laugh that's trying to bust out. Crouching down to him, she runs her hand over his arm that's grabbing his leg.

He rubs his knee with a pained smile, "Yeah, just peachy, pet."

"Is anything hurting? Bruised?" She questions with a loving smile.

"Just my ego," He chuckles, looking up at her and admiring her caring nature.

She can't hold it in anymore, she laughs loudly at his comment, her carefree happiness making Harry's ears perk up and his heart warm.

"Yeah, love, just laugh at the crippled man." He jokes, smiling up at her happy face, wishing it could stay that way forever.

She lets out another laugh at his comment, delicately grabbing his arm to help him up, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It wasn't funny," She attempts to calm herself but fails, "Okay, it was a little bit funny!"

Giggles fall out of her mouth as Harry brushes off the mulch from his jeans, "See how much you're laughing when I push you out of the swing."

"I'm soo scared." She mocks fear.

"Oh, just wait, pet. You'll never be safe on another swing set again." He playfully grabs her sides to tickle her, but her fighting his tries just ends up bringing her closer in his hold.

Their laughs quickly die out when they realize he's holding her in his clutch, his hands at her waist, hers around his neck. Harry stares into her eyes as she stares back into his. The empty park is serene, no other noises besides the chirping of birds and the sounds of other animals sprawling about. The sweet moment causes Y/N's breath to hitch and her palms to sweat. They've only been this close when cuddling, she's never been this close to his face before. His features glow in the sunlight, his green irises complimenting the bounce of his skin and dark eyelashes. Her skin is soft and warm against his, and he just wants to lean in and-

Y/N's eyes flutter close as Harry's face comes closer, his lips meet hers in a gentle caress. With the sweet kiss, he takes note of how soft her lips are, how warm and fuzzy her intimate touch is making his head. While one hand is squeezing at her side, the other is brought up to cradle her face and she leans into his touch. Harry sucks on her bottom lip before peeling away so they can catch their breath.

Y/N lets out a whine at the loss of contact, her bottom lip jutting out as he pulls away.

"What are y'pouting for, pet? W-was that not okay? Should I not have done tha'?" The blood almost drains from his face at the pouty look on her beautiful face.

She shakes her head at him, "No, I liked it. I want more," She pants, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her lips.

He chuckles at her cute antics (and in relief of not fucking up his shot with her). He smiles against her lips as he melts back into her, her hand around his neck reaching up to tangle in his curly hair. He groans when her nimble fingers pull tenderly at the curls at the base of his neck, causing him to squeeze her side gently.

She breathlessly kissed him, slotting her lips between his and immediately opening her mouth in acceptance when he brushes his tongue against her bottom lip in a silent ask to take it further. As the kiss deepens, the need for air increases. They naturally separate, Harry sucking her bottom lip as he goes until it pops back.

Taking in her reddened swollen lips and her pretty flushed face, he presses one last chaste kiss on her lips, and one to her cheek and her nose.

A big, genuine grin adorns Y/N's face as she stares up at the man in front of her.

"Thank you f'letting me do tha'." He says with a gravelly voice.

"I've been thinking about you doing that since the first night you stayed at my house." She tells him bashfully.

"Me too, love. And it was better than I ever expected," He says whole-heartedly, leaning in to press one more quick kiss to her lips again.

"So, does this mean we're gonna hang out when we both go back home? Because I really want to do that again." Her glassy eyes blink at him with hope awaiting his answer.

He smiles and shakes his head, bewildered at how she could ever think that he could just ghost her after that, "I think Phoebe would come back just to slap me upside the head if I ever kissed her best friend and just never saw her again."

She chuckles at his comment, shyly looking down to her hand on his chest when he doesn't say anything else.

"Of course, I want to hang out when we get back. I want to take y'out on a real date, if you'd let me." He looks at her all starry eyed, squeezing her waist.

"I think Phoebe would come back and slap me upside the head if I ever kissed her cousin and just never saw him again," This time he's the one that laughs.

"I'd love that very much, Harry." She beams up at him.

Going back home couldn't come sooner to the both of them.

******************

ahhh i hope y’all liked that, i’d love feedback :) i’m thinking of making a series out of it, but only if that’s something y’all would like! so, pls let me know if you enjoyed it or if i should make a part 2 ??

anyways, stay safe and much love <3

470 notes · View notes

cateyemoons · 4 years ago

Text

play nice. (a little blurb)

pairing: nate jacobs x oc

warnings: a little smutty

note: first time publishing anything that i’ve written so i’m nervous af. this little blurb came from a little fic that i’ve been fiddling with. hope you enjoy.

-----------------

They say that Chris McKay’s parties were always the biggest and baddest parties, especially the one signalling the end of summer.

They also say that it was tradition for everyone to attend.

Well, she didn’t want to start off her first year at the new school by breaking tradition.

She had her reservations about having to start over in senior year but what could she do? She was still under her parents’s control but she swore to herself that once she was finished with school, she’d pack up her things and head back to the city, back to everything that she knew and loved.

For now, she decided to have some fun and this party seemed to be the first step.

The rumors were true-- this party was massive and wild, just as wild as the parties she attended in her old hometown. As soon as she entered the place, she was ushered into the kitchen by a bunch of strangers-- just kids who wanted everyone to have a good time. She downed the shots that were handed to her. Some of the guys tried to coax her into hanging out with them but she brushed them off with a laugh. One in particular, named Daniel would not stop. His hands were all over her.

“C’mon, don’t leave me hanging with blue balls.”

She smirked at him, grabbing the bottle from the table. She was ready to move on from him-- what a drip.

“At least you got your right hand to keep you company.”

She slipped away from him, taking a swig of vodka. She observed her new surroundings, the new people that she would soon attend classes with. No one noticed her. They were too involved in their own little world of drugs, alcohol and sex. Already she could see a number of hands down pants, tongues in each other’s mouths only to take a break to consume some more alcohol. She saw a number of people hand in hand and going upstairs, downstairs, outside and into other rooms.

It was like she never left home.

She turned a corner, bumping into people as she tried to squeeze through. Going down this route led her to another guy practically devouring another girl’s face. He was a massively tall guy-- was he part tree or something? Chiseled jawline, muscles in all the right places. His hands were all over the girl, sliding down to her ass as she finally pried her lips off his and started to kiss his neck.

She caught his eyes on her, a smirk on his face. He winked.

She felt a little bit of heat forming in the pit of her stomach. He was definitely attractive and she could tell with the look on his face that he knew that about himself. She liked confidence in a guy. She wouldn’t mind having him in her bed for a night.

She winked back with a smirk of her own. But she went outside, not really wanting to have a reputation of a pervert that likes watching other people get down and dirty.

Another swig of her bottle and her vision was starting to blur. But she managed to make out the big swimming pool, the pool lights lighting up the water and in the pool were a blonde guy and a girl that they were calling Maddy. And by the looks and sounds of it, they were having the greatest time in the pool.

“Ohhhh man, Nate’s not going to be happy about this.”

“Didn’t they JUST break up?”

“It’s like the millionth time.”

Smells toxic to me, she thought to herself.

“Jesus, she’s so fucking hot, Tyler is so fucking lucky to be fucking her like this.”

“Lucky?? Nate’s gonna murder him.”

“At least he’d die a happy man.”

She snorted, watching Maddy fuck the guy in the pool before averting her eyes. She didn’t know Maddy, this Nate guy and their relationship but it was clear that they were not good for each other. It was also clear that they broke up and made up quite often. But she had to hand it to Maddy- she knew exactly how to mess with a guy and fuck with his head.

Fucking another guy in the pool at the same party that her ex-boyfriend was attending would do exactly that.

There was a low rumble from the crowd and she looked towards the direction with a bit of an amused grin on her face. The guy that she had thought to have some tree DNA had come outside to bear witness to his ex-girlfriend’s antics. She could see the rage slowly building up from within, his brows furrowed deeply and the jealousy in his eyes. His hand held his cup tight while the other turned into a fist.

She guessed that this was Nate Jacobs.

“Yeah, that’s real classy, you fucking whore,” he spat out maliciously.

Maddy and the guy stopped their pool sex session and Maddy had a shitfaced grin on her face. Her eyes cried out, “WINNER!” as she looked up at her angry ex-boyfriend.

“Suck my DICK.”

With a snarl, Nate threw down his cup and turned back around. She tried to get out of his way but he ended up shoulder-checking her as he made his way back inside. He didn’t even bother to look at who he had knocked into. He kept walking, his temper rising with every step he took.

Any sort of attraction she had towards him disappeared. “Prick,” she muttered.

Her stomach decided to grumble. She knew the alcohol was doing its work when she had the munchies. She decided to head back inside and maybe find something to snack on. The kitchen wasn’t too crowded this time and that guy Daniel was nowhere to be seen. She poked and peeked into each cabinet and drawer, in hopes to find something to eat, even something small. What kind of party didn’t have anything to munch on?

There was a loud crash and the sounds of glass shattering right behind her and she almost shit herself. Turning around, she found Nate in a fit of fury, slamming down the bottle and pushing off all the shot glasses and beer cans from the kitchen counter. He turned around to punch the cabinet door, screaming at everyone to get out.

“Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT!” he snarled.

She remained where she was. He hadn’t seen her and maybe she would go unnoticed. In the bright light of the kitchen, she realized exactly how tall he was and how red his face had gotten due to his fit of rage. His chest was heaving hard. She could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He leaned back against the counter, closing his eyes to get himself back under control.

She turned back around, quietly rummaging through the cabinet. She spotted a bag of chips in the far back and grabbed it. She opened it up and started munching. God, the potato chips tasted so good in her mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She nearly jumped at the low growl in her ear and she turned around to find herself face to face with Nate Jacobs.

So much for going unnoticed.

“I’m eating,” she answered nonchalantly. She held the bag up to him. “Want some?”

She knew she shouldn’t poke at the bear like this but she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t afraid of confrontation. Even if it was against someone as tall and muscular as Nate Jacobs.

She watched his eyes darken. She knew what was going on in his head. Even without knowing him, she knew who he was. Judging by the whispers and comments that the others had made about him, Nate Jacobs was The Guy of this town. He was the popular, big time, and she assumed by his build, jock king of East Highland. Therefore, everyone else were his peasants. He was used to this social hierarchy. Everyone should be bowing down to him, including her.

But she wasn’t going to do that for him, even if she found him to be insanely attractive.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said get the fuck out,” he repeated.

“Yeah well, I’m hungry and it’s pretty loud out there. So I think I’ll hang out in the kitchen for a little bit longer, thanks.”

Nate’s face contorted just a little, in a bit of surprise. “You’re not scared of me?”

She laughed in his face. “Why should I be? I’ve seen and met a lot worse.”

She took a step back, her lower back hitting the counter top edge when Nate stepped forward, closing the space between them. He bent over just a little, his eyes roaming over her body and then her face. They seemed to be searching for something, probably searching for the reason why she was not scared of him, like the rest of them.

“You’re the new girl that people have been talking about at this party,” he simply stated, with no anger or annoyance in his voice this time.

“That’d be me,” She said, continuing to munch on chips.

She watched his tongue slip out from his mouth, licking his bottom lip. “How about you and I get to know each other? It’s tough starting over in a new place. You’re going to need a new friend. I can be that for you, you know,” he murmured, his face inching closer to hers.

“Is that right?” she asked, amused by his sudden change in mood.

The way guys changed tactics and moods when their dicks were hard. Amazing, really.

She tossed the bag of chips aside, making a big show of licking her fingers clean in front of him. She licked her fingers slowly, never breaking eye contact with him. His face was so close to hers that she could see his eyes grow wide with pleasure. She couldn’t help but smirk when she slid her finger in deeper, when she could hear him panting at the sight of it. She knew he was just picturing her pretty red lips wrapped around his cock.

She loved fucking with men like this. It was their one true weakness.

She was going to take full advantage of that.

“Yeah.. yeah, that’s right, baby,” he said softly, his lips curling upwards.

“Oh… I don’t know, Nate,” she said with a loud sigh. “All boys say that, you know? But they’re all bark and no bite.”

“You just haven’t met me yet, I’m not just any guy.” He dipped his face into the crook of her neck and she let him. She tilted her head back just a little bit, why not have a little pleasure for herself? Besides, he was very good at this. Her body was naturally heating up at his touch, especially right between her legs. His lips trailed up to her earlobe, nibbling her earlobe before speaking again. “Oh I’ll bite.”

“I bite too,” she said, pushing his face away with a laugh. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle it.”

“I think it might be the other way around,” he fired back, taking her hand and placing it right at his crotch.

If this was the reason why Maddy kept going back to him, well she wasn’t going to judge her too quick. He was a big boy in more ways than one.

She hadn’t expected that. Nor did she expect her underwear to become soaked.

When she looked back up at Nate, she saw the triumphant smile on his face. He knew the effect that he had on him.

Well, two can play that game.

“I think it’s you that won’t be able to handle me, baby,” he whispered, bringing his face close to hers once more, trying to kiss her but she pulled her head back.

She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him with very round and innocent eyes. “Oh, is that right?” Her lips turned into a sexy smirk when his eyelids fluttered and his jaw dropped open as she cupped him tight through his jeans.

“Oh fuck-,” he gasped.

She watched his eyes close tight, enjoying the feel of her warm hand rubbing and squeezing him. He had both hands on either side of her, gripping the counter top. She knew every drop of blood was flooding to his dick right now. His cock was rock hard for her. He wasn’t going to be able to form a complete sentence.

“You still sure I won’t be able to handle you? Or are you gonna change your mind?” she asked as she moved her hand faster.

Nate groaned louder at the sudden change in speed. He leaned forward and she pressed her forehead against his, watching all the pleasure wash over his face. “Fuck, I-I… I change my mind, fuck baby…” He managed to open his eyes, panting hard. “There’s a room upstairs, come with me.”

“Come with you? Upstairs? So I can get down on my knees and suck your fat cock?” she teased, squeezing him a little harder. His big body shuddered and she decided to keep putting these images into his mind. “Bet you’d like that, hm? You’d like watching your cock disappear in my mouth, hm?” A chill went down her spine at the thought of looking up at this guy while she was on her knees. It probably wouldn’t be a bad sight to see.

“FUCK YES, oh baby, please,” he begged with a growl, his entire body trembling. His hands gripped her hips tight, pulling her closer but she wouldn’t let him kiss her. Not yet. “God, I need to fuck you so bad.”

She had him by the balls now. Literally.

“Let’s go then,” she whispered into his ear, letting out a breathy moan to tantalize him even more, giving him a preview of what was to come.

In an instant, he took her by the hand and all but dragged her out of the kitchen. The sea of people parted for him and everyone whispered and pointed their fingers. She smiled at everyone and when they made it to the stairs, she pulled her hand away and headed towards the front door.

“HEY!” Nate grabbed her hand again. “Where are you going?”

“Home. Where are you going?” she feigned confusion.

“But you said-,”

She laughed, pulling her hand out of his grip once more. “Did you really think I’d fuck you?”

“Y-you-,”

“Enjoy the rest of the party, baby!”

Slamming the door on his shocked face, she laughed and started running. The adrenaline from teasing the shit out of Nate had her sprinting down the street. She could probably do a full marathon tonight if she wanted to.

She loved teasing guys like him. Teasing and riling them, playing around with them. Getting their hopes and dicks up, making them think that they were going to get it in with her. Acting like she wanted them to pound her straight into the bed, only to pull back and deny them. Leaving them with only their right hand to keep them company. Making them realize that they weren’t shit, that they were losers, that they were nothing. Doing this got her more horny than an actual guy ever could.

It’s a shame that he was such a prick. She wouldn’t have mind having him pound the shit out of her with that big dick of his. She bet that he was all kinds of fun in the bedroom. But now he was going to be left alone with blue balls and his right hand, just like that other kid Daniel.

And that’s what you get for being an asshole, she thought with a proud grin.

#nate jacobs #euphoria #nate jacobs x oc #nate jacobs imagine #nate jacobs smut #euphoria smut #jacob elordi #euphoria fic #nate jacobs fic

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stratiotis-nth · 3 years ago

Text

“Dean, just go book a massage already.” Sam griped as Dean let out another groan, his muscle roller brutally pressing over the knots in his shoulder. “Campus offers sessions at the health center.”

In all honesty, Dean had been trying to do everything except go get a massage. He didn’t like the idea of strange people touching him, and it certainly didn’t help that he’d seen a lot of erotic massage porn in his day. He didn’t want to get a goddamn boner in the middle of the session and get stuck in an awkward predicament with some poor girl just making minimum wage.

“I’m fine.” Dean grumbled, wincing again as the roller bumped over the aching knot he had had since he was a teenager.

“Your appointment is on Friday at 2.” Sam replied flatly. Dean turned to stare at him, incredulous as Sam showed him the confirmation page on his laptop. He scowled.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

——————

Dean mentally cursed Sam as he sat in the relax room in nothing but a fluffy towel around his hips, anxiously waiting for the masseuse to come get him (despite the room’s literal purpose being to relax). He had tried to cancel his appointment, but Sam had done something to it so the cancellation page was guarded by a passcode. He had clearly gone lengths to get Dean’s muscles loosen up, but he also suspected this was payback for every time Sam had been forced out of their apartment so Dean could hook up with whatever chick he happened to woo at the bar.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Dean jerked his head up, startled by the low pitch of the voice. Holy fucking shitbags, was he getting rubbed up by a dude? He had been expecting some hot chick with curvy hips and big tits with soft hands that could melt him to butter—

He could practically hear Sam’s voice in his head.

You’re confusing reality with porn again.

Dean nearly choked on his words, his anxiety only increased when he realized what was about to happen.

“Y-Yeah?” His voice cracked at the end. He only just started taking in the guy’s features and felt his shoulders stiffen even more—fuck. This guy was gorgeous. Not only did he have the voice of a goddamn erotic storyteller, but he looked the part too. Glossy black hair that was unfairly messy in the most attractive way (Dean’s horny mind unhelpfully suggested his hair looked like he had just gotten thoroughly fucked), a strong jawline darkened by a five o clock shadow that was so defined Dean felt the strangest urge to bite it. His lips were a little chapped, but they were plush and pink—

All train of thought came to a screeching halt when their eyes met. Jesus Christ, did this guy inject the fucking ocean into his eyeballs? No one has eyes that blue—Dean could make out the color from across the room. They shown bright and soft, a shocking contrast from the sharp defined features of a young man in his prime.

“If you’ll come with me, we can start your session.” The guy said. Dean nearly stumbled on his goddamn feet as he stood up. He had never had a problem with guys before, so why was this one throwing him off kilter?

It’s just because he’s gonna have his hands all over you in a minute. Dean reasoned to himself, anything to stop the feeling of panic fluttering in his chest. He silently followed the guy into one of the rooms, once again distracted by how fucking good the guy smelled. Maybe it was just the aromatherapy mentioned on the center’s website, but this guy smelled deeper, like almond extract and honey mixed with pine and campfires. Woodsy but sweet and Dean felt his shoulders relaxing involuntarily—until the sharp scent of lavender hit his nose and the guy’s scent was wiped out. The lavender immediately brought him back to the present, and he snapped out of his daze to realize the guy was standing patiently by the massage table—right. Dean was supposed to lay down on it.

“Have you ever had a massage here before?” The guy asked as Dean laid down and self consciously adjusted the towel now unwound from his waist and spread out on his pelvis.

“N-No.” Dean managed in a somewhat level voice.

“Well, welcome.” The guy gave him a small smile. Somehow, it made him feel better. “I’m just going to go through the standard procedure you ordered before we begin, alright?”

“Kay.” Dean squeaked, immediately making up for the embarrassing noise with a low grunt as he cleared his throat.

The guy started to calmly inform Dean of the places he would be putting his hands, all while pouring sharply sweet smelling oil on them. While he talked, Dean’s gaze somehow latched themselves onto the now-shiny hands that were about to be on him. They were nice hands—really nice hands. The knuckles were defined and his fingers were slender and strong. Dean could see the veins and tendons rolling under tan skin as he worked the oil around.

“—is that alright?”

He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the dude’s hands and back to that too blue gaze.

“Yep.” He said, all without really hearing a word the guy had said. It was an automatic response, one that the panicking part of Dean was screaming to take back.

“Your form says your problems areas are your shoulders and upper thighs.” The guy said casually. Dean felt the tips of his ears burn—his thighs were just fine, Sam knew that.

Fuck. Sam had done it on purpose, hadn’t he? To fuck up Dean’s world in cruel retaliation.

“Please turn on your back so we can begin.”

Dean tensed up the moment he was in position and the guy’s warm, slick hands touched his shoulders. His masseuse didn’t seem fazed, because he immediately went to work, strong fingers pressing into his skin as they work down his upper shoulders.

It took him a moment, when he felt Dean relaxing under his ministrations, to really begin. Dean bit back a groan as the hands suddenly became brutal, zeroing in on the knots and forcing them down with accurate strength. Dean tried to breath through the agonizing pain as he felt his muscles get pinched between strong fingers and pulled on the harsh rub downwards.

The guy worked diligently even though he had to know how much Dean was struggling. His body was both encouraging and protesting his actions, because while the knots hurt, Dean found himself floundering whenever the hands disappeared from his skin for more oil.

He felt himself sinking into the cushy table, melting like wax under this guy’s hands. As the pressure of fingers stayed on Dean’s upper shoulder and neck, there wasn’t even a buzz of arousal that he had expected. Porn lied to him, clearly, because this was perfectly okay and clinical—

And unmanly whimper escaped Dean’s clamped lips as he felt the hands slid downward without warning and suddenly there was warmth shooting down his pelvis—oh no…

The hands never stopped, traveling further down his spine and sides, pausing here and there to work out kinks. Dean did his best not to squirm, to think of disgusting things if only to dispel the chubby he probably had. The hands were nearly at his hips, pressing on either side of his tailbone and jesus fucking christ surely the towel was covering him up?

The hands disappeared, and immediately, Dean despised the loss. All his panicking vanished, replaced by a yearning to feel the touch again. He nearly jumped when the hands suddenly pressed into the back of his thighs, just below the crease of his ass. Another spike of hot arousal shot down his spine, and Dean sincerely prayed he wouldn’t be asked to turn over.

But jesus, this guy was working magic. He found knots that Dean didn’t even know he had, nearly making him cry when he worked out a particularly harsh one in his calf.

He was there for nearly an hour, fighting between states of arousal and panic in complete silence while this poor (but very hot) guy did his job in total blissful ignorance of Dean’s internal war.

“If there are any areas on your front you would like me to work on—“

“No!” Dean said a little too quickly. “No, I’m fine. Just—“ While panicking, his shoulders had tensed up again. And maybe a small part of him didn’t want to leave just yet. “Can you work on my shoulders a little more? I’m always tensing them.”

“Of course.” Came a rumbling reply, and those glorious hands were back on his shoulders, carefully pressing out the knots trying to form again. Dean immediately melted again, his shoulders slumping against the pressure.

He thought that would be the end of it. Dean had gone to the massage like Sam wanted (maybe he was thinking about going back, because he hadn’t felt that relaxed and loose in years), and now Dean could get back to classes and the garage. And if maybe he jerked off to a massage porn video imagining his masseuse instead of the faceless guy in the flick, if maybe Dean started having wet dreams about him basically every night, if maybe Dean was starting to question is already questionable sexuality all because this guy gave him a massage, it was no one’s business but his. Not like he’s ever gonna see the guy again anyway, because how could he go back now that he’s jerked off to the guy? That’s just rude.

So imagine his shock, terror, and panic when he walked into the first day of his tech class to see Mr. Massage sitting at a nearby work table, talking quietly with the professor. Mr. Magic Hands is Castiel Novak, Dean’s TA…and his lab partner for the year.

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wagner-fell · 3 years ago

Text

“So then Catra writes on this note ‘hey Adora’ and Adora is like ‘grrrr’ and so they do this whole passive aggressive dance where you could have cut the sexual tension with a knife. Oh, and then-”

“I. Hate. History. Class.” Mari slammed their plastic lunch tray onto the table.

“Oh thank god,” said Kevin. Listening to Mari rant was much preferable to hearing about the Princess Prom episode from Astrid. Again.

Blessica hit Kevin and gave him a pointed look.

“I mean it’s bad enough I have to write essays about fucking colonizers. But now I have to sit next to this white-ass American boy? No thanks.”

“You know,” began Astrid, “if you wanted, I could kill this new guy for you with, oh I don’t know, werewolf po-”

“No!” they all shouted in unison. Astrid was mundane with the gift of the slight but she didn’t think of it like a gift. What was the point of being able to see this fantastical reality if she couldn’t be a part of it? What was the point of having three werewolves as your best friends if they refused to turn you into one?

Blessica tried to tell her that, as a downworlder, she would face a lot of discrimination. But what kinda excuse was that? Astrid was a Korean lesbian who, for most of the time, lived with her single mother. At least this branch of marginalization gave her freakin’ superpowers. The only superpower Astrid currently had at her disposal was not having to date men.

Astrid angrily took a bite of her cinnamon roll and Mari followed suit. Blessica tried to pat her arm but Astrid swatted her away.

“American?” Kevin asked. “I don’t remember any Americans. Is he new?”

Mari nodded through a mouthful of baked goods. She tucked her tie into her black-and-white uniform sweater vest so they didn’t stain it. Normally she wouldn’t have bothered but laundry had been a living nightmare lately. They promptly realized that her sweater vest was also going to get food on it. In removing it, their stomach flashed briefly. She stuffed it in her bag and set an alarm on her phone so they wouldn’t forget to put it back on before the lunch bell rang. Like that time Miss Yang made them jelly doughnuts and she got detention for a week. Mari really hated this school sometimes.

When she looked up to see half the surrounding area staring at them, they looked down at her collared shirt to see if she had gotten fresh cinnamon bun gooeyness on it already.

Astrid laughed. “It’s because you exposed your six-pack.” She moved her fork around in circles, making sure the ranch covered each piece of lettuce in her salad. Astrid loved ranch. She kept a gigantic bottle of it in her bag at all times. “You know, one time this guy asked me if you got them tattooed on. Cause girls can’t have abs and all that bull.”

“And what did you tell him?” asked Mari, amused.

“No.”

“Thank go-”

“I told him the truth. That the only tattoo you have is of Consul Lightwood’s face on your ass.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“The world deserves to know.”

“You're a hazard to society.”

“Awwwww. Mari! I love you too.”

Astrid smiled and shoved a mouthful of salad into her mouth as Mari rolled their eyes.

“Holy shit,” said Blessica, staring at something over Mari’s shoulder. “That is the second hottest man I have ever seen.”

Kevin glanced in the direction she was looking at then back to her. “What? Who?” he asked at the same time Mari drawled, “second hottest, who’s the first?” with a single eyebrow raised.

Blessica blushed as Kevin continued his search. “M-magnus Bane. Obviously.”

“Riiiiiiiight,” said Astrid, looking between her and Kevin.

Blessica blushed deeper. “Shut up.”

“Wow,” said Kevin. “That him?” He pointed and this time Mari turned around…to face Kit fucking Herondale.

Blessica, still red in the face, nodded.

“Wow indeed,” agreed Astrid.

“Aren’t you a lesbian?” questioned Blessica.

“Blessie, darling, I may rather suck on a cactus than suck on a dick but hotties can admire their fellow hotties. Gender is irrelevant in this scenario.”

Mari slammed their hands down onto the table. “Ladies! We are better than simping, even just hottie wise, over an American, white boy! We have standards! And Kevin! I know that” disgust dripped from her voice, “is your type, but resist!”

He rolled his eyes. “Jesus. You hook up with two blonde nephilim and suddenly it’s your type.”

“Yes,” said Astrid slowly, as if explaining something to a very dim child, “that’s how it works.”

Mari felt like they were missing something. Her three friends began discussing where they wanted to go tomorrow for Blessica’s birthday but they were stuck on Kevin’s statement. Something about it wasn’t quite right. It took her longer than she was proud of to figure it out.

“Wait, hold up, did you say nephilim? Kit is a Shadowhunter?!”

They all exchanged a look. “Uh, yeah. Didn’t you see the Mark on his hand?”

Mari turned back to him again. He was sitting by himself at a few tables, scrolling away. And on the hand holding his water bottle… was a voyance rune, clear as day. How did they miss that? “What is a Shadowhunter doing here anyway?”

Kevin shrugged. “Perhaps he’s here to check out London’s up-coming werewolf. I hear she’s a hazard to society.”

Astrid’s head shot up. “Really?!”

“No, sorry sweetie,” interjected Blessica. Astrid finished her cinnamon bun with an annoyed ‘hmph’.

They chatted more about Blessica’s upcoming sixteenth birthday before Kevin came up with the dumbest idea ever. Which was an extremely difficult title to earn amongst the 11th years at St. Lucy’s Academy.

“We should invite the Shadowhunter.”

Mari scoffed. “The whole pack’s gonna be there! Like hell they would let a Shadowhunter crash it.”

“Oh please. Once they lay their eyes on McDreamy, they’ll all forget about his angel blood.”

Astrid gasped. “Is that a Grey’s Anatomy reference? Are you finally watching it?” They all ignored her.

“I think it might be fun,” said Blessica. “And it’s my party so…” She stood up and walked over to Kit’s table, Kevin right behind her.

Astrid picked up her salad with one hand and her second cinnamon bun with the other. “Come in,” she said. “What’s the worst that can happen. You fall in love?”

“Haha,” said Mari, slinging her bag over their shoulder and joining the others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @adoravel-fenomeno @im-not-ruined-im-ruination@thechangeling @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @sofiatheskeleton @cncnbr @its-taff @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @maxboythedog @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @illusions-give-reasons-to-live @book-dragon-not-worm @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers Lmk if you want to b adde/removed from the tag list!

#mari machado #mari Machado Sotomayor #blessica reyes #astrid yang #kevin chu #the merry hoes #kit rook #kit herondale #mari the werewolf

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youalexturnermeon · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Hope you're well 😊

Can I request a Cobra Kai Johnny imagine? Its Johnny patching up the reader, maybe after a fight with Kreese or something like that? Thank you 😁

Request: see above

A/N: I decided to leave Kreese out of it because even the littlest thought of this man gives me high blood pressure. Also this has gotten very long but I tried to warn that the topic of being patched up by Johnny has been living in my head rentfree for a while. That’s why I got carried away. Enjoy your daily dose of one shot.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, alcohol angst and fluff

Wordcount: 2078 (oopsies)

Johnny was your neighbour, you moved in, right next door, a couple of months ago. So far, nothing more nothing less. Except the fact that you had the biggest crush on him, and he wasn’t that opposed to you either. Especially when he took his time got ready to go after his Karate classes when the Yoga group arrived to which he sublet his dojo and he stayed behind, sitting in his office, door open watching you, bent over, doing the most complicated figures ha had ever seen. Johnny thought Yoga was the biggest bullshit on earth, fuck Namaste and such, but when you were doing it right in front his thirsty eyes, he didn’t even need TV. He thought you were super-hot. The problem was that he was much older than you. And besides your Yoga passion and your joint love for beer that you sometimes had together, sitting on the ground in front of the apartment complex, he knew almost nothing about you. He wished he did, even more when you once caught him eyeing you doing the Downward Dog on the mat and instead of giving him the finger for being a creep you winked at him and grinned. That made him crazy. But he was too afraid to make a move, because, let’s be honest, you were young, you were beautiful, you were extremely hot – what the fuck should you do with an old man like him, to begin with. Johnny thought, you could have anyone you wanted, someone younger, taller, fitter, more buff than him.

Right now, Johnny was sitting on the ground in front of his apartment, a beer in his hand, a couple of spear ones just in case, thinking about the last time you sat here next to him, hoping you would come out your door or back from work joining him, just to talk and to drink. A few weeks ago, around that time, you just finished work, you were tired and angry in desperate need of a drink, you sat down to him and you shared that you were a barista at Starbucks, how much you hated some customers, how years ago you moved here to go to college and how you dropped out of it three years later, simple small talk getting superficially deeper with an increased number of beers. These were little things, but Johnny was longing for more of those, sitting waiting for this occasion to repeat itself. He wanted to know everything about you and unlike with other people he wanted to share his life with you, too.

After some time, Johnny, realizing how desperate and stupid he was, now acting like a teenager again, suddenly saw your silhouette in the dark, coming closer. His excitement grew, his heart started beating faster and as much as he hated it, his palms became all sweaty. He wated to jump up, run towards you, but he pulled himself together and just sat still, focusing on a little bug crawling on the ground, not daring to look up again

“Hi, Johnny” you said, sounding exhausted, when you finally approached him and heavily sat down, opening a beer without asking. Johnny was about to greet you back when he looked up from his stupid little insect friend, as he saw your roughed-up condition. His excitement vanished and glanced at you in utter horror. Your long (Y/H/C) hair was all messy, the collar of what has once been a shirt was ripped and hung loosely down your shoulder and when he inspected your face, he gulped. Right on your perfect cheekbone was a fresh bleeding wound surrounded by a huge flowering purple bruise. Your pretty face now twisted to a grimace from pain.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), what happened to you?” he asked perplexed, examining your whole body for other injuries he might’ve still not noticed yet.

You shook your head and grinned, “Nothing special, ran into my ex who was the reason I moved to the other side of town, he found out where I was working and decided to pick me up, apparently. He insists I still owe him money, which I don’t. And when I told him this we got into a little fight.”

“Did he do this to you?” Johnny pointed at your face and your now rugged shirt, him voice was filled with fury, he was right about to jump up and hunt that motherfucker down.

“Yeah, but you should’ve seen him when I was finished with him.”

Johnny was surprised how easily you took a big fat black eye, not voicing your pain, laughing away the fight with your ex.

“I kicked his ass!”

Johnny looked at your hands, eyes narrowed. And indeed, all signs showed him that you were able to fight back. Carefully he took your hand in his, making sure he would not hurt you anymore and pulled it closer to his face. Your knuckles were just as the right side of your face, bloody and bruised. You shivered under his touch but for the first time in what seemed to you like forever since you bumped into your ex, you felt your body relaxing. The tension in your shoulders vanishing just because Johnny held your hand in yours so softly. His own were rough from all the training but it felt so good.

“I’m no little bitch, I took a few boxing lessons when I was a teenager” you explained, “When he pulled my shirt, I slapped him, when he started hitting me, I started hitting him back hard, I still got it, then I kicked him in the nuts and managed to run away”

“I’m so, so, so happy to hear to nothing worse happened to you. Next time you see that jerk, you call me, okay? Or when you are afraid to go home by yourself, call me and I pick you up, I bring you home. When I ever see your ex somewhere near here or you, I’m gonna make sure, he’s never gonna touch you or come near you ever again. I’ll even kill that motherfucker for you!”

You laughed and looked into his piercing blue eyes who still showed so much worry and you knew, he was being dead serious.

“Thank you, Johnny!” you whispered, your hand still in his and yet you couldn’t help yourself to make a joke because you could not bear being too serious about your situation right now. You were not used to someone care about you too much.

“But do you think you could manage? Would you be able to kick his ass?” “Is me being a sensei at the dojo you do your stupid yoga in a joke to you, (Y/N)” Johnny said protectively but he too, was glad you could joke right now.

“That stupid yoga you always check my ass out thinking you’re so hidden in your office?”

“Well…” Johnny scratched his head and looked into the air thinking of an even pettier response than yours, but he couldn’t think of any “You got me there”

“I’m actually flattered” you admitted. Until now you weren’t so sure it was you, he was watching so closely.

“Great, now you only have to admit that you are checking me out as well when you’re done with Yoga and I’m leading a class.” You shrugged, “I sometimes do, I love myself a good-looking man who is great with shitty children” Johnny taking another sip of his beer almost choked on it. He was not expecting THAT.

“Alright, good to have this one settled” he said trying to play it cool “Now let’s go patch you up a little”

Without any hesitation or even backtalk which Johnny actually was expecting to get, you followed him and into his apartment. He sat you down on the couch with a new beer in your hand and disappeared into his bedroom.

“Are there any other injuries I should know about?” he yelled whilst rummaging in every cupboard.

“Well, besides my depression, I guess the bastard also managed to kick me in the ribs. Some ice would be great”

Johnny wasn’t even sure he had a first-aid kit somewhere, he wasn’t even sure he ever owned one. Ice would also be a problem, but he thought, a bag of frozen peas or a steak would do, too. After a little search he finally stood with a clean towel, a bottle of vodka and some band aids in front of you again. Firstly, he gave you the peas.

“Show me your ribs” he commanded, and you lifted your ripped shirt. Your complete left side was crowned by an even bigger and darker bruise than the one on your face. He was concerned and hoped nothing was broken and yet he almost shivered seeing your bare skin. To him, you were the most beautiful thing in the whole world right now, even with your beaten face.

“Looks bad” he said and sighed as he sat down next to you and watched you putting the bag of frozen vegetables on your ribs, you hissed.

“It’s nothing. They’re not broken. Broken ribs hurt like hell and this is really nothing compared to that.” Johnny lifted his eyebrows in question.

“I broke my ribs a couple of times” “So you’re a tough cookie?” “You’re not the only tough guy on the block, sensei. I’m not a pussy.” you laughed and friendly nudged him with your elbow. He loved when you called him sensei. And he was excited about the fact that your language was so similar to his. He started to like you even more than he already did.

“Aright, alright. If this is nothing, let’s take care of your face then.”

He turned to you, in his hand the towel now soaked in vodka. He cleaned the crusted blood from your knuckles first. Then, he took a deep breath, he carefully started dabbing the cut on your face. You clenched your teeth but didn’t make a sound.

“Good girl” he said, “No bitching or moaning, that’s good!”

You just watched his face, being just inches away from your own. You saw his concern; you saw that he cared, and your heart started pounding. Your glance followed his toned arms, eyeing his muscles, tensing under his motions. And when you looked at his eyes you saw that they were the bluest blue you have ever seen; you were about to pass out. He was so concentrated; he didn’t even notice you staring at him like a crazy person falling in love. It was only, when he finished sticking the band aid to your face, he realized you looked him straight in the eyes.

He said nothing, you two were just stuck in this moment, sitting on the couch, so close your legs touched, looking at each other, your face so close to him, he felt your hot breath. And then, something in him snapped. He wanted to kiss you!

“I’m gonna kiss you now, (Y/N)!”, he immediately voiced his thought and stroked your unharmed cheek, not asking for permission, just announcing what he was about to do.

“Yeah?” you managed to breath out almost completely silent. And the answer crushed promptly down on you. You closed your eyes and instantly felt soft lips on yours. Johnny, your neighbour Johnny, the Johnny who was so much older than you, the Johnny who you were crushing on since the moment he helped carry your boxes, was finally kissing you. The bag of peas slipped out of your hands and you let them rest on his thighs. Johnny was pulling you closer to his chest until there wasn’t any space left between you two. He was urging and yet so gentle, doing everything to not hurt you. He caressed your back, his left hand dug into your messy hair giving it a slight tug, but not once did his lips leave yours. After what seemed an eternity and yet just a second, he let go of you and pressed his forehead onto yours, out of breath, smiling because he just couldn’t keep himself from not doing it. You joined him.

“You’re gonna go out with me some time now, right?”, he asked laughing in disbelief of his own courage and what it have brought him. Now this question seemed so easy.

“Yeah, pick me up after my yoga lesson tomorrow” you giggled, “Maybe you’ll get another look at my ass”

“You bet!”

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence x reader #johnny lawrence imagine #johnny lawrence fluff #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai one shot #cobra kai #fluff #karate kid #karate kid imagine

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trashforhockeyguys · 4 years ago

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Don’t Hold Me -11- Carter Hart

A/N: Buckle up? That’s really all I can say. Get ready.

It was quiet inside the spare bedroom. Despite the lights of the city beneath you, it was quiet and lonely. Everytime you closed your eyes you saw another scene from your previous life. Another time where you’d been hurt, and yet you’d lied about all of it to spare him. You wouldn’t be able to get back those years that you lost because you were convinced he loved you. You were convinced that if you just covered up for him, that he’d stick to his promise and things would be different. They never were different though.

You sat up in a cold sweat. Your body seemed to burn. You almost thought that if you rolled up the sleeves of your sweatshirt, that you’d see the bruises again. You shook in the bed. You normally felt safe here, but now you just felt scared and alone.

You carefully climbed out of the bed. You weren’t even sure if Carter was still awake. It was the middle of the night, and you knew they’d had a long practice this morning. He was most likely already asleep. But you couldn’t stand to be left alone to the dreams. He already knew you had nightmares, did it really matter why they were back with such a fury?

There was no light coming from under his door, yet you opened it anyway. He was sprawled out on his stomach. You could see his hair splayed out over his face. He looked peaceful in a way you hadn’t seen before. There was nothing but peace about him.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you slowly made your way over to the bed. There was just enough space for you to slip in and go relatively unnoticed. You could explain why you were there in the morning. You probably wouldn’t sleep much anyway. Not now.

You carefully peeled back the blanket and tried to slide into the bed without moving too much. He stirred, drawing in a sharp breath.Through the dim light you could see his eyes open and the sleep filled confusion. He still moved over to allow you a little more space.

“Are you okay?” His voice was deep, laced with sleep, but still soft.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. You could hear him sigh slightly and lift the blankets more for you, “C’mon.”

Despite this being the first time you’d ever even thought about getting in the same bed as him, he acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Or maybe he just understood that you wouldn’t be here unless you really needed him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked as he wrapped the blanket around you and tucked you into his arms.

You shook your head again and fought the tears that burned your eyes. You didn’t want to cry with him again, but you couldn’t help it. You were so tired and scared of even walking outside. You tried to act like you weren’t afraid, but every little thing scared you. Because he was still here in the city. He was watching you. He was waiting for the perfect time to get a hold of you. And you knew that. You knew it was only a matter of time. But what were you supposed to do? You had school, a life. You couldn’t just hide out for the rest of the semester and hope that he got tired of waiting around for you to show up. Because you knew he wouldn’t. He’d keep waiting, and if he couldn’t get you, he’d go through anyone he had to.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Carter whispered, kissing the top of your head, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You shook your head and clutched onto him. You wanted to feel safe for just a moment. You wondered if he could share his peace with you. But you could feel his strong arms around you, holding you close to him.

Hot tears fell down your cheeks before you could stop them. Your whole body shook in his arms as he tried to calm you down. His bed was warm and inviting. Being close to him was almost enough to quell your fears. Almost..

“Nightmares?”

You nodded slowly, still not sure if you could even get a word out. He seemed to understand that they’d gotten bad. And although he still never told you about the first night you spent here, he couldn’t help but remember the way you’d wake up screaming. Or how you were begging for someone to stop.

His heart broke because he knew he couldn’t really do anything to help you or make them stop. So he held you and hoped that one day your mind would heal like your body had. He hoped that your heart wouldn’t stay broken forever. Because even though he knew he couldn’t tell you, Carter was falling madly in love with you. He loved every bit of you, even the broken parts. So if a few sleepless nights were the price he had to pay, he’d do it.

“I’ll chase the boogeyman away if he comes back,” He tried to joke. He just wanted to see you smile, just once.

He wanted you to feel safe with him. But he also wanted to understand what was going on. All of the sudden you seemed so much worse than you’d been. Patty told him when he’d come over that you and TK had gotten in a fight. But Patty wouldn’t tell him what it was about.

Carter would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about you, the beautiful and strong girl, that was crying in his arms. He wished he could help you somehow. He wasn’t used to feeling useless, but that’s all he felt.

So he just held you as you cried, and eventually drifted off to sleep. You were so still in his arms. He watched you for what felt like hours, hoping you’d sleep soundly through the rest of the night. Every so often, you would shift a little and snuggle deeper into the bed. He’d smile and hold you a little tighter. He could feel his chest ache. For a second, Carter wished this could be every night, and that nightmares weren’t the thing that drove you to his bed for the first time. He knew you’d apologize in the morning. You’d keep saying you didn’t mean to. You’d find a way to seemingly talk yourself out of this small moment.

But to him, it wasn’t a small moment at all. He was holding you while you slept, which had only happened once before. But he was holding you while in his bed. You’d come to him, you’d trusted him enough to be here.

He wished you trusted him more, he wanted you to feel comfortable with him. Like how you did with Travis. But he knew he couldn’t push you, and he wouldn’t dream of it. He didn’t want to risk spooking you. So he’d be patient and he’d wait. Carter would wait for as long as you needed him to. So he held you, and he waited.

You woke up early the next morning, instantly feeling warm and cozy. You nuzzled into the blankets, not wanting to move yet. It took you a few moments to realize that there was an extra weight on you, and the bed felt different. You shot up, looking around you in a panic. You couldn’t remember where you were.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Carter was sitting up with you within seconds. His hand was on your shoulder, trying to calm you, “It’s okay, Y/N.”

You shook your head and started to move the blankets off of you. Panic was setting in. This wasn’t meant to happen. You weren’t meant to wake up here. You felt mortified, you’d hoped coming to his bed was just a dream.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” You rushed to say, “I- I woke you up last night. I’m so sorry. We can just forget it happened.”

“Y/N, slow down,” Carter didn’t want you to panic like this, “It’s okay. Really, you needed sleep more than I did.”

You shook your head. Your heart was hammering in your chest. Why did you think this was a good idea? You shouldn’t have gotten out of your bed. Or maybe you shouldn’t have even stayed the night. You could’ve gone back to your dorm. You shouldn’t be in this situation.

“Hey, come here,” he said softly, “It’s okay. I’d rather you wake me up when you’re having nightmares. I don’t want you to feel like you have to deal with all of this on your own. Okay? I’m here, no matter what.”

Your body slowly relaxed. Although you never wanted to lean on anyone like this. You didn’t like the feeling. But you knew he meant what he was saying. But that still didn’t mean you were ready to depend on him. Your heart wanted to, but your head kept reminding you of everything that could happen.

You trusted Carter, you wouldn’t be in his apartment, much less his bed, if you didn’t. But that didn’t mean that you weren’t terrified of every moment. You knew that all of this could end in a split second. He could just as easily stop being the great guy. You tried so hard not to think about things like that, but you couldn’t help it.

But before you could even let yourself overthink it anymore, your phone started ringing. You’d forgotten that you even brought it into the bedroom with you. You sighed when you saw your roommate’s name on the screen, which gave you an excuse to get out of the bed, just so you could have a few seconds to breathe.

“Kora, hey. Sorry, I meant to text you and tell you I wasn’t coming back last night but-”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass, Carter texted me anyway,” She replied, “But, you did forget to mention your brother was coming.”

“What?”

“Your brother is in our dorm room.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“For fuck’s sake, Ethan is literaly five feet from me,” She groaned, “I don’t know how many other ways I can say that. Jesus, you’re supposed to be the smart one! He said he’s coming to get you for breakfast.”

“What’s going on?” Carter asked from behind you.

You turned, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that your brother was here in Philly. He didn’t even tell you he was coming. You hadn’t talked to him all week. Last you heard, he was working on getting a coaching job for one of the local travel teams.

“My brother is here.”

“Ethan?”

“Yeah, um...Kora said he’s in our dorm. I uh...I have to go.”

“Okay, I’ll drive you.”

“No...Ethan is coming to get me.”

You felt a little dazed. There was too much going on for you to process. You didn’t even like going out now, but you couldn’t tell Ethan that. He didn’t need to know how you were feeling. How scared you were of everything. And Carter...you felt so many things about him. You didn’t even know how to sort through everything you felt about him and for him.

Everything was confusing for you. But you didn’t really have the time to sort through it, not with Ethan apparently on his way to get you. You tried not to think about the fact that Travis might’ve called him and told him what was going on. You hoped that he didn’t know. You didn’t want him to worry more than he already did.

“I’ll call you later,” You told Carter.

You only made it a few steps before he stopped you. His eyes were soft as he brushed some stray hair out of your face. You weren’t used to anyone looking at you like that. You couldn’t exactly tell what he was thinking either. He was a mystery to you.

“Don’t push me away,” he practically begged.

You felt your heart ache. You wished you knew how to tell him what you felt. You wished you could tell him what was going on. You wanted to reassure him, just as he reassured you everyday. But you didn’t know how.

So, you did the only thing you knew how to do. You leaned up and gently kissed him before wrapping your arms around him. You laid your head on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. His arms held you tightly. He understood that this was all you could give him. But he didn’t dare take it for granted, he knew that this was a very large step for you.

“I’ll call you, I promise.”

It wasn’t until he heard the front door shut that he sat back down on his bed and finally said the words that were bouncing around in his head for weeks now, “I love her.”

Downstairs, you waited on the sidewalk for Ethan to pull up. He’d texted to say he was just a few minutes out. You kept bouncing on your feet to try to stay warm. Your cheeks were red as you finally thought about the fact that you spent most of the night cuddled up next to Carter. You slept in his arms. You felt safe with him. You were so distracted with the idea that you were most certainly falling in love with Carter, that you didn’t even notice the man walking towards you. Until you heard the voice that stopped your heart and sent your whole body into survival mode.

“Hello, Y/N.”

When you turned, his smile alone was enough to make your blood run cold. You were frozen where you stood. He found you.

#carter hart imagines #Carter hart imagine #carter hart fanfic #carter hart fanfiction #Carter hart #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #flyers imagine #flyers imagines #nicolewritesthings

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writerbyaccident · 4 years ago

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Covetous: Part Two (Yandere Tomura Shigaraki x Reader)

Request: What are the odds of us getting a part 2 to Covetous 👉🏼👈🏼

Trigger Warning: Mentions of masturbation, sexual imagery, Shigaraki being a disgusting gremlin

Part One

Having you here was both a blessing and a curse.

Yes, it meant that Shigaraki got to hear you, got to see you, got to collect more material for his late-night fantasies. But it also meant that he had to deal with seeing you be all disgustingly gooey and sweet with Spinner—and that meant that he couldn’t keep ignoring the fact that you were Spinner’s girlfriend, not his.

Shigaraki knew that it was shitty of him to be lusting after his friend’s girlfriend. Actually, scratch that, it wasn’t just that he was lusting after you. If that had been it, he could have just jacked himself off to you a few times and gotten you out of his system. But no matter how many times he tried doing just that, it wasn’t enough to get you out of his head, out of his blood. How could it be, when you were the only girl he had ever met who didn’t sneer at the sight of him? Who didn’t edge away when he came close? Who was always so goddamn nice, no matter what he did? No, Shigaraki might not have been totally sure whatever it was that he felt for you, but he sure as hell knew that lust alone didn’t cover it.

So it seemed that he was stuck with whatever it was that he was feeling, which made the nights that the date nights that you and Spinner spent at the apartment a hellish endurance test for Shigaraki. The first phase of this test was always to see just how long he could stomach seeing you act all couplely with Spinner. You always invited him to hang out with you two, even after that little incident a few weeks back when Shigaraki had gotten a bit too close for comfort. Not wanting to pass up any opportunities to breathe in your air, he always accepted, but how long he stayed before retreating to his room always changed. Some nights the high he got from being with you was enough to let him ignore anything, while other nights, the sight of you giving heart-eyes to Spinner and Spinner touching what should have been his was too much to bear.

The second phase of this marathon always took place in the comfort and safety of Shigaraki’s bedroom. It was there that he would work to see how long he could go hearing your voice and feeling you so near before had no choice but to bring out his hardened cock and jerk himself off to the thought of you. He never lasted very long on this phase.

Tonight, for instance, seeing you in that deliciously low-cut top had him rushing to his bedroom nearly as soon as you arrived, not so much for his own sanity this time, but because of the way his cock had begun to harden almost painfully at the image of your tits tempting him like that. And while Shigaraki kind of wanted to see how you would react to seeing his boner, he wasn’t enough of a shitty friend to show Spinner just how much he wanted you.

So it was only when he heard nothing but a song being played over movie credits that he dared to leave the sanctuary of his bedroom, figuring that you and Spinner had fallen asleep during another movie. Yeah, the image of you curled up in his friend’s arms wasn’t one he liked having burned into his eyelids right before going to sleep himself, but it was worth it for being able to see you so vulnerable, with your breaths so deep and your lips so enticingly parted. That last part always had him imagining what it’d be like if he just happened to slip his cock out of his pants and rest it on your lips, slowly pushing it deeper and deeper into your mouth until you were unconsciously sucking it down like the slut for him that he knew you were meant to be. Honestly, he probably would have done it if Spinner hadn’t been asleep right next to you.

Anyway, that was what Shigaraki was hoping for when he crept into the hallway, for some more fuel to the fire of his unquenchable fantasies about you, and maybe, if he was lucky, something of yours to add to his inventory. Right now he had your apron, hair tie, ring, bracelet, and his favorite out of all of them, a tube of your chapstick. The apron and chapstick in particular were perfect tools for boosting his XP when he was pumping his cock, but he could always use some more. Maybe this time he’d find—

“Oh, sorry, did I wake you up?”

Frozen like a horny deer in headlights, Shigaraki could only stare as he took in the image of you getting your things together all while Spinner was knocked out on the couch. You stared back at him in expectation, making Shigaraki register that you had just asked him a question.

“No, I, uh, was just getting some water,” he told you. Shigaraki nearly sighed in relief when you nodded, buying his answer and going pack to grabbing your purse and putting on your shoes. He watched you for another minute or so before realizing that he should get what he supposedly came in here for. Shuffling into the kitchen, he hastily grabbed a glass and filled it at the sink, tossing it down his throat so quickly that about half of it ended up all over his hoodie. A part of him hoped that you didn’t see that, while the other part of him proclaimed loudly that it shouldn’t matter if you did. Whatever you thought of him didn’t really matter, that voice in his head hissed. Not when you would end up his either way.

That increasingly familiar train of thought was interrupted though, when Shigaraki noticed that you were making your way towards the door all alone. Rushing to beat you there, he slammed his hand against the door, keeping you from opening it.

“Didn’t Spinner pick you up from work?” he panted.

“Yeah?” you answered, unsure where he was going with this, the way that Shigaraki was leaning so close to you reminding you of the last time you had been alone with him. You may have persuaded yourself that you had been overreacting that day, taking Shigaraki’s social awkwardness way out of proportion, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t uncomfortable to have his crimson eyes staring down at you so intently.

“How’re you getting home then?”

“Oh,” you chuckled in slight relief, “I’m just gonna take an Uber.”

At your words, you couldn’t help but spy a burning look flash in Shigaraki’s eyes for just a moment. It disappeared so quickly, but if you didn’t know any better, you would have said that it was rage. And though you assured yourself that you were wrong, that you had imagined it, rage was exactly what Shigaraki felt at your proposal. Having to share you with Spinner was bad enough, but now you expected him to share you with some random asshole who’d probably spend the whole drive to your house staring down your shirt?

“It’s late,” Shigaraki forced out from gritted teeth. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just stay the night?”

“I would, but I’ve got work early tomorrow morning.”

“Then I’ll drive you home,” Shigaraki said, his words much more of an order than an offer. “Just let me grab Spinner’s keys.”

Without waiting for you to agree, he stalked off towards the living room in search of them, not really caring what you might have to say about the arrangement. As for yourself, you simply stood at the door, wondering if putting your foot down about this would be worth the trouble. You had told yourself so many times that Shigaraki wasn’t a bad guy, he was just misunderstood, easy to mistake for a creep given his lack of social skills. But that didn’t mean that you really felt comfortable getting in a car with him. Your apprehensive reluctance was easy for Shigaraki to spot once he returned with the keys, and he had to work hard to keep himself from scowling in frustration.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said before he could try just grabbing your hand and dragging you out the door. “It’s late, and I really don’t mind getting an Uber.”

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed, “it’s not a big deal. This way you’ll save some money, and I won’t have to explain to Spinner that I let you get a ride home with some stranger. You never know what kinds of creeps are driving those cars.”

Biting your lip in thought, you missed the hunger that crossed Shigaraki’s face at sight, with him knowing that that image would soon become one of his favorites to replay over and over in his mind late at night. No, you were too busy contemplating his offer, leaning more closely towards it as each second passed. It would be nice not to have to spend the money. Plus, you told yourself, Shigaraki was Spinner’s best friend. That meant that you could trust him, right?

“Okay,” you agreed. “So long as you’re not too tired.”

“I’m fine,” Shigaraki insisted as he wrenched open the door, letting you walk out first so he could stare at your cute ass all the way down to the car. It was enough to almost make him want to throw a tantrum when you two finally reached the car, but he managed to console himself with the fact that he still had you all to himself.

The drive itself was pretty quiet, with you simply giving Shigaraki direction while he stayed silent. He clutched the wheel so tightly that the knuckles of his already pale hands looked positively bone-white. Truthfully, he was afraid that if he loosened his grip just a bit, if he glanced towards you or opened his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from crashing his lips onto yours, pushing your seat back and fucking you so hard that the only man you would remember would be him.

Somehow he made it all the way to your apartment building without giving into that urge though, with you being the none the wiser as to the depraved thoughts that had been swirling through his blood.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said as he pulled up to the door, giving him that sweet smile of yours, one that he hadn’t seen given in his direction for far too long.

�� “No problem,” Shigaraki grunted, too busy trying to absorb every las detail of you before you left to come up with a better reply.

“Well, I, uh, guess I’ll see you later.”

Not trusting himself to open his mouth to respond, Shigaraki just nodded. When you left the car and began walking up to your building, he found himself watching the sway of your hips and bounce of your ass with even more intensity than before, now that he knew that even if you turned back, you wouldn’t be able to tell what he was doing. Even if a part of him wanted you to know.

And as he drove away, Shigaraki repeated your address over and over again in his head, saving that juicy tidbit of information for another day.

Part One

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foryouthegays · 4 years ago

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techno liveblog w timestamps lets go for ‘a new home (dream SMP)’ stream

good laugh times: 00:13:50, 00:14:55, 1:38:45, ik it doesnt look like a lot but like u should watch the stream anyway bc philzas there and his laugh is amazing and they just go so well together

times techno calls phil his friend: 00:6:00 00:37:00, 00:45:17, 0:1:09:30, 01:11:15, 01:26:35, 01:50:05, 2:35:00

FSDJKFAF;LS HE KEPT THE MUTED INTRO IN JHKADFLS (ends at 00:1:25)

i like how, when faced with Leaving Youtube, techno would choose to be an author. i want a book by techno. reblog this if u want a book by techno (with an audiobook by him as well) /hj. 00:1:33

i love how he says ehhhhhh so much lskjhdfas (abt 2 mins in)

who the FUCK just remembers that the word fortuitous exists wtf 00:5:17

00:7:45 PHILZA TIME PHILZA TIME LETS GO

00:8:55 tommy time :/

0:14:10 rANBOO JUST WALKS IN, LOOKS AROUN ,AND LEA VE SIM CRYING

i love how much philza laughs at technos jokes bc pretty much everything he says IS a joke he just says it in such a serious voice that p much everyone else is like,,,yeah,,,,yup,,,,and phil just knows when hes joking and his laugh is so good with technos voice. sbi? whos that? i only know philza and technoblade

00:19:30 ghostbur joins! this is my first time hearin ghostbur btw

00:19:40 haha string axe technos so bad at crafting what a fool /j

00:21:07 ghostbur: “Even I remember how to make a fishing rod!” ghostbur u just MURDERED technoblade oh my god im gonna scream hgjdfksla i love ghostbur so much

00:23:55: GHOSTBUR NO!! DON’T DIE YOU’LL BECOME A DOUBLE GHOST!!!! -technoblade 2020

00:24:55 technoblade neva lies -guys he almost did the technoblade neva dies ahh!!!!!

i havent heard anyone talk about this but techno has a dedicated roleplay voice. like listen to him talk to tommy at 00:25:08. his voice gets more even, he uses names a lot more often (seriously, listen to his theseus speech. he says tommy so often, its incredible.), and his voice gets,,,,deeper? not deeper but smoother, in a way, and he repeats what he says for emphasis instead of humor. and his voice is louder, and he seems more assertive.

00:27:30 philza: where we goin, by the way? techno: to our- to my new home.

techno cmon let phil live w u wed get so much more content cmonn

00:28:50 the fact that he calls the manhunt theme “dream music” makes me laugh so hard. and then his version of it,,,,,m love he (also he sings it here and at 01:14:20)

00:35:10 why is ranboo so cryptic im-

why does he just casually know the word sentry wh at i hate him 00:39:45

this is the worst sentence (structurally) ive ever heard techno say im gonna cry 00:49:33 ‘im too busy thinkin of new ideas to sleep so i could actually execute them’ and tubbos *oh?* after is just hdsfgkjlka

LKSJDHFJK 00:51:49

00:54:30

techno: thats one of dreams powers, he can just stop the rain

tubbo, quietly: like jesus!

i love them sm dsfhkjla they kept going but i jus gdfhjksa jesus has op

techno @ being the second worst thing to ever happen to those orphans: haha funnie!!

techno @ having fun w religious stuff: i wILL BE CANCELLED NO-

00:58:10 “hey if ur [ghostbur] a ghost, do instant damage potions heal you now?” “...no,, they hurt me still :(” DSIULZKJHFSLKFJH

01:04:00 his brother named the cow bob im- aww

also he has a fanart wall again!!!

01:09:30 “phil, you’re the only friend i have left in this world.” aWWWWW HE GAVE HIM THE COMPASS

“dont smoke, it’s a joke” -technoblade 01:14:15

ROLEPLAY SPEECH VOICE IS BACK AT 1:16:10 “they pillage my base for everything i’m worth, they use me for the revolution, but oooOOOoo i took a pickaxe with his consent? oOOOooOo i’m a thief!”

holy shit 01:17:15 “you know what, phil? for you, the world, alright? it’s fine.” oH MY GOD HHHHGHG (context, right before they were arguing bc phil took some blocks from his base and techno thought that when he said phil could take anything he meant from the chests)

the COMIDY of that villager coming in and sleeping while techno was readin donos at 01:22:05 RIGHT AFTER phil freaked out abt inturruptin his dono readin im SFDHKJLA:

techno talkin bout the winstreak and how he wont be able to live up to that sort of playin at 01:22:30ish is super important and ill transcribe it tomorrow, but if u can id highly rec watchin it.

01:24:20 “[readin dono] what’s your favorite movie? uh, the princess bride is pretty good” techno ily that movie rocks also he said it so fast like hes ashamed of it noo

techno says no to canon ranboo son btw! 01:25:30

01:25:55 “i wasnt in that story, therefore it doesnt matter” all of technoblr be like

01:37:49 is great lemmie transcribe

“how have you still not gotten a second monitor?? holy shit.”

“let me tell you something. and im only telling you this because i know that so many people in the chat are gonna be furious. so i recently realized- i think the second monitor can just be any ol’ monitor, right? you literally just plug it in, and its set up? well i mean you have to turn on some settings, but like, thats it, or something?”

“yeah,,,,, uh techno you fuckin destroyed my chat, by the way, oh my god, [earlier techno told his viewers to twitch prime philza] there has been like 40 primes just flying through”

“yeahhh twitch prime!!! twitch prime philza yeahh!!! so anyways the other day, i like, i looked to my left, and realized that my old monitor has been like, five feet away from where i sit and stream for the last three years?”

“oh my god...”

“so i- i literally do not have to leave my room to set up a second monitor and i havent. and i’m still usin my laptop for this stream.

“is this gonna be one of those situations where you like, you have a thing, you just refuse to do the thing?”

“listen, my desk is-

“yOU STILL HAVENT OPENED UP THE HYPIXEL PACKAGE!!!”

“AHHHH I HAVENT OPENED UP THE HYPIXEL PACKAGE! I HAVENT EVEN OPENED UP MY MCC COIN! DUDE I HAVENT EVEN OPENED UP MY ONE MILLION SUBSCRIBER PLAQUE! ITS STILL THERE RIGHT BEHIND ME! ITs sTILL IN THE BOX! i never made a video on it....”

“bruhhhhh [philza laughs] thats FREE VIEWS what are you doing??”

“ill open it at 8 mil :/.”

“you could LITERALLY make a video of you just like, throwing it off a wall, and then thumbing up, like doing a thumbs up, and then that would be it. 10 seconds. ten seconds. thumb and elbow in shot. [laughs]”

techno is such a disaster i love him

01:34:18 the way techno says “tommy, that statement has NEVER been true” i dont like sayin i simp for block men but GOD sometimes his voice is nicer than usual hhhgn

“man i sure wish tommyinnit was in this stream” -nobody ever (just after previous timestamp)

01:40:15 is fuckin hilarious and im actually crying oh my god techno just says things and says them well with a completely straight face how does he do it

i cannot WAIT until theres a president w the last/first name andy so we can say president andy and think abt technoblade

IM CRIASDNGUSFHD 01:44:38 PHILZA LOOK OUT LOOK OUT PHILZA LSKJDAFJASD;LKF

i love when techno talks abt his vids. like u can tell he puts a lot of thought into the vids (esp these ones) and like at 01:47:00 he talks abt the “I DIDNT PUT DEAPTH STRIDER ON THOSE BOOTS, FUNDY!” and how its just that creepin realization that you were doomed from the start and how he made the armor, he isnt intimidated by the netherite bc he didnt enchant it all the way and only he knows that,,, and i just,,,hgg he

he reveals that hes writin the next arc at 01:48:00: “oh, speakin of arcs, chat, i’m writing the next arc. so, you know. hope nothin bad happens in two weeks, chat!” IM SO EXCITED like he clearly has his character fleshed out and is SO good at writing and retellin history im so so excited to see where he takes it AHHHH and also taht means he might stream more bc he might make his character more important (keep in mind this is the guy who wrote self insert hypixel fanfics. he has no shame in puttin himself first and i respect him so much for it)

01:51:20 “they’re tryin to get a second customer but they’re riskin their first” is lowkey a good line

has anyone else noticed that techno says wise a lot? like at 01:55:10 he literally says “wise dragon armor” as a joke but like i think he says wise so much BECAUSE of skyblock like hjkfdsla

01:57:30 techno plea se eat

ok 1:58:45 is hilarious and all but at the end of his ramble he says “come back, i miss you” and lowkey im crying

techno needs to stop knowing his audience more than we know ourselves im hsfkjda 02:05:25 “the chat’s spammin ‘eat technoblade, eat!’ like they’re not gonna start, like, theyre not gonna get super sad if i ended the stream right now, like theyre not gonna all cry ‘i miss technoblade *sniffs* why- whyd he leave to eat food, why did he listen to our advice noooo’”

02:14:50 NEW VIDEO POGGGG CARL THE HORSE POGGGGGG NOT A STREAM HIGHLIGHT POGGGGG

02:17:40 “i could start a potato farm out here to show how much ive changed” techno last time u made a potato farm u started an entire war that lasted a year that does NOT say calm and retired to me lskgdfjagsldj

02:23:00 why does techno just reference greek mythology so much. makin me scared for his arc.

also he talks abt smp earth a lot in this stream i love it so much

i also just. love?? how much sbi respect tommy like they bully him but when talkin bout him they just have so much respect for how much work he puts into youtube and i just,,,,hgnn they r friends

02:33:13 sbi streamer house lets go cmon

02:34:15 “i think if i streamed every day i could keep up” on one hand YE S but on the ohter oh god techno no we have to keep up tho

hearing techno say “violence isnt the answer” is so scary 02:35:40

02:37:30 technosneeze

hiS BROTHER SENT HIM 46 DISCORD MESSAGES SFKDJLFLKASF 2:49:25 i love his end screen so much hes just sadness,,,,retirement,,,t,echnoblade,,,the government is going to fall on its own due to lack of organization and ideals,,,,,,subscribe,,,,,sadness,,,,,also 2:50:45 is making me laugh so hard its just sad music and technos like??? whys phil in my house drinking milk?????

overall, fantastic stream, if ya want some chill techno philza content i highly recommend.

#stream post

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

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can i get uhUhHHhhH more jason momoa smut headcanons

You got it Anon.

Warning: Language, SMUTTT

Words: 1.8k

~~~~~~~~

You’re in Hawaii with Jason enjoying some much needed time away from LA, the land of dreams and fakeness. When you’re in Hawaii with him things make sense. They’re normal, routine and so humbling.

Yeah, people recognize him and he’s such a sweetheart that he always stops for autographs and photos but on the island of chill, everyone lives by going with the flow and taking it easy. This means that he’s never hounded for long. Secretly he still loves it.

Jason’s idea for the day was the beach. The man loved the beach. He didn’t do normal things people did like relaxed. No Jason was always active. He was surfing, boogie boarding, even snorkeling. You name it and he’s probably done it.

You didn’t mind. If you weren’t out there with him snorkeling or swimming you were watching his incredible athleticism in action. The man was built to be shirtless and in the water. Hell, even the water loved his body. Your mouth always watered as you watched the droplets slide down his body and drip from the ends of his long hair that he always left loose. He knew he was a Hawaiian God and that you loved to watch him and he used it as a weapon. Today was no different.

You were sitting on the blanket watching him dominate every wave that came in. You loved seeing him like this. There was nothing like his smile when he was doing something he truly loved. He zipped over the water and cut it with ease and expertise. He looked like he was going to make it. You leaped to your feet and rushed to the shore then squat down to the sand and watched as he barely made it out the tunnel before it crashed.

Jason threw his hands up and looked for you at the spot he left you and when he saw you at the shore, he looked like the epitome of joy. you jumped up and down cheering him on. Your mother always said to be your man’s biggest cheerleader and the way everyone was looking at you said you’d accomplished it.

You watched him dive off the board into the water knowing he was going to be swimming in. You ran into the water ready for when he got to the shore. As he approached you went deeper until the water caught you a little above your waist. Once he got there you bounced into his arms.

“You looked so good out there baby,” you compliment. Jason’s chuckle was adorable.

“I looked good out here and you looked incredible over there. So damn distracting.”

“Oh yeah? How distracting because you sure rode that wave like I was nothing but a blip in the landscape.”

As if to dissuade you Jason kissed you stopping whatever words that were coming next. His tongue curled around yours before he sucked it. He tasted like sea salt, beer, and pineapples. It was your favorite taste thanks to him.

The way he kissed you said he was hungry. Pulling away from him you shake your head.

“Nope.”

“What?” His wide guilty smile was all the evidence you needed to his train of thought.

“Nope. You know what. There’s no way,” you reiterated.

Jason continues to chuckle. It was like he knew you were going to be whistling a different tune in a few minutes. You were such a weak woman when it came to him.

“Come on. You can’t let me walk out there with this.” Jason allows your body to slip a little lower so you could feel the weapon of uterus destruction he was barely concealing in those swim trunks.

You gasped. “Jason. Oh my god. How?”

“How? You’re kidding. All I have to do is look at you and this is the end result,” Jason confessed before he kissed your neck and trailed those kisses down to your shoulder only to bring his lips back up to suck your skin into his mouth. He knew what he was doing where he was doing it.

You got lost in his kisses in seconds. The way his wet beard tickled your face only enhanced how badly you wanted him. You could also feel him growing even bigger. Moaning you tore your lips away.

“Jason, we’re on the beach. There are people everywhere. Kids.”

“They’re not my kids. I’m trying to plant some.”

You couldn’t not laugh as you looked at him incredulously. You thought he couldn’t be serious but you had a sneaking feeling he was dead serious.

“Jason,” you whined again. He turned your body so your back was out greeting the ocean before you knew it he’d placed you on his surfboard and was standing between your spread legs. “We can’t do this here.”

“No one will know. Trust me.”

“I trust you with everything, but baby everyone will know.”

He wasn’t hearing any of your protests. His large hands slowly slid across your wet thighs until they made it to the ties of your bathing suit bottom. He didn’t untie them he simply toyed with the dangling strings.

“I can read your mind Jason,” you informed. Jason smiled then yanked you off the board and to him. His lips were pressed to your a second later and again he kissed you dizzy.

You don’t even realize when he turned you so you were looking at the ocean horizon. For as far as the eye could see it was all blue water and blue sky. “Watch that horizon, Ko’u aloha,” Jason whispered. You loved it when he spoke Hawaiian to you. You’d gotten better at understanding some of it. Every time he called you my love it made your belly do backflips.

Jason’s hands caressed your stomach before his hand dipped into your bikini bottom. Your head dropped back to rest on his chest giving him full access to your neck which he took full advantage of. He licked and sucked a hypnotizing pattern that distracted you from what he was about to do but when you felt his fingers swirl around your clit you sank back onto him. Jason’s arms were there to hold you.

You couldn’t stop any of your moans. He knew just what to do to make your body ebb on the edge of complete hysteria. After a few swirls, he dipped two digits into your channel making you take a deep breath, emitting an audible hiss.

Jason slowly dipped and retreated his fingers stating a slow pace then he added a third finger which had a grunt strangled in your throat.

“Jesus Y/N, you’re so tight. I need you.”

“Right--here?”

“Right here,” he repeated.

“Right--right--now?”

“Now!” It was gruff and filled with urgency. You couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing against his hard length that was poking into your back. When you tipped your head back even more Jason dipped his down to meet your lips for an upside-down kiss.

Not noticing the water height raise you focused on his lips and the sinful things his fingers were doing to you under the water. When he tore his lips from yours he gently pushed your back down so you were resting over the surfboard that was in front of you. The water had your body like a buoy, Jason’s hand gripped your hip keeping your lower half submerged so the beach patrons would be none the wiser.

In seconds he’d pulled your bikini to the side and slammed his hips forward sending his solid, thick love into you. A wave of water washed over your back from the force of his thrust. To prevent yourself from shrieking out you clamped your hand over your mouth. It barely contained it. Jason continued his thrusts never missing a beat. Every connection had you whimpering and panting his name.

Soon his hand replaced yours while the other remained squeezing your hop keeping you from floating to the surface. The sheer strength he possessed in his body only turned you on even more. Jason thrust forward filling you completely then rotated his hips. His hand contained your muffled curse.

“Just watch that horizon. Watch it as I make your body feel good baby.”

Jason’s thrusts sped and not even his hand could stop a moan from escaping. You couldn’t be bothered to look around everything he was doing felt so good--too good.

Jason’s hand moved from your mouth to over your chest right above your breasts. He lifted you and pulled your back against his chest and changed the angle to which he plunged into you.

“Be quiet for me, Ko’u aloha.”

The man had to be crazy, you thought. There was no way and he knew it. With every connection, you whimpered and with every whimper, he heard he rotated his hips so you felt every single inch of him.

“Fuck me, Ko’u aloha,” you breathlessly murmured.

Just as you loved hearing it, he loved it even more. The force of his movements increased and that delicious pressure that signified your oncoming release buzzed through you. His pants brushed against your ear making you clench him tighter.

Jason grunted and tightened his grip right before he fucked you as if you weren’t in the middle of the ocean with the beach filled.

“Jason.”

“I fucking love you so much!” His voice was impossibly deep and just like that, you were coming. The tightness of your drenched cavern had him grunting and staggering his thrusts until you felt his release.

It took a few moments for both of you to come down enough for either of you to move. You just stayed still staring at the horizon at the sun that was beginning to set. It was beautiful and made even more perfect by Jason behind you nestled tightly between your folds.

“Mmmm,” Jason began as he pulled from you and turned you in his arms so you were facing him. You wrapped your legs back around him as you scoped out around you to see if you’d been caught. Thankfully you didn’t have an audience.

“I can’t believe we just did that here,” you whispered.

“I’m sure countless have done the same.” His voice was lethargic. It was the voice of a sated man.

“Glad that you’re no longer hungry, Ko’u aloha,” you said before you kissed his shoulder and neck.

“I wasn’t until you said that. It’s time to go,” Jason abruptly announced as he turned you both and headed back to shore with you giggling. The man was insatiable.

Hawaii would forever hold a special place in your heart.

Glossary: According to Google Translate

Ko’u aloha: My Love.

~~~~~~~~

Hey Anon, I hope you liked this!

I’m so sorry it’s so late.

#ask lee #lee answers #jason momoa request

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hysterialevi · 4 years ago

Text

Eitr | Chapter 12

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter

LATER THAT DAY

FORANGAL CASTLE, SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Sigurd gazed down at his hands, staring blankly into the distance as his mind tore itself apart with guilt.

His clothes were still stained with numerous splatters of Gjuki’s blood, and even though Aegenwulf finally decided to spare his life, Sigurd remained trapped in a pit of remorse, suddenly feeling an urgent desire to return home.

...What had he done? What had the Saxons turned him into? Was his mind even his own anymore? What would Eivor think about all this?

Only a handful of weeks had drifted by ever since Sigurd first washed up on Agenbury’s shore, and yet, the man felt as if a lifetime separated him from the past. He hardly recognized himself anymore after everything that had occurred, and considering how things were unfolding so far, part of him wished Edlynne had left him at the river.

He didn’t deserve to be here, or in Valhalla. Backstabbers such as himself belonged in the darkest depths of Helheim, and Sigurd had no idea how he was going to face his brother once all this was over.

He wanted nothing more than to reunite with the fragments that remained of his family, but in light of recent events, Sigurd was now beginning to question his true motives, and how much survival really meant to him.

It would’ve been a dream come true to see Eivor’s face again, that much was true, but what would it matter if Sigurd didn’t even return as the same man? His brother was fighting to bring back the sibling he grew up with back in Fornburg, and yet, Sigurd felt as if he had become a total stranger.

There was barely anything left of the person he once was, and with Algar’s influence constantly digging deeper into the ealdorman’s mind, Sigurd didn’t even want to think about what he’d have to do to survive in the future.

Things were bad enough as it was. Any worse, and all Hell would break loose.

“Sigurd.”

Snapping out of his thoughts, the viking suddenly realized he wasn’t alone in his chambers and spotted Edric standing in front of him, trying to get his attention.

His brow was furrowed deeply in frustration, and judging by the weary look he wore on his face, Sigurd assumed he had just walked away from some sort of argument. Probably with Aegenwulf himself.

Sigurd glanced up at the man, still somewhat lost in shock. “...Edric? What are you doing here?”

The Saxon frowned in sympathy. “I apologize for intruding like this, but there’s something important you need to know. A decision was made after you left the throne room. Before I tell you about it, though... I wanted to see how you were doing first. That trial was just...” Edric sighed in disgust, “...well, you know.”

He took a seat next to the Norseman, bowing his head low in exhaustion.

“God, what an absolute mess. I knew my father had changed, but I never realized just how unhinged he was. What on earth was he thinking? Forcing two men to fight like a pair of animals. Jesus... if the Danes didn’t hate us before, they certainly will now.”

Edric turned to Sigurd, switching to a gentler tone. “I’m so sorry, Sigurd. If I had known what my father intended, I would’ve stepped in sooner. I would’ve tried to speak with him. I would’ve--”

“--You’re not to blame.” The viking replied, his voice cold with anger. “You did everything you could.”

The other man let out a breath. “Maybe. I just wish it would’ve been enough. I mean, I’m glad to see you alive, but... my God. That poor man. What was his name. Gjuki? What the hell did they do to him?”

“I feared he had already been killed,” Sigurd admitted. “But now, I’m starting to think that would’ve been a better fate.”

“No one deserves what he went through,” Edric agreed. “I still can’t believe my father would allow all this. He used to be so kind, and compassionate. He was always a firm man, but he never indulged in such cruelty. What’s happened to him?”

It didn’t take long for Sigurd to provide an answer. “Your father is no more than a pawn for Algar to use. You wish to eradicate the corruption in Wedenscire? You must get rid of him first.”

Edric picked up on his tone. “Why? Have you learned something?”

The viking nodded. “Before Gjuki drew his last breath, he revealed to me what he found in Algar’s crypt. Apparently, the man is part of the Order of the Ancients. His alias among them is The Colossus.”

Edric displayed a puzzled look. “The Order of the Ancients? I’ve never heard of them. Have you?”

“Yes, actually. Though, my knowledge on them is far from abundant. Before my clan was attacked, my brother pursued some of their members who were operating in Lunden. I also know there are many others spread across England and Norway. They worship a god whose name I’ve never heard, and their motives remain a mystery to me. I have no idea why they would be interested in your father, or how Gareth is connected to all this.”

The nobleman slid a hand down his face. “Christ Almighty. What has my family gotten itself into? I’m not familiar with this organization, Sigurd, but I’ll do whatever I can to learn more about them. If they’re as widespread as you say, there must be something we can find. Something that can put Algar down for good.”

“Just... tread carefully.” Sigurd warned. “Gjuki was on the same path as you before Algar captured him. I don’t want you to share his fate. There’s also the fact that he’ll likely be even more protective of his secrets now that someone has infiltrated his crypt.”

“Of course. I’ll be as discreet as possible.”

The viking decided to switch topics. “Well, enough about that. I’d rather not spare another thought on that bacraut after everything that’s happened. You mentioned you had something else you wanted to discuss?”

Edric sighed. “Right. You’re not going to like it. It’s... Bishop Hundwerth.”

Sigurd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What has he done now?”

“He insists that you convert to Christianity. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but I’m afraid Lady Moira’s voice overpowered mine. My father’s decided that you’re to be baptized tomorrow morning, and recognized as a man of God.”

“But I already proved my loyalty,” the other man argued, his tone sharp with bitterness. “Wasn’t that the whole point of pitting me against my own friend? Or was that simply for their entertainment?”

Edric shared Sigurd’s annoyance. “That’s not how the bishop sees it. In his eyes, the only thing you proved is that you’re willing to murder one of your own if it means saving yourself. You may have given your word that you won’t betray us again, but for Hundwerth, the word of a pagan holds little merit. He’d rather trust the promise of a Christian.”

The Norseman rose from his bed, pacing around the room. “So it’s not enough that they torture my people and force me to slay them? Now I must also abandon my gods?”

The Saxon bowed his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Sigurd. The unfairness of this situation isn’t lost on me, but I’m afraid there’s not much else I can do. My words seem to fall on deaf ears nowadays.”

“...It’s not your fault. You’ve already done more than enough for me.” Sigurd placed his hands on his hips, gazing out the window. “I suppose there’s no use in fighting it now. I’ve seen the kind of punishment that awaits me if I resist. I do not wish to leave my gods behind, but...” his voice softened with heartache, “...if this is the cost of survival, then... I’ll do it. I need to get back home alive. I need to see my brother again.”

Edric’s head jerked up in confusion. “Your brother? I thought he was dead.”

“So did I, but Gjuki informed me of his survival not too long ago. He was the only thing keeping us in touch. Now that he’s gone, I’m at a loss as to how I’ll contact my brother again should the need arise.”

The young man stood up from the bed and stepped behind Sigurd, resting an affectionate hand on his arm.

“...We will get through this, Sigurd.” He whispered reassuringly. “I know it can be easy to forget, but you’re not alone in these walls. You have Edlynne, Joseph, Raedan... and me. We’re here for you.”

The viking held onto Edric’s hand and turned around to face him, finding a sense of solace in his words.

“Thank you, Edric. These are dire times, but your kindness won’t be forgotten in the days to come.” Sigurd pulled the young man close, pecking a kiss on his forehead. “I’m glad I have you at my side.”

Edric smiled in his embrace, resting his head on the man’s chest. “As am I.”

Falling into silence, the two of them simply stood there for a moment and savored each other’s company, attempting to cling onto any shred of comfort they could find. The entire castle had descended into disarray after Aegenwulf’s unpopular decision to spare Sigurd, and with Bishop Hundwerth preparing for the upcoming baptism, it seemed like peace in Forangal was naught but a distant memory.

There was arguing, debating, contempt, scorn -- and seeing as how Gjuki’s head was now displayed on a pike, Edric imagined that the war with the Danes would only erupt.

It was Hell on earth inside Forangal’s walls, but with Sigurd there to protect him from any threats, Edric was able to feel some sense of security. It meant nothing to him that the man was a Dane, or a pagan rather than a Christian. He knew Sigurd to be good at heart, and frankly, despite what he expected, he trusted him more than his own father these days.

He only prayed that the tides of fate would be merciful in the near future. If he were to lose Sigurd to the chaos that was beginning to unravel, Edric didn’t know how he would proceed. That man was the only one willing to help him look into Gareth’s death, and if his instincts were correct, then Algar was at the center of it all.

He would need all the help he could get in order to take that beast down, and if that meant they had to fight for just a little longer, then Edric was willing to endure it. He just didn’t know where to start.

~~~~~~~~~~

TWO DAYS LATER

ELMENHAM, EAST ANGLIA

Galloping towards the longhouse at full speed, Broder frantically stormed his way back to Eivor as rain heavily poured down from the clouds above, shrouding everything in a bleak darkness.

He had been running for his life ever since Algar cornered Gjuki at the crypt, and with the majority of their group now lying dead in the mud, Broder had no intentions of returning to Wedenscire until Eivor himself marched for the gates of Forangal.

He hated the idea of leaving Sigurd behind to deal with his troubles alone, but considering how erratic the ealdorman had become recently, Broder was no longer willing to risk it. Not on his own, at least.

He saw for himself what the Saxons did to Gjuki, and how they treated his corpse. He may have been eager to help Eivor reunite with his brother, but Broder had his own siblings to look out for, and the last thing he wanted was to end up being a mounted head for some Saxon nobleman.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

Yanking on the reins of his horse, Broder came to a screeching halt as the animal’s hooves went dragging through the mud, causing the steed to let out a panicked neigh. His body was aching terribly with fatigue thanks to the long journey, but even then, the viking refused to take a break. His mind had been trapped in a perpetual state of alarm ever since Gjuki’s death, and he was adamant to get the news back to Eivor.

Rushing to the entrance of the longhouse, Broder trudged through the storm and practically bashed the doors open, ignoring the curious stares he received from scattered civilians.

Even though the rain had washed away most of the blood staining his armor, he still remained quite a sight to behold and traipsed through Elmenham’s fields like a walking corpse rising from its grave.

Once inside, Broder spotted Eivor conversing with Oswald and Valdis as the three of them discussed the war, clearly devising some sort of plan. Their voices were nearly inaudible underneath the relentless howls of the wind, but in spite of the interference, their heads still jolted in Broder’s direction upon his obtrusive entrance, causing them to let out a unanimous gasp.

“Brother!” Valdis greeted with relief. “You’ve returned.” Her expression instantly dimmed. “...Are you well? You look awful.”

The man jogged up to them, doing his best not to collapse on the spot.

“Eivor...!” Broder exclaimed, somewhat out of breath. “There you are. I... I...”

“Easy, drengr,” Eivor said in a calming tone. “Slow down. Tell me what’s going on.”

Broder took a moment to get his bearings, finally recovering from the treacherous ride home.

“...Gjuki’s dead, Eivor.”

Valdis’ eyes widened in horror. “What? What do you mean he’s dead? What happened?”

Broder decided to spare them the details. “We were searching a hidden crypt in Wedenscire, not too far away from Forangal. We thought there might’ve been clues inside, and there were, but...”

Eivor urged him on. “But what?”

The other man shook his head in regret. “It was the ealdorman’s housecarl. An argr snake called Algar. He captured Gjuki and slaughtered the rest of our men. I was the only one who managed to escape.”

Oswald caught onto his last words. “Wait, he captured Gjuki? So he didn’t kill him immediately?”

“No,” Broder confirmed. “Algar took him to the dungeons.”

An alarming thought struck Eivor’s mind. “Wait, what about Sigurd? Where is he now? Is he alright?”

A dour look spread across Broder’s face. “He’s alive, but... Gods. It was madness, Eivor. When Algar took Gjuki in, it didn’t take him long to realize that he was working with Sigurd, so the ealdorman held a trial. They were willing to spare your brother’s life in spite of his crimes, but he had to do something in exchange. He had to kill Gjuki.”

Eivor froze at the news.

“...Sigurd... killed him?”

“Yes. He did not wish to, but the Saxons left him no choice. It was either him or Gjuki. He chose to comply in the end.” Broder turned to his sister. “...I tried everything I could to save him, Valdis. I did. But it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”

The woman crossed her arms, trying to hide her pain. “I--” she choked up, “--oh, Gjuki...”

Broder hesitated to get the last part of his report out. He hated to constantly be the bearer of bad news, but he knew it was necessary.

“...There is one more thing, Eivor. While we were in the crypt, we learned that Algar was part of the Order. There were a series of letters between him and some of the other members in their organization, but he’s burned them all now.”

Oswald paused. “A member of the Order? In Wedenscire? Are you certain?”

“Indeed. They call him The Colossus.”

Eivor mindlessly clenched his fist in response to the report and brought his attention to the king, unable to conceal the fire raging in his eyes.

“Oswald, we must march on Forangal now. We have enough allies.”

The Saxon hesitated. “You’ve rallied a decent army, Eivor, but I’m still not certain if it’ll be sufficient. Forangal is a hefty fortress armed with many defenses. If we’re not careful, it could result in total obliteration.”

“We don’t have time to forge anymore alliances!” The viking argued. “Sigurd needs us. Now. Those Saxons have already butchered Gjuki, and they have the Order among them. It won’t be much longer until my brother is the one on their chopping block. We need to get him out of there as soon as possible.”

Oswald remained unswayed. “I understand your urgency, Eivor, but we must approach this realistically. Not many people walk away from Forangal with their lives, and for good reason. We only have one chance to do this right. Better to wait a little longer and ensure we’re prepared, rather than march straight to our deaths.”

The king turned to Broder. “You were there, Broder. What’s your opinion on the situation in Wedenscire? Can Sigurd afford to wait?”

The man furrowed his brow in uncertainty. “I... I don’t know, my lord. It’s difficult to say. He’s managed to survive thus far, but his captives have become unpredictable recently. Relentless. They’ve even forced Sigurd to convert to Christianity.”

That took Oswald by surprise. “What? When did this happen?”

“Just after Gjuki died. I overheard the nobles in the castle speaking of a baptism before I left. One of them was against the conversion, but the rest decided to go through with it.”

Eivor’s expression flattened with frustration. “You see? We must go now. Before they try anything else. I’m done cowering in the shadows.”

“But what if--”

“--Eivor’s right.” Valdis jumped in. “Those people are animals, Oswald. You’ve seen for yourself what they did to the Raven Clan; what they did to Randvi. If there’s any chance we can save Sigurd from the same fate, we need to take it. We’ve idled for long enough.”

Oswald was at a loss for words. “...I really don’t know how this is going to work, you all. We have enough forces to put up a decent fight, but... assaulting Forangal Castle? That’s a completely different story.”

Broder offered his own thoughts. “Do not be so quick to dismiss the unlikely, my lord. It happens more often than you think. Those are Gjuki’s words. Not mine.”

“Have faith in our strength, husband.” Valdis continued. “We are warriors. Drengir. Children of Odin. We were born and bred for this sort of thing. We will not fall so easily to these Saxons. Let us go.”

Oswald fell silent at his friends’ arguments and sighed in defeat, conflicted on what to do next.

On one hand, he sympathized with Eivor’s eagerness to storm Forangal’s gates, but on the other, he honestly didn’t know if their soldiers could survive such an endeavor. Their army was just large enough that the plan could’ve succeeded with the help of a miracle, but despite his youth, Oswald was world-weary enough to know that battles typically didn’t favor the disadvantaged.

Anything could’ve gone wrong during this assault. Aegenwulf could’ve had more forces than they anticipated, an ambush could’ve stopped them along the way, or -- worst case scenario -- Sigurd could’ve already been dead. There was an abundance of unknowns lurking around the corner, and with so many risks obscuring the path ahead, Oswald wasn’t sure if war was the answer. At least, not for now.

Still, he feared what could’ve happened to Sigurd if they waited too long. Based on Broder’s report, it sounded like the man was going through hell at the moment. If there was any opportunity for them to rescue him from Aegenwulf’s clutches, Oswald felt complied to seize it.

Eivor did the same for him when he was taken prisoner at Burgh Castle, so it only seemed right to return the favor.

“...Alright, you three.” Oswald finally agreed. “We’ll march on Forangal Castle as soon as we are able. Eivor, summon your allies. Tell them to meet us here. When they’ve arrived, we’ll begin making our way to Wedenscire. In the meantime, the rest of us will focus on the assault. My troops are yours to command as well.”

The viking gave him a firm nod. “Thank you, Oswald. I won’t fail you.”

“I have confidence in your abilities. I just hope that it’ll be enough. As for the rest of you...”

Oswald linked his hands together behind his back. “Get some rest. And prepare as much as you can. We don’t know what sort of resistance we’ll face in Wedenscire, but I think it’s safe to assume that our forces will be stretched thin. Do everything in your ability to ensure you are ready for this assault, and keep your guard up. We have evidence that the Order of the Ancients is involved now, so Lord only knows what Algar will have up his sleeve.”

Broder stepped in. “I’ll join the assault too.”

“No,” Oswald refused. “you need to rest. You’ve been through enough.”

“With all due respect, your Majesty, Gjuki is dead because of my incompetence. Out of honor, I cannot simply sit by and watch while your people risk their lives for a mistake I made. I’m still here because of that man. This is the least I can do for him.”

The king decided to grant him permission. “...Very well, then. I expect to see you at Forangal. As for you two, spread word of the assault to our soldiers. I want them to be prepared as well.”

Eivor nodded. “As you wish.”

“Good. Then let’s get to work. Sigurd’s life depends on our efficiency, and there’s no telling what will happen once Aegenwulf realizes who’s behind the assault. From what I understand, the man is growing more and more unstable by the day. Brace yourselves for anything... and may your gods watch over you all.”

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #male oc #sigurd x male oc #ac valhalla fanfic #eitr

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micheleblack · 4 years ago

Text

Black? No. Brown? No. Blond? Maybe...

This was the part about being a Metamorphmagus that Teddy disliked the most. Too many choices. Not just an outfit, but an entire person to go with it.

Glancing at the clock, Teddy cursed at how much time he’d wasted in front of the mirror. To match his frustration, he settled on black hair, styled into a fauxhawk, even sharpening his facial features. A final look in the mirror revealed no trace of Teddy Lupin. With a leather jacket, transfigured from a worn jumper, in hand, he cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself—not even bothered anymore by the sensation of a cracked egg traveling down his body.

---

CRACK!

“Jesus! What was that?” someone yelped.

Shit! Teddy cursed his recklessness. He should have known a few patrons would have found a bit of privacy in the alley beside the club by now. Breaking the Statute of Secrecy was not on his to-do list tonight. He held still, thankful he’d taken at least some precaution.

“Probably just a car backfiring. Now get that pretty mouth back where it belongs,” came another voice. The telltale sounds of blowjob followed. Teddy had no interest in sticking around to watch though, he was already late.

---

Teddy dropped the charm once safely inside the club. It would have been impossible to sneak through the wall of bodies, and besides he needed to be seen for this part. He swept the crowd with his eyes, searching. Not spotting what he wanted, he headed to the bar.

“What can I get you?”

“I’ll take a mar—I mean I’ll take a pint.” Stay in character, he berated himself. He sipped the beer while scanning the club more, hoping he hadn’t missed his chance. There! On the dance floor, practically glued to another man was the brown-haired man he was after. James Potter always came to this muggle club to destress after a Quidditch match. And in one form or another, so did Teddy.

Now that he had found James, Teddy was content to wait and watch. James moved with grace, be it on a broom or on the dance floor. The man behind him, in contrast, did little more than grind into James’s behind. A spark of possessiveness flared up inside Teddy, but he remained where he was. He wouldn’t break them up. It was James’s choice who he danced with. When the man gestured to James to head off the dance floor though, James shook his head. Nothing could be heard over the music blaring, but the rebuff was clear. Teddy left his mostly full beer on the bar and went to try his luck.

---

“Care for a fuck, hot stuff?” Teddy growled into James’s ear, draping his arms around him as they both began moving along to the throbbing beat.

“You too?” James chuckled as he glanced over his shoulder but gave no sign of recognition. “I’m just here to dance.”

James’s body was so warm, it seared any part of Teddy it touched. Gladly, Teddy threw himself into the heat, pulling James flush against his front. “Then let’s dance.” They found a rhythm and moved as one, not always in sync with the music—Teddy could barely hear it with his head so far in the clouds—but always together.

At some point Teddy realized he’d gotten hard. His erection now pressed against James’s backside, but neither of them acknowledged it and their dance continued. From his vantage point behind him, Teddy could see the sweat building on James’s flushed skin. Feeling bold, Teddy added an extra inch or two to his height, so he could properly envelop James. He felt James shiver all along their connected bodies.

James turned his head to the side. “I’ve changed my mind. I could go for more than a dance.”

“Your place or mine?” Teddy said it with such confidence. James always chose his own place. He was so predictable that way, Teddy thought playfully as he ground his erection harder into the soft flesh of James’s ass. Drawing a moan from the smaller man. Teddy was getting better and better at this. Soon he’ll be—

“Yours,” James finally said and Teddy froze. Fuck...

---

The cab ride was long, but by the last few blocks Teddy had regained his confidence. Keep him occupied and he won’t have time to notice anything else, he repeated in his head as he trailed kisses along James’s exposed collarbone.

With a nonverbal Alohomora, he pulled his front door open and held it for James. His eyes locked onto James’s ass in his tight jeans as he walked past, but soon regretted the polite door gesture when he realized James had a clear view of his flat. Teddy raced in after him and pushed James up against the closing door, their lips meeting for the first time that night.

“Someone’s eager,” James chuckled against his lips but happily joined in, opening his mouth to allow Teddy’s tongue access. James’s hands buried themselves in Teddy’s black hair as Teddy’s snaked their way down to grip James’s firm ass. They kissed with wanton abandon, filling the room with harsh pants and the occasional clink of teeth. Teddy’s erection was back, and this time he could feel a matching hardness against it. He thrust his hips against James, who broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of Teddy’s neck.

Without James to kiss, Teddy’s eyes stared at the familiar sight of his front door. James was in his house. The realization made him feel light-headed, but it also reminded him that the game could be up at any moment. James started sucking on Teddy’s neck, no doubt trying to leave a mark. Teddy let one appear—he could always remove it later. Taking advantage of James’s newfound endeavor, Teddy shouldered the other man’s weight, having to grow his muscles just a bit to bear the load, as he carried his brown-haired prize to his bedroom.

---

“Fuck!” James moaned loudly, face buried in one of Teddy’s pillows as Teddy’s face was buried between the cheeks of his ass, lavishing praise against the pucker. “So good!” He loved how responsive James was to him. James gave him his all each and every time. The tip of his tongue finally slipped inside and James let out another string of curses, “Merlin’s balls!” to which Teddy couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Merlin, huh?” Teddy teased. James squirmed under him, reeling from the momentary loss of the hot tongue against his hole. Face down on the mattress, ass in the air, and pants pulled down around his thighs, James was the sexiest sight possible. Teddy planned to bottle this memory and wank to it every chance he could. “Tell me what you want next.”

“Just fuck me already,” James whined.

“I need to find some lube first,” Teddy replied, but James ignored his words. Teddy watched as, with a wave of his hand, James wandlessly cast a lubrication charm on himself. His hole glistened and accepted Teddy’s first finger with ease. What in the world—

“More!” James demanded and Teddy quickly added a second finger. “Yes, right there.” Teddy didn’t feel in control at all anymore as James rocked his hips, fucking himself on Teddy’s fingers.

With effort, he found his bearings again and started meeting James’s hips with sharp thrusts, drawing sharp gasps from the man under him. Teddy’s stiff cock strained against his tight pants, which he quickly vanished—not wanting to pause the action to take them off properly. His fingers withdrew from inside James, who scooted back, trying to follow the retreating fingers. He lifted his head off the bed to try and see why the pleasure had stopped, but quickly collapsed back when Teddy thrusted inside in a single stroke.

“Ahh...” James moaned and his toes curled as his body accepted Teddy’s long cock. Balls deep, Teddy stalled, overcome with pleasure. Inside James felt amazing. Hot, Tight, Slick. He pulled back, teasing the rim with the head of his cock, before thrusting back inside. This time he didn’t wait at all, laying into James’s ass with a barrage of powerful thrusts. James took them all, pressed further into the mattress and babbling pleading words into the pillow.

Without James’s loud moans, the room suddenly felt quiet, despite the sound of skin slapping together or Teddy’s labored breathing. “Your ass feels amazing,” Teddy moaned directly into James’s ear and the walls surrounding his cock tightened, confirming he’d been heard. Getting close, his body told him, and he planted his knees between James’s thighs and hoisted him off the mattress and onto his lap. The room once again filled with the sounds of James’s voice.

“Fuck!” James shouted as Teddy lowered the man back down onto his cock, the new position allowing him to go even deeper. He reached around and found James’s cock. The tip was slick with pre-cum, which he gathered in his palm and used to slick the shaft as he stroked in time with his own thrusts. “I’m close,” James confirmed.

“Where do you want me to come?” Teddy wasn’t sure why he suddenly asked, but he just needed to hear James speak more in this moment.

“Inside. Come inside me,” James panted, and then he was coming, shooting jets of come over Teddy’s hand and all over the pillow in front of them. Completely spent, James collapsed backwards onto Teddy’s chest. He released James’s cock and moved his hands to James’s hips, holding him in place as he thrust into James’s quaking body.

“James,” Teddy moaned as he came, holding them together as he pumped his load as deep as he could into the man he loved so much. Both clearly exhausted, he gathered James into his arms and laid them both down on the mattress, being careful not to pull out. Brown locks tickled his nose as he snuggled closer. He felt ready to tell James about all this, confess his feelings, and let him choose if the next time could be for real.

____

altober Day 30: Choices

WeakRevolution’s gloriously smutty goodness.

@altobers-blog @clemandben @eleonorapoe

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adamdriverwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Carpe Noctem || Part 2

Plot summary: Mob boss’s daughter & bodyguard au ft. Kylo Ren. Based off this plot bunny (x)

Warnings: swearing, mention of death, mention of drugs and addiction.

Word count: 4580

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Reader

A/N: Here is part 2! Lemme know what you guys think! I’m also thinking about making a character page with everyone on it and maybe some pictures of what i kind of expected the house and car to look like and stuff?

Taglist: @helloimindelaware, @dandydragonz, @musicalcoffeebean, @hazydespair, @driverficarchive. Let me know if you want to be added!

Masterlist here

Most nights lately, sleep had been restless if it was to be had at all. The last week was spent thinking mostly about Mallory, but regardless you found yourself waking up from a full nights rest. The last thing you had expected being back home. The California king bed was massive, with soft feather down comforters and pillows creating the fantasy you were sleeping on a cloud. The split second before your conscious thought's took the wheel, you woke up feeling almost… content. A visceral and unfamiliar feeling, and then you remembered the chain of events that had led up until this point, and reality crashed to the forefront of your mind.

A heavy sigh escaping your lips, you pulled yourself together and exit the bed. Getting ready for Mallory's funeral was easier than you thought. Most of your clothes were black, and you had only brought one dress with you appropriate enough for a funeral. You didn’t feel like wearing it, you only brought it along with you because it was instinct when Mallory was around. Forcing you into dresses and heels. The concept of wearing one hurt too much today. So you decided to wear something a little more casual. Dark high-waisted jeans, a black silk shirt and you topped it off with your leather jacket. After applying some simple makeup, you mustered the courage to leave your room.

Last night was spent outlining some questions, accumulating thought's and reasoning pertaining to Mallory’s untimely demise. You weren't sure if you were still in shock, denial, or on the track to slowly coming to terms with her death. Either way, you knew only one thing would make you feel better.

So you left your bedroom and headed towards your Father’s office. Nearing midday already, there was far less voices reverberating down the hallway as you approached the recreation room. This you were happy about, unable to deal with unfamiliar eyes casting you over today.

You entered the silent room, though still smokey, you walked further in before realizing you were not alone.

“Well, well, well…” a voice made you still in your tracks. Hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up. Not out of fear, but nervousness. That was a voice you hadn't heard in a while. “What do we have here?”

Your head turned slowly, seeing two familiar faces. Ares and Roman, two of your older brothers. They were sat in a pair of black leather chairs, smoking in a half dark room in what appeared complete silence. Your nerves simmered, realizing that Lyon was nowhere to be seen. It would appear you were safe for now.

A smile covered your lips and you shifted around the pool table to stand in front of them. Ares was already standing, walking forwards to wrap you up in a hug, squeezing you tightly. Your eyes glanced to Roman standing behind him, regarding you with a smile before pushing your brother away and giving you a hug himself. Your nerves lessened at their apparent happiness to see you. Though, it had always been Lyon with which you had the problem.

“Hey, sis,” Roman pulled away to regard you. Both his and Ares’ eyes looking deep into your face, a minuscule sadness and wanting behind their eyes. If you had a dollar for every time someone had done that you would have been able to pay for your own College education.

“Shit. I mean, I know you always looked like Mom but damn-” Ares sighed, and then continued on, “whatever, its just- its good to have you back.”

“I just wish it was under better circumstances.” Roman popped in, and pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Seeing one in the hand of your brothers, there was little resistance in accepting his silent offer. Eager to share your nicotine habit with someone.

“How’s school going?” Ares asked.

“Its going well. One more year and I’ll have my master’s.” You were studying psychology, a subject you were eager to learn after living with such a fucked up family. It was the only thing that tethered your sanity to this reality.

“How’s the kids? And how’s Bella?” You asked Ares. You had seen them once or twice, when they were babies, still latched on to Bella, his wife. Mallory had shown you a photo whenever she could get the chance. Happy and proud of her niece and nephew.

“The twins are good. They’re at school now, growing up so fast. Micah, weirdly, looks a lot like Mallory. Mellie though, she looks so much like Bella. So at least she’ll have an easy run of it.”

You bit back a smile, and inhaled the cigarette your brother had lit for you.

Ares was your oldest brother, 11 years older than you were, since your birth he had always been mature enough to have a good relationship with. Despite what happened, he didn't resent you for anything that happened with your Mother. He never blamed you or your existence for ruining the family. No, that was mostly Lyon's modus operandi.

The only thing Ares seemed to care about was being a good Dad, and trying to be a decent husband. He was intelligent and self aware enough to not make the same mistakes as your Father.

Roman was similar. Interested only in running the one legitimate business your Father had; a club on the outskirts of your family’s territory. He wasn't obsessed with the life of crime, or powers of intimidation. He was softer, than all of you. And had kept his private life to himself, just like you had a knack for doing.

Even though you hardly ever talked over the last few years, you still enjoyed their presence. You understood that they had their own lives, and growing up you had wondered why you hardly spent any time together. It wasn’t until you were an adult you realized they were just busy living their own lives. Ten years older than you were, by the time you were shipped off to boarding school at 13 they had already started their trial into adulthood. And under your Father’s pressing thumb you could understand why you would fall under the radar. You were just a kid, and by the time the three of them and Mallory had grown up and formed relationships, you were practically just born. It was easy to understand why you had spent most of your childhood alone.

Ares opened his mouth to speak once more, when it was interrupted by quiet shouting and raised voices from your Dad’s office. Knowing it had some sort of soundproofing you only had a second to contemplate the possible loudness of what was happening inside before the doors burst open. Andrew stepped out, hand on the shoulder of your other brother; Lyon. They shared a look, obviously discussing something heated, your Father’s gaze conveying word’s he didn’t speak, until they turned to glance at the rest of you.

Lyon's apathetic face turned into something of a small snarl at seeing you standing with Ares and Roman. You felt like you had gone back 10 years in time. Back to the old days when your relationship with each other held nothing but contempt. Once again, treating you like you weren't allowed to be part of the family. You hadn't dealt with this shit since you were 16, and were moderately hoping he was over it by now. Though the look on his face suggested otherwise.

“Well, look who’s come crawling back.” He could barely get the words out of his mouth before your Father’s hand on his shoulder tightened. A small gesture that quietened him immediately.

“Lyon." You spoke the only welcome you were ready to give. Spitting the word like it was poison.

You walked forward, eager to have a conversation with your Dad. The sole reason you had come down here in the first place. Lyon kept his eyes on yours, and they tightened at the corner as you approached, hate not hidden behind his eyes but seemingly on full display as you walked forward.

Your Father turned and disappeared deeper into his office, while Lyon stayed in the entrance, not moving from his position.

“Lyon,” Ares voice was chastising him. “Chill the fuck out, Jesus Christ.”

He didn't move, didn't flinch, only kept his eyes on you. You decided to give him the opposite of what he so obviously sought. Keeping your face devoid of any emotion. Once upon a time his hate for you had affected you greatly, but now? Well, now, all you seemed to give a shit about was Mallory. You stopped at the entrance, standing next to him as you inhaled your cigarette, keeping your eyes locked with his. A show of faith that you weren't scared or affected by his actions or words. A try at letting him know that his opinion of you meant nothing.

You stepped forward, further into the office and turned to close the doors for a semblance of privacy, shutting them on his ass and sending him forward a few steps. You could hear a muffled cuss word or two from the other side. You stared at the wood with a tiny smirk.

A loud sigh escaped your Father’s lips and he looked like he had gotten no sleep. He collapsed on the chair behind his desk, and pointed at something in the corner of the room.

“Get Finn to watch him tonight, I have a feeling that he's going to do something stupid.”

You were about to ask why the fuck should you care? And ‘of course he would’, he was known for doing stupid things in the heat of the moment. Like that time when you were 8 and he was 13 and he had cut your hair with a pair of scissors because you had kicked him in the nuts.

But then you realized your Dad wasn't talking to you. He was talking to Kylo.

“Yes, sir.” He nodded from the corner of the room. Nestled between two large bookshelves he sat relaxed in a leather seat, hands on the sides, ankle over his knee. The perfect vision of relaxed calamity in a dark corner. Simply watching and assessing everything.

“You almost ready to go?” Your Dad’s voice pulled your attention. His chin resting in his hands and he looked over at you, blue eyes holding sadness. He was burying his daughter today after all.

“Yeah.” You continued forward, trying to forget the man who seemed a permanent fixture in your Father‘s office. What? Was he your Dad’s PA or something? “I just wanted to talk to you about some stuff.”

“About what?”

“Well, I was wondering if you had the case file for Mallory. I was hoping I could take a look at it.”

His head raised at those words, a slight look of confusion on his face and you quelled it by filling the silence with an explanation. “I just have so many questions and I want them answered, and... I know it's painful for you to talk about it.”

You weren't completely sure he had it. It was official police documentation after all, but he was a man that appreciated the value of knowledge, and that those who wield it properly can transform it into power. Last you knew, he had a great deal of cops on his payroll, what was one case file regarding his daughter’s death?

He turned to open a drawer, pulling a manila folder from it. It was relatively thin, though the edges of the folder were well worn suggesting he had spent the last couple of days going through it intently.

"There's some things to still be added. Poe's coming around tomorrow to drop off the updated documents."

Your brows raised and your eyes darted back to your Father. "Poe's still around?" You wondered how he was fairing through all this. Once upon a time you remembered he was quite fond of your sister. One of the many that had a crush on her. You resisted the urge to curl your lips in a smile. Your eyes fell back down, and quickly read through the notes. Skimming the words quickly, you thumbed through the pages realizing you would need far more time to comb through all the information. There were a lot of big words, and you hadn’t even had coffee yet. Pulling out your phone, you snapped a quick picture of every page so you could read it later when you had more time.

"She was found in the apartment, coroner says fentanyl overdose, with traces of cocaine in her system. The official ruling they're leaning towards is accidental but...." A longing appeared behind his eyes. "there's another set of DNA at the apartment. They don't know who it belongs to."

"Not to mention she was clean. She had been for months."

Your Father shook his head slightly. "Weeks, maybe. You haven't been here." The words were not said with malice, only sincere truth. Never the less, they made you angry. "We just don’t know."

"I talked to Mallory. A lot."

"More than her Father?"

Your anger spread. With the beat of your heart speeding faster and faster, you felt the adrenaline flow to the tips of your fingers and toes. Though you maintained a perfectly still presence, you wondered how that sentence could anger you so much. If it was to do with the fact that he thought he knew her better than you? Or was it that he made it sound like he talked to her so often, while only talking to you a handful of times a year?

What was wrong with you so badly that he didn't think of you as worthy?

And then you remembered your Mother. How could you forget? Your father never fucking did.

Jealousy and rage pushed aside to make room for cooler heads, your logic reigned King. This was not the time, or place, for an existential crisis. Not in front of your Father, or the dark gaze you could feel piercing your back, judging every movement and word that spilled from your lips.

"Did you know she had a boyfriend?"

His face stilled. Realization dawning on his face before it was replaced with another emotion. He was about to ask a question before you interrupted. It was petty, and you had swore a promise to Mallory to never tell anything to your Dad. But she was dead, and you wanted to prove a point.

"Did you know she dropped out of school a whole year before she told you she did? Or what about how she crashed the Audi when she was drunk and got a DUI?"

You could see his anger boiling up, not knowing if it was directed at you or her. This was not going the way you thought it would. Not on your second day here anyway.

"I loved her too." You tried to dampen the caustic anger that you and your Father shared. "And all I'm saying is... she was clean." If there was one thing you were sure of it was that. "I just want to help find out what was going on."

You couldn’t tell him why exactly, because that was a promise you were willing to keep. But Mallory had a close call that almost ended her life, scaring her so badly she hadn’t even had the temptation to touch the stuff again. She had been clean for months, this you were sure of.

Your Father stood up, "Whatever happened, I'm working on it." He walked around his desk, coming to grab the folder from your hands. Not with haste or anger, he simply appeared to be done on the subject. "I don't want you involved, your safety is more important."

The folder was thrown on his desk behind him, and he turned back around to face you, straightening the tie on his black suit. "I'm leaving in about half an hour, you want to come in the car with us?"

The change of subject should have been a shock. Though you were reminded that this was your Father’s way of abstaining from anger with his daughter’s when his son's usually got screamed at, or slapped. He was trying not to lose his calm manner, and even offering some form of an olive branch in the form of a ride.

You swallowed. "I kind of feel like driving. Is my car still in the garage?" Another excuse, but you didn't want to ride in the close confined quarters with him as your company.

"I have the mechanic look at it every couple of months, he assured me it was in pristine condition."

You would have thought that was sweet, doing something nice for you. Though you guessed his ulterior motives lay with the fact that it was your Mother's car before it was yours. Unable or unwilling to sell one of the last things he had of hers, he passed it down to you instead. No one else had wanted it. Not when your Dad was willing to hand out Lamborghini’s and Aston Martin’s as well.

"Thank you." Void of sincerity, though no one would have known it, you stood up and moved towards the doors of the office. One last look in Kylo's direction confirmed his powerful gaze was still trained on you. You quickly looked away, eager to get away from the whole confrontation.

---

The Snoke family mausoleum was constructed from dark marble. The very same that littered the inside of the manor. It stood tall and large nestled amongst the others in Saint Catherine cemetery, proud in its construction and flashy exorbitance.

You guessed there was a reason; if not for the fact your Father did everything with an expensive flourish, then because it was an extremely important plot of land for him personally.

Elizabeth Snoke was your Father’s everything. You had never experienced their relationship first hand, though people had said many things about how he was before her death. She was a vision, renowned for her beauty and grace and kindness - which always confused you greatly. You were often compared to her and those were traits you definitely didn’t fucking possess. She softened the anger and ruthless nature of Andrew Snoke, so much so he decided to have children and raise a family with her while still running the family business.

You gathered it was an natural reaction - your Father building a mausoleum to house his late and dearly beloved, room enough for himself and eventually his children to slumber when they passed. You figured Lyon would have been the one to die first, running his mouth to the wrong person the reason for his premature demise. Maybe even your Dad; you didn’t think it would be Mallory.

The sun shined bright overhead, cloudless blue sky providing little shelter from the warmth of the day. Large, black sunglasses on your face, you listened to the Priest prattle on, reciting a verse from the bible about the dead finding peace in heaven. You stood beside your Father, your three brothers flanking either side. All clad in black, the five of you stood in solemn silence, contemplating on the memory of Mallory.

When you showed up in your car, you had expected to see some of her friends she talked about, anyone other than your family. Finn, or Poe paying their respects, maybe Phasma, even if out of respect for your Father. However, your Dad had assured you it was a private matter, just family, he had said.

Fuck, Mallory would have hated this.

But funerals weren’t for the dead, they were for the people they left behind. If this was his way of grieving, then you would allow him the tiny modicum of space and privacy he needed to do so.

You were ready to put your energy elsewhere, however.

The Priest finished his sermon and offered anyone else to speak any words if they wished. Silence stretched, your family stoically standing still. Everyone's eyes cast down at the shiny black lacquered casket housing your sisters body. You were thankful it remained closed.

You didn't know what anyone would have said. You had no expectations for a speech from your Dad. You understood that the men in your family found strength in silence in times of sadness.

If you were a Snoke, you simply just didn’t talk about it.

The Priest waited, sending a look towards your Father, who simply shook his head and cast his eyes down at the casket. He came over, said his condolences to you and your family, before stepping away, giving you a some privacy.

Your concentration drifted, to spy at the army of slick black vehicles your family had come in, Snoke lackeys towing along. They remained scattered around the perimeter at a distance. Making sure to give your family your privacy and provide a protective barrier. Though from this distance you didn't recognize or know the name of any of them, a part from one.

Kylo leaned against your Dad's Rolls Royce Phantom, cigarette between his fingers, eyes fixed on what was happening. Completely focused on the service and your family.

Hair tousled slightly from the wind, crisp black suit covering his tall, broad figure. It was too far to tell but you felt like he was staring at you. Noticing his blatant presence suddenly made you cautious of your movements.You didn’t like his piercing gaze.

You weren't completely sure what he did around here. He didn't interact with other people that worked for your Dad, not that you had seen, and he was obviously trusted enough to be privy to most private family matters that happened in your his office. He had served to quickly make you feel vulnerable and self conscious; maybe that was Kylo’s purpose?

Though his broad muscles stretched under the perfectly tailored suit begged to differ. He was large enough to cause some damage it seemed, and the scar that ran down the side of his face suggested he had either seen and or done some violent shit.

Regardless, your interest was piqued.

Pathetic service over, the workers that waited were ushered forward, moving Mallory's casket into the crypt. Preparing to place her within her allotment before beginning the process to seal the door.

"Dinner tonight?" Your Father’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

"Huh?"

"I said," he stood next to you, hand resting on Roman's shoulder, and he pulled his children into a little circle. "How about dinner tonight? Family back together again... and we can say goodbye to Mallory with a drink."

You said nothing - sitting down at a dinner table with them seemed like a fucking nightmare. Roman nodded his head, Ares agreeing, Lyon looked like he was about to say something until he saw the look on your Dad's face.

Morose, fighting back whatever turmoil of emotion with a clipped smile. Brave face a complete facade. Lyon eventually agreed. Everyone turned to look at you, and you bit back a sigh.

"Sure."

"Great." He pulled away from his children. "I'll see you back home. I’ll get the good Scotch out."

Lyon pulled off with your Dad, leaving the 3 of you alone. Roman sighed, looking once more at the workers sealing off Mallory's casket in the crypt, then turned to you and Ares. "I'm heading back home. See you there?"

You two nodded, and then turned to one another. Ares smiled and put a hand on your back. Your Father was making his way back, Lyon and Roman following behind. Your eyes scanned the perimeter your Andrew’s men had made, slowly walking back to the fleet of vehicles, following your Father like dogs.

"Fuck this." Ares sighed, "I gotta get out of here." You nodded, and turned to walk back with him, back to where everyone was starting to gather around the cars.

"Are you okay?" you asked him. You figured you knew the response but he always did seem the most emotionally available of the family. Even then, it was a rare sight.

"I'll be okay. How about you?"

"I miss her a lot, especially being back home..." you looked forward at the criminal mess that was your family and your family's business. "But she's dead, and I gotta get used to it."

He bitterly laughed in agreement, "In other news, the car's looking good. I forgot that thing was even in the garage."

You followed his gaze to your car, the very last in the line. Your pristinely clean 1974 Datsun 240z, a shiny, polished beast on dark wheels. You had to admit, your Mother had taste, and with a few adjustments - cosmetic and mechanical - made after your sixteenth birthday it really had become a magnificent sight.

"Thanks. It was tucked in a corner, cover over it and all. But you know what Dad's like with her shit." The few items left to prove her existence; a car, an oil painted portrait hanging in the library, and a few others, were immaculately kept and preserved.

"I sure do." Ares snickered a little. "You gonna come have a drink at home? Dad'll be pulling out the Macallan." He tried to sway you with extremely good whiskey.

"I will soon, I just got a few errands to run first. Then I’ll be home."

"Errands?" he questioned, his brow furrowing. "The fuck kind of errands you got to do now?"

"I have to go the pharmacy and get a few things, and then buy some new clothes since everything I have is back home. I thought it was going to be in and out sort of trip."

"Alright," he accepted the answer, "See you back home then."

The two of you separated, going to your cars. Your jumped in the drivers seat, rolling down the tinted windows to let some of the stagnant heat out. As you pulled a cigarette from your middle console, your eyes found themselves wandering back to your family. Slowly piling in their respective vehicles, your Father's men following suit. About to head back to the manor to get fucked up for the memory of Mallory.

You were glad you parked at the very end, watching their cars pull off, one by one, all towing in the line and heading for the northern exit of the large cemetery, towards home.

You had lied.

You didn't need to go to the pharmacy, and you had brought enough clothes to last you a week, you just didn't want him privy to your whereabouts. You weren’t sure what he would do with the information.

You remembered your sister's voice, soft and kind, telling you stories of her friends over the video calls you would share on a regular basis. She had talked about Lacy often; a dancer at a club owned by your Dad. They had met while in College and had been close ever since. You had met her once or twice before you moved away, but weren't close with her like Mallory was.

You figured if anyone was going to know anything about Mallory before she passed - she would be a good place to start.

You turned the ignition, engine roaring to life with a deep rumble. Lighting the cigarette that now dangled from your lips, you shifted into first gear and pulled from the curb. Making your way off to the Supremacy.

#kylo ren #adam driver #adam driver x reader #adam driver x you #kylo ren x reader #kylo x you #kylo x reader #carpe noctem #kylo ren imagine

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

Text

A World of Our Own Pt.03

A Streak of Blood

08/12/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 5,863

Masterpost Warnings: blood, gashes, wounds, slight angst, Bucky in boxers

Prompt: Castaway AU

A/N: I really don’t know how long I’m going to make this story. I kinda just wanna keep exploring it so please bear with me. I’m really enjoying this version of Bucky and I’m super intrigued by this helpless reader whose personality is less apologetic about it. She knows she’s a struggle but she owns it, I think. I hope you’re liking it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Bucky sits with his back to you, back all taut and tense. His muscles tied up in nervous knots.

You’ve been staring at him for almost half an hour, saying nothing.

He plays back your reaction again. The immediate reaction because technically this thing you’re doing, sitting there, staring at him is still part of your reaction.

He’s finally told you the truth. After three months of learning to live with you, actually not minding it at all. He’d become accustomed to your voice in his ear, your warm usually sticky—with sweat—body pressed against him in the confines of the fuselage.

Your breath tickling either his neck or collarbone, or his back when you spooned up behind him.

Throughout the day, he'd made sure to only touch you when it was appropriate or what he likes to think of as relevant to the situation. But at night…when the two of you play the day over and wonder together, usually in absolute silence, whether you’ll be stuck on this island forever…he understands the need to feel him.

He’s needed to feel you too. You’re proof that the world exists beyond the shallow shores of the island.

So, at bedtime, when the jungle wakes up and the two of you settle in to sleep, he didn’t pull back when you'd grabbed his metal wrist.

You'd lifted his arm up and over your head as you slid into the crook between his arm and his side, pulling his arm around your shoulders as you let go and wrapped yours around his stomach.

At first he'd laid there, tense like he is now. Uncomfortable with the intimacy of your touch.

Then the next night it had felt less strange. Night after night you grabbed his metal wrist—he's still kind if…not surprised but something close to it, taken aback a bit but also touched that you don’t seem to fear his arm or pay it much mind. To you it seems to he just that, his arm—and wrapped it around your soft humid body until finally, around a month after you’d started doing it, he would open it for you.

He offered you the space against his side willingly. Almost looking forward to the skin to skin contact. He finds himself, even now, missing it.

He doesn’t really think it’s anything romantic.

Okay, yes, fuck—sometimes he watches you swim or work gathering coconuts or fruit and he stares at the expose plush flesh of your thighs or the curve of your back to your bottom.

He's only a man after all. Human.

He looks. Often. But he doesn’t touch.

However the urge to touch you is deeper than lust or like or love. It’s human and he almost needs the contact and conversation to function.

Which is strange because he’s been alone for a long time before. He’d craved the solitude.

With you…knowing you’re close by. He needs you. After three months of enjoying the ways you need him. He realizes right now, as you sit behind him, staring that he needs you.

He hopes that confessing the truth hasn’t driven you away. What would he do?

“Listen…” He finally says, voice low and gravelly. He clears it, shoving his nerves down. “…if you hate me now, I get it. If I hadn’t been on your flight you probably would have made it back to the States with no problem and you’d be home, safe. So, hate me.”

He thinks quickly, what can he offer you?

“I'll finish the hut and you can stay here on the beach. I’ll got to the fuselage but…can-" He hesitates. “Can I still come and eat meals with you? I won’t talk to you. I’ll just eat and go. And I’ll keep lighting the beach fire so you don’t have to.”

That’s not too much to ask, is it?

He feels off. Exposed. Vulnerable. He doesn’t like it.

He scowls, his brow dark, his eyes glaring at the muck of clay he’s almost got to the right viscosity.

“Or…never mind.” He nearly growls. “Forget-"

He feels soft burning fingers slide across the back of his bare shoulders.

He turns, almost desperately happy at your touch but he also doesn’t know what it means. He keeps his face stoic, despite the elation he’s feeling.

You squat down next to him, the rays of the sun shining down directly over the two of you. Here in the shade of the palms, the light flickers across your dewy skin making it look like it’s glowing.

Sparkling fish scales across your soft sweaty skin. You’re wearing your dress again. The one he’d torn and it rides up along your thighs. He wants to look—damn it, he’s having a guy moment because thinking about you pushing him away is making him want to appreciate your presence all the more violently—but he also can’t bear to turn away from your stern face.

“Bucky…” You begin, breath taken in and held as your pretty lips part.

Fuck. Bucky. Get it together.

“Yeah?” His own stoic gaze betrays nothing.

He knows how to keep himself closed off. How to pretend. Like a pro. Thanks, Hydra.

“S-Start from the beginning.” Your stutter is not from fear but uncertainty. Confusion. “Why have you killed a lot of people and who would be pissed enough to want to blow you to pieces?”

“Y/N,” Bucky looks back at his clay coated hands and tilts his head, shaking it slightly as he thinks about his story.

He’s never had to tell it before. Steve and Sam had known. The rest of the team either didn’t care or spent their time away and didn’t need to know.

“It kind of a long story. It could take forever.” An exaggeration but it’s his life. It feels like he’s lived it for ages. In a way, he has.

“Bucky,” You gasp a chuckle, your hand dropping from his back as you settle down on your bottom, straight on the heated sand and dirt. “We’re on a deserted probably uncharted island, with no sign of upcoming rescue. We’ve got time.”

Bucky turns his steel blue gaze back to you, searching your face for a hint as to whether you’re leaning more towards hating him or not but like him, you’re stoic.

“Right…” He inhales long and slow, then releases the breath as he begins to knead again. “Well, if I’m gonna start from the beginning, then I should probably start with when I was born.”

You frown. “What? Why does that matter?”

He can see in your expression that you think he’s being melodramatic.

He licks his lips, avoiding your gaze as he shrugs his right shoulder. “Because…I was born in 1917 so by record I'm one-O-six but because of the Snap…”

“You’re a hundred and two years old?!” Your voice squeaks as you slowly stand, staring down at him as he looks right back up at you and he suddenly realizes you too went through the Snap.

Had you survived or had you returned in the Blip too? He’s so fucking curious now but…you want to know about him. He'll have to be patient.

“How the fuck?!” You nearly screech in shock.

Bucky winces.

Bucky’s layering the crevices of the hut’s foundation with clay. Using his fingers then running the clay down through the long strips of bending bamboo with a new makeshift metal trowel.

This one is flatter, specifically made to spread the clay flat, like jam on toast.

He takes a handful of clay, smears it against the floor in a long slow line so that he can fill as much of it with clay as possible. He wipes the excess off on a piece of the torn-up suit he’d found in that one carry-on, stuffed into the waistband of his boxers, before flattening the trowel against the long lumpy line to smoosh it down into the split between the bamboo logs.

He twists around, scooping more clay into his hand out of the metal bucket he’d made when they’d first landed on the island, and turns to smear it along the next crevice only to find you laying on your stomach, feet swinging casually back and forth, crossed at the ankles. You’ve got your arms on the floor in a bow shape, one hand on top of the other and your chin resting gently on both of them.

He jumps, gasping quietly, not having heard you shift into place.

“Jesus…”

“When did you fall from the train?” You ask him, your eyes all pure and innocent, unaware of the scare you just gave him.

“Ffff…” He has to stop himself from swearing because you’re looking at him, eager for info. The twinkle in your eye is confusing.

What does it mean? Curiosity is what it reminds him off but what kind? He’s not sure whether you believe him completely yet about how he’d come to be Bucky Barnes again. Ex-Winter Soldier. Avenger.

Or, he would have been an Avenger had he gotten back to New York.

“Nineteen forty-five.” He says, voice cracking a little in his low tone as his heart evens out.

You’re surprisingly quiet. Like a cat. Scary.

A word that Bucky had never thought he’d think about you but ever since you sat behind him on the beach, staring daggers until you’d finally gotten up and asked him to tell you his story, he’s seen you with new eyes.

Wary eyes.

He’s lowered his guard around you so much since landing on this stupid island. He forgot what it felt like to be this accessible. When had the last time been? With Steve?

You narrow your eyes. Brow knit together as you roll your lips in to clench them shut as you think. He can see you thinking a million things. Or maybe just one.

I can’t trust that guy. Maybe? Bucky hates feeling like this. He hates not knowing.

He doesn’t like guessing.

Why can’t he just know?

“Okay.” You suddenly say, then get back up and head down the ramp he’d built, towards the large signal fire to start putting fresh dried fronds so that it’ll be easier to light when the sun starts to set.

This isn’t the last time that this happens.

As he’s walking back towards the hut, carrying two bionically crafted metal buckets full of water, you pop out from behind a tree, swinging around it like you’re lost in thought but your eyes meet his.

“Shhh…” Bucky begins but manages to stop himself again.

His heart races, water sloshing as his feet stutter to a stop. Watching you hold onto the palm with your right hand as you stare at him inquisitively, pensive. Concentrating.

“Y/N, I really need you to stop doing that.” He tells you sternly, face kept as stoic as possible so that you won’t notice his surprise.

How the hell are you sneaking up on him?

“Why didn’t you remember Steve?” You wonder, that brow of yours furrowed again as you wait for his answer.

“I…” He hesitates, thinking back to the moment he’d seen Steve on the streets in Washington.

It’s like a blurry watercolor. He remembers it vaguely now. That part of his brain so addled that he has to focus to remember the rocked expression on Steve’s face.

“Bucky?” Steve had gasped, completely nonplussed by the sight of his formerly thought deceased best friend. For some reason, Bucky remembers a smudge of gunpowder and soot from explosions on his cheek, and a soft dusting of it on the left side of his neck.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bucky had asked.

He shuts his eyes for a second, trying to retain the memory. Clinging to the small details like the smudge to draw out the bigger picture.

“I was brainwashed, and Hydra had wiped my mind.” Bucky explains, opening his eyes to look at you, only to find you standing closer with your hands behind your back.

You’re staring up at him with those focused eyes. Unrelenting in their indiscernible sparkle. What is that?

“Why would they do that?” You wonder, voice sharp with annoyance.

“I guess it made it easier to control me. Nothing to hold me back, no personal attachments, no weaknesses.”

“Hm.” You hum, then turn and head back towards the beach leaving him itching to know your own thoughts.

*****

He’s walking back to the hut, munching on a banana, mouth full. His cheeks are completely stuffed. He turns to move around the large slate gray boulder, eroded along the bottom when the tide comes in, but you spring out from the other side so suddenly that he drops his banana and sputters around the white mush in his mouth.

He’s coughing, bits of banana flying out of his mouth as he places his metal hand on the boulder and hunches over, choking.

He can already see you talking but he can’t hear you over himself.

You don’t even flinch as a sticky bit of banana covered in his spit flies at you and lands on your cheek.

He gasps, flesh hand on his chest, struggling to move past the constriction of his throat.

“You okay?” You ask, brow furrowed in what looks like annoyance but also a small bit of concern.

“Eeehyeah.” He squeaks. “What were you saying?”

“You were captured in World War II?”

Bucky stares at you, his eyes trained on that muck of his banana on your cheek. He hesitates but then reaches out—and he fully expects you to cringe, pull away from him—cups the left side of your face and with his thumb quickly wipes it away.

“Er…yeah.”

“And Captain America—Steve?” Bucky nods at you. “Steve saved you?”

“Yes.” He replies with trepidation, embarrassed about spitting on you but also nervous about your question.

“Hmmm.” You reply. “Okay.”

You turn and leave him, staring down in slight depression over his now sand covered banana.

*****

All day you continue to jump out from hidden spots or from behind trees or suddenly poking your head over the hut’s foundation when he’s just reached the edge and scaring the shit out of him. Spouting off various questions about his story.

Nothing about just one particular thing. They’re all random so he can’t even decipher what’s got you so preoccupied. You ask about how he killed people, how many at a time, to whether he remembered how it felt to be taken over and whether he’d ever attempted to fight it.

You even asked him what his favorite place to have visited had been to date. Of course, Wakanda was at the top of that list.

“Nothing from when you were the Winter Soldier?”

Bucky had just shaken his head. He remembers the blood not the setting. The kill, not the people. When he’d explained that to you, you’d answered with another, “Oh. Okay.” And wandered off.

He tilts his head back, playing the day over and trying to decide whether this reaction of yours is good or bad. He honestly doesn’t know. He can’t tell. He’s completely baffled by you and he doesn’t think there’s going to be any resolution to his dilemma.

The water in the stream is cool and feels like bliss against his skin. Taking a bath right now had been a good choice. He’s been working hard all day and even though he can take the workload, he’s exhausted again.

Physically exhausted. A nice change of pace for his usual dire emotional state.

Tomorrow, he’ll start on the walls. Four of them. He’s not sure they need more than one room. They’ve already had to change in front of each other. He’s seen your body.

Quick nervous glances stolen at you to see if you were finished dressing or undressing over the past three months. Bucky knows the silhouette of your naked body by heart.

He licks his lips absentmindedly as he thinks about your figure this morning, no pants on, just your t-shirt. Standing on the beach in the glaring sunlight making your form black in shadow. He can’t see anything about it only the outline of it. Then you pull off your shirt and turn to toss it aside, twisting your body towards him to do so, exposing the hard, pebbled tips of your breasts.

What the hell are you thinking about, Bucky? He chastises himself, cheeks flaming underneath his beard.

He’d only seen the outline but damn if he doesn’t know what they look like. He’d gotten a good view that day you’d been upset about his admission to the unlikelihood of your rescue.

He climbs out of the tub, closes his eyes, pulling his pants on and then his shirt over his head as he stands there still slightly damp from his bath. He wills himself to stop thinking about your beautiful body.

It’s difficult. Three months on this island with you. Holding you when you sleep. Watching you during the day to make sure you’re safe. Listening to your lame jokes. Hearing you laugh and giggle and whine and cry. You’re all that Bucky already thinks about. That and rescue but you’re the most prominent.

Wanting you…sexually…Bucky wasn’t expecting that. He doesn’t let himself think about it because it can’t happen. It won’t.

Just because you’re the only woman on this island with him doesn’t mean that you’ll sleep with him. Besides, it’s been so long since he’s been with anyone like that, Bucky wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he got you in that position.

Or any position. He thinks salaciously.

He growls. Hating the images that flash through his head because he won’t ever get to make them so why think about them?

Maybe two rooms would be best? Five walls. After what he’s told you, maybe you don’t want to see him.

Making a sharp turn on the balls of his feet, he makes to head back to the fuselage only to have you crash against his chest.

“Damn it!” He nearly shouts.

Your hands push him back slowly as his heart races in surprise again.

“Why do you keep doing that?!” He demands.

“You killed all those people because they made you do it, right? Hydra?” You ask, face tired, eyes softer but that sparkle still shines through.

Why do they look like that? What does it mean? Bucky’s so tired of you doing this to him.

“Yes.” He shoves past you, irritated beyond words at this seemingly endless barrage of questions. “This is getting really annoying, so what else do you wanna know? Get it all out. Let’s get this over with.”

He can hear you trying to keep pace with his long gait and he almost feels bad but he’s too upset. If you’re going to tell him you can’t be around him, he wishes you’d just do it quickly. All at once. What’s the point of asking him all these questions when it seems you’ve already made up your mind?

You haven’t talked to him once, except to ask him these random questions. You haven’t touched him all day, except for right now to push him away.

He’s already missing the way your body feels pressed against his side. The comfort that he hadn’t known he would need, lost to him because he couldn’t just keep it to himself that he was a former assassin.

“How did you get better?” You ask, breathless.

“The King of Wakanda and his sister helped me get the programming out.” He explains shortly.

“Why did they sever your arm?”

“It was already mangled up, they just cut off more.” Now she’s asking about his arm? Does she hate that too?

“Do you remember them? The people you killed?”

Here Bucky actually hesitates. He’d once told someone that he remembers every single one, but he doesn’t remember them all. Not really. He remembers the blood. The pleas for help. The satisfaction as the mission was over. Then the cold of his slumber.

Only a few faces stick out to him. The important ones. The ones that he can never forgive himself for. They were all unforgivable but some…some he could never make up for. It was too late.

He’d lost his chance. He can never tell him that he’s sorry now. That if he could take it back, he would. That he hadn’t meant to ruin his life. That if he wanted revenge, he understood and this time, Steve can’t stand in the way.

“Yes.” Bucky answers, because he can remember them. Just not their faces. Or their names. It wasn’t really a lie what he’d said. In his heart, they’re all there. Reminding him of the choices he never had a chance to make.

“Are you completely better?”

Bucky rounds on you, his heart aching painfully at this question with its implication that he might hurt you. The idea that he could be the source of danger on the island for you. How dare you!

After he’d done nothing but be there for you. Keep you safe. Feed you. Build you shelter. He’d helped you.

“I don’t know!” He shouts. “No. Yes, I could kill you. I could wake up strangling you. What’s the point of asking me all these questions, Y/N? You already know what you wanna do, so just do it and save us both the time.

“I’ll get my stuff and sleep outside. Give you your space. When I finish the hut, I’ll move you in over there and come back here.” He promises, then turns to head into the circle of flickering orange light of the camp by the fuselage.

He makes a mental note. Four walls.

A soft warm hand closes around his metal wrist and he stops, turning to see you looking up at him.

*****

You tighten your hand around his wrist, a terrible fear building inside of your chest.

You. Alone. Until the end of your days on the island.

“Please don’t leave me.” You beg, taking your other hand and wrapping that one around his metal wrist too.

All day you’ve thought about what he says they did to him and what he did, and you’ve tried to be scared of him but…it’s Bucky!

You shrug.

Bucky who sprung into action when you first crash landed on this stupid island and kept you safe during a hurricane. Bucky who carved and flattened out a path for you and made you a tub and taught you to fish with a spear and tried to think of every possible way to get you off the island even going so far as to send out something as silly as a message in a bottle.

Bucky who is building you a hut on the beach. Bucky who laughs at your lame jokes—"What’s black and white, and red all over? A penguin with a sunburn."—and doesn’t shame you after you’ve thrown a tantrum because you’re so tired of mangoes and bananas and those oranges that sometimes taste like limes that you’re pretty sure aren’t oranges but neither of you knows what they are.

He doesn’t judge you when you cry into his chest at night when you wake up and look around after dreaming you’re back home only to find that you’re still on the island.

Bucky your savior.

“I-I know that you think what you did was bad, and it is…killing people is bad but Bucky…you’re-" You take a shaky breath and step closer, sliding your hand down and intertwining your fingers with his.

His hand responds eagerly, wrapping your smaller hand up and squeezing it with just enough pressure. It’s just the two of you here. This is the truth that never leaves your mind. He’s all you have. And even if there were eighty other people on this island, you’re staring to realize that Bucky is all you’d want either way.

“-you're my hero, Bucky. You saved me. Over and over again. I would be dead by now if you hadn’t been here with me. I would have died that first night.”

He parts those pretty, pouty pink lips. He still looks so absolutely healthy thanks to what you now know is those experiments that they ran on him back when he’d been capture in World War II.

His body is slightly browner. A golden tan compared to the pale peach he'd been when the two of you had found yourselves stranded but it fits him well.

When he blushes, it nearly kills you, his steel blue eyes dazzle you on a daily basis.

No. You can’t live without Bucky. On the island? You’d die. If you ever get rescued…you just might beg him to let you follow him around because you’re almost certain that what you’re feeling…

No. This is about the island. Don’t, Y/N. Don’t think it.

“Stay with me. I don’t care what you did. All I know is what you’ve shown me and you’re my only hope. I need you.” You confess, which is not what you know you feel but close enough without the selfish demands that what you really feel would put on him. “I want you here. Stay with me.”

You watch Bucky’s upset face jump from relieved to shocked to touched, back to confused which is how he’s been looking at you all day, and then finally as you tell him you need him, he softens.

This is Bucky as you like him best. That sweet look in his eyes, those healthy lips curved up into a soft smile.

He tightens his hand around yours, flexing his wrist to pull you even closer.

It takes your breath away as you’re suddenly standing inches from his chest, but he releases your hand and wraps his arms around you, pulling you to him.

Impossible flutters fill your stomach, warmth engulfs your heart.

“Of course, I’ll stay with you.” He promises to your heart’s great relief. “Of course.”

You smile into his shoulder and inhale that earthy and spicy musk of his. Damp sliced oak with a unique and exotic tang that fills your body with the promise of its burn.

You wrap your arms around him, eager to go to bed so that you can lay in his without excuse.

It’s how the two of you sleep now and you need it like you need fresh water.

He holds you for probably too long, but you don’t care.

When he finally releases you, the two of you make your way back towards the fuselage, hands now resolutely kept to yourselves.

You cook the fish that you’d caught earlier in the afternoon, and the two of you eat in giddy silence.

When bedtime finally rolls around, Bucky lays himself down first. As always, he lays against the wall of the fuselage, one hand underneath the almost flattened travel pillows that the two of you had salvaged from the plane crash. The other hand rests on his thigh.

He’s gone ahead and pulled his shirt and pants off leaving him in his boxers. It’s too hot in the fuselage for lots of clothes. You quickly peel off your own pants but keep the sleeveless shirt that you’d cut from an old t-shirt on, then settle in beside him.

You lay on your back at first and stare up at the sky through the fuselage window. The sky is glittering with stars. You turn to look at Bucky after a few minutes, staring up at his sleeping face for a few seconds before turning back to the stars.

Usually you take his metal arm and wrap it around you but that’s when he sleeps on his back. He’s never slept on his side like this before. Not at first.

You’re not sure how to prompt his arms around you. You need him to hold you. Assassin or not, he’s going to be an Avenger. Or already is? Or working for them? Either way, he’s good. Of that you’re absolutely sure.

You’d known it before he’d made his confession.

“Bucky?” You whisper, afraid of waking him because he’s been working so hard today.

“Mm?” He asks, maybe not as asleep as you thought?

“We do need to talk about what happened on the plane at some point though.” You begin. “The bomb? And the fact that it was only us?”

“Mm.” He agrees, jaw growing more and more slack.

“Bucky?”

“What?” He asks, slowly, a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

He’s sleepy…but you can’t help it! You haven’t talked to him all day. You’d had other stuff on your mind before his admittance to his perceived responsibility in the crashing of the plane.

“Do-Do you want me to help you trim your beard? It’s getting long.” You reach up without thinking and stroke the left side of his face with your right hand.

You touch only beard but there’s a small inhale from Bucky anyway.

“Tomorrow.” He replies, slightly less annoyed. “Go to sleep.”

You take your hand back and turn to stare out at the sky again. For five minutes you lay in absolute silence, itching to ask him a million other things about the hut and what he’s planning on adding to it or if there will be two rooms—please don’t let there be two rooms—or if it’ll be just like here in the fuselage but with more space?

You wanna know if he liked the fish or if he’d prefer if you cooked it differently. Should you just keep working on the thatch for the roof or does he want you to help with the clay too? Is there anything else you can build or help make? You’re not that handy but you can learn fairly quickly.

If he’s willing to teach you, you can pick anything up. You just need to focus.

“Bucky?”

“Ugh! Y/N, go to sleep. I’m tired.” He begs, this time clearly annoyed.

“Sorry.” You sigh, turning onto your own left so that you won’t be tempted to talk again.

You shut your eyes, squeeze them tight and remind yourself that he did promise to stay with you.

He might find you annoying but at least he’s willing to stay with you. Put up with you and all the shit you must put him through.

With a shaking sigh, you will your body to relax and sleep.

“Why do you have to ask so many questions?” Bucky asks, wrapping his right arm around your stomach.

He pulls you back towards him, tucking you against his chest and nuzzles his nose into your hair on the back of your head.

His voice is so low, so deep, your stomach flips several times in nervous flutters.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, whispering because he’s so quiet.

He suddenly knees your legs, pushing them up until you’ve got them folded, curling in against your body.

He pulls you closer, wrapping you up in both arms like a small ball, shaping his body to yours as he inhales deeply, then exhales slowly.

“Tomorrow, you can ask me whatever you want.” He promises, and for a split second, you think you feel the soft press of two plush lips against the nape of your neck.

Your heart goes into arrest as you try and figure out if that really happened. Did Bucky kiss you? Or maybe it just felt like it because he’s holding you so close?

“Sleep.” He orders.

You shut your eyes, and dream about whether Bucky had indeed kissed you or if it was only wishful thinking.

There’s a loud clatter. The sound of foliage being trampled.

Everything happens so quickly that it all happens both in perfect clarity and in a blur.

Bucky springs from around you, running towards the entrance of the fuselage, grabbing the spear by the entrance.

The sharpened metal from the plane glints in the dying embers of the fire as Bucky plants himself in front of the fuselage entrance protectively.

“Bucky?” You squeak, terrified.

“Stay inside.” Bucky orders and the next second you hear a loud keening cry.

It’s beastly but high pitched and it curls your bones into shards as fear makes your heart pound.

You hear other shouts. A man.

“Help!” He cries, loudly and you recognize the voice from the announcements before the plane had taken off after you’d just boarded instantly.

“Bucky!” You gasp, “The other pilot!”

“Stay here!” He calls to you as he takes off at a run.

He doesn’t get far as the pilot comes barreling through the trees, blonde hair disheveled and covered in muck. His pilot’s uniform is torn around the knees and ankles, his shirt sleeves ripped off. He’s dirty and beaten.

He doesn’t look nearly as good as you and Bucky do.

“What is it?” Bucky demands as the pilot turns and scrambles back away from the trees he’d just come from.

He’s headed right for the fuselage entrance and you’re already waiting at the edge.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, as he crosses into the shelter.

“What is it?” Bucky demands from him, but his question is answered just as he gets back to his feet.

That same wild, keening cry pierces the night, closer and louder. He’s suddenly thrown off of his feet, calling out in pain as he falls to the ground.

“Bucky!” You cry, terrified for him, because he has to be safe. Always.

He gets back up and as he turns around to face what knocked him over, your eyes find the frenzied eyes of a boar, large goring tusks stained red with blood.

You wheel back to the pilot who is shaking beside you in terror, but all of his clothes is dry. No red spots.

Bucky.

Courage floods you and you hurry to go to him, but he shouts at you.

“Stay back!”

You freeze as the boar comes barreling towards Bucky again.

This time he’s ready for it. He dives for one of the makeshift ropes you’d made from the various fabrics and palm fronds you’d been tearing apart and catches the boar around the back two hooves.

He dives on top of it, breaks his spear head off and then glides the glinting metal across the boar’s throat.

Vivid red splashes along the dirt as the animal’s cry is cut short. Bucky slides off it’s back and lays beside it, breathing heavily with the effort it took to hold it down.

You race to his side, heart thrumming wildly in your chest as your hands ceaselessly slide from his shoulders down to his arms, chest, sides, hips, thighs, and it’s on his calves where you find the deep gashes from the boar’s skewering.

“Bucky…” You begin, worried.

“I’ll heal, kitty cat.” He assures you.

He reaches up to stroke your left cheek with his right hand, inadvertently leaving a shocking streak of red boar’s blood.

“You’re so stupid.” You nearly growl at him, angry because he’s trying to play these cuts off.

You flatten your hands against as much of them as you can and frown at him.

“I know. On the plus side, we can have some bacon in the morning.” He smiles.

“I hate you.” You spit at him.

He chuckles. “I know.”

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